


The Arithmancer

by White_Squirrel



Series: Arithmancer-Verse [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arithmancy, Gen, House Elves, Math Whiz Hermione, Mathematics, Powerful Hermione, Spellcrafting, responsible adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:57:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 84
Words: 502,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Squirrel/pseuds/White_Squirrel
Summary: Hermione grows up as a maths whiz instead of a bookworm and tests into Arithmancy in her first year. With the help of her friends and Professor Vector, she puts her superhuman spellcrafting skills to good use in the fight against Voldemort.





	1. First Year, Autumn Term

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and no one owns mathematics.
> 
> All maths in this story is real and correct to the best of my knowledge. Hermione’s seemingly superhuman maths skills are based on real child prodigies. All arithmancy in this story besides the tiny amount mentioned in the books is stuff I made up. This story covers Years 1-4. The sequel, Lady Archimedes is in progress and will cover years 5-7.
> 
> I’ve seen a number of stories where some character, usually Harry, mysteriously has superhumanly good skills with Ancient Runes and warding, but I’ve yet to see anything comparable for Arithmancy and spellcrafting, even though this idea is as rich, if not more so with possibilities. So I decided to try it myself, changing Hermione from a bookworm to a maths whiz and giving her skills equal to some of the most gifted real child prodigies in the world, so that she can explore the true potential of Arithmancy. Yes, there will be maths, but my intent is that you won’t need to understand the maths to enjoy the story. The important part is all the advanced spellcrafting Hermione will eventually be doing, and trust me, it will be epic.
> 
> A quick note on the characterisation: many reviewers have complained that Hermione is too weak, a pushover, too submissive to bullies, etc. In answer, I say that this was deliberate, but it changes dramatically over her first three years, most especially in third year. Unlike Harry, Hermione comes from an easy life. She has a loving family and is financially well-off. And that means from a narrative standpoint, she needs to go through trials and tribulations to match Harry’s (many of which would be plausible behind the scenes in canon) to forge her into the strong, confident, powerful witch we see by the end of this story. So if you have a problem with how she is acting, I urge you to stick it out to the end of third year. I think you’ll like the results.
> 
> Fair warning: pairings aren't really relevant in this story but there is Hermione/George and Harry/Ginny in the sequel. Personally, I’d prefer not to spoil the pairings at the beginning, but that seems to be the etiquette here.

Hermione Granger had always been a very bright child. No, she wasn’t go-to-university-at-age-ten material like those kids she saw on the news every so often, but she _had_ skipped a year in primary with no trouble, although she had a September birthday anyway, so it hadn’t been that big an adjustment.

Ah, but maths, that was where she excelled. Oh, she loved books and all kinds of learning, else she could never have skipped a year, but numbers were her first love. She lived and breathed them from the time she first learnt to count, and her obsession had only grown with the passing years.

Multiplying large numbers in her head was trivial. Anyone could learn that if only they would bother to take the time. No, being able to do anything that a four-function calculator could do, and often as fast, only made her a curiosity, not a prodigy. But that was just the start. As the years went by, private tutors began pulling her aside each day during maths lessons to teach her long division, then probability, then algebra, then trigonometry. She knew by the time she turned six that she was on a different plane entirely from her year-mates when it came to numbers, and for all the trouble it caused for her, a part of her enjoyed the stares she got when people saw her happily working problems in GCSE and A-level maths while all the other children were learning their fractions.

Actually, this past year hadn’t been so bad. Since she had skipped Year Four, she had advanced to secondary school a year early, and the kids there were at least a little more dedicated to their schoolwork than in primary school, where she had never really fit in and spent more time reading and doing sums than playing tag or, heaven forbid, dodge-ball. She’d even found a couple of girls at secondary school who shared her love of epic fantasy and science fiction, although she had to go all the way up to the sixth-formers to find anyone who could keep up with her in maths. Still, after some rough years in primary school, things were really looking up.

Then, Hermione’s world was turned upside-down when a woman who was dressed like she had stepped out of a 1930s film showed up at the Grangers’ door. Their hotel room door.

* * *

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger?”

“Yes…” Daniel Granger answered warily.

“How do you do? My name is Minerva McGonagall.” She offered her hand to shake. “Is your daughter here with you?”

Dan only lightly shook her hand. “Yes, she is. Is there a problem?”

“Not at all, Mr. Granger. You see, I represent an exclusive school in Scotland for gifted children, and we would like to extend an invitation to a Miss Hermione Granger to attend.”

“Really?” Minerva caught a glimpse of a head of bushy brown hair as the girl in question leapt from her seat and ran to the door, only to be blocked by her parents.

“Now hold on there, Hermione,” her father said, then to their visitor, “So you tracked us down on our holiday out of the country just to invite her?”

Minerva had been wondering about that herself. She was still a bit queasy from the international portkey she’d had to take to get to Italy, when she could surely have waited a week and caught them in Britain. Still, procedure was procedure. This was the hardest part, though: convincing them to let her come in and that she wasn’t a—what had that Dame Finch-Fletchley called her? “A wandering lunatic,” she believed it was.

“My apologies for interrupting your holiday,” she continued, “but it is our standard practice to contact all of our scholarship recipients in the final week of July, regardless of where they are staying at the time. Here is my card.” She handed over a muggle business card that said “Hogwarts School. Minerva McGonagall: Deputy Headmistress’ and showed a muggle post address while in public. “If it is inconvenient, I can come back another time.”

“No, no,” Dan said quickly. The card at least looked somewhat verifiable. If it was true, they might as well listen to her, and if there was any funny business, it was best to get it out of the way quickly. “Please do come in.” He turned around and subtly motioned for Emma and Hermione to stay back from the strange woman and offered her a seat. He sat in between them and McGonagall—and by the room phone—just in case the strange woman tried anything.

“Ms. McGonagall, my name is Daniel Granger, this is my wife, Emma, and you seem to know our daughter, Hermione,” he said. “I’m sure you can appreciate how unusual this seems to us, but I suppose we might as well hear you out.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Granger.”

Emma examined the business card. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a…Hogwarts School, Ms. McGonagall,” she said. “Do you have any actual documentation with you?”

“I do, Mrs. Granger,” Minerva answered. “You would not have heard of it before because the full name of the school is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

Dan’s and Emma’s mouths hung open, but Hermione spoke up for the first time: “Witchcraft and wizardry? Do you mean like magic—real magic?”

“Yes, Miss Granger, magic. I am a witch, and our spells have told us that you are as well.”

Hermione’s eye grew wide at the revelation, but her father’s narrowed. “Ms. McGonagall, I think you’ve said enough.”

“Please, Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I know this sounds difficult to believe, but if you’ll permit me to give you a demonstration…”

The strange woman pulled a small stick from the sleeve of her dress.

“A magic wand?” Dan said sceptically. His sense that this was a prank or a scam rose even higher. He knew enough about supposed psychics and paranormal practitioners to know the usual tricks.

“Quite so. Perhaps a simple Levitation Charm?”

No doubt to be performed with an invisible thread, Dan thought. But there was one thing that didn’t add up. Just where was this McGonagall woman planning to go with this. She couldn’t fake an entire school. If it was a school for stage magicians or something like that, why try to recruit Hermione, who had never shown any interest in the art? And if it was a prank, who and why? And if it wasn’t either of those…well, Daniel Granger was nothing if not curious. Hermione hadn’t got it all from her mother, after all. In the unlikely event that McGonagall could do anything besides make a playing card spin in midair or turn her wand into a bouquet of flowers, it really would be worth hearing. “Alright, then, let’s see it,” he said.

McGonagall waved her stick and muttered something in what sounded like Dog Latin, and then the coffee table in middle of them rose into the air.

“Holy…!” Dan fell right out of his chair. That was a lot more than a playing card. Emma paled at the sight, and Hermione gasped in surprise. He ran his hands all around the table, over and under, looking for wires or invisible supports. “But how…?”

“As I said, Mr. Granger, magic.” The table spun around twice in the air and then settled back down to the floor.

“Wow…” Hermione said.

“Magic…” Emma stammered. “Magic…So…Hogwarts School of…Witchcraft and Wizardry, you said?” Emma stammered.

“That’s right,” McGonagall answered. “I am Deputy Headmistress of the school as well as Professor of Transfiguration.”

“Transfiguration?” Hermione asked.

“Spells to change one thing into another. For example…” She touched her wand to the coffee table and muttered another incantation. The table turned into a large tortoise.

Dan very nearly fell off his chair again. That was _definitely_ no trick. He pinched himself. Not dreaming, either. Hermione actually applauded the sight.

Once McGonagall restored the coffee table, Emma said, “So you’re saying Hermione can do those things, too?”

“She will be able to—with appropriate training, of course. That was a very advanced spell.”

“But how could you possibly know that she’s a…a witch?” The word sounded insulting, but it was hardly the strangest part about this whole thing.

“We have very ancient spells in operation at Hogwarts that automatically detect all magical births within the shores of Britain, Mrs. Granger, but surely you have noticed yourselves…unusual things happening around your daughter—what we call ‘accidental magic.’”

Dan and Emma looked at each other, and they both instantly knew the answer. It certainly explained a few things, including one particularly nasty temper tantrum in which a whole room full of books had come flying off their shelves. They just nodded, but Dan started up again: “Well, if that’s the case, why wait until this school of yours starts—I assume it starts at eleven or twelve? Why not contact us earlier?”

That was another issue that always seemed to come up. McGonagall tried to explain it gently and hoped the conversation wouldn’t devolve into a political argument: “Hogwarts accepts all magical children who have reached the age of eleven and makes its first contact with them the summer before their first year because children rarely have much ability to control their magic before age eleven. Because of this, for children with no magical relatives, then, there is very little reason for them to have contact with the magical world. I admit there are drawbacks to our system, but as you can probably guess, the magical world values its secrecy, so we choose not to make contact until later.”

This seemed to placate the parents for the moment. But as she watched her parents digest this information, Hermione was just getting started. She held out her hand towards McGonagall and said, “Please, ma’am, may I try a spell?”

McGonagall chuckled at the girl. That particular question was surprisingly rare, even from muggle-borns. “No, I’m afraid not, Miss Granger,” she said. “A wand must be specifically suited to your own innate magic, or you will find it very difficult to use, especially at your age. You will need to purchase your own wand before the term begins. However, I _can_ give you your official Hogwarts acceptance letter.” She pulled an envelope out of her handbag and levitated it over to the girl.

Hermione was almost entranced by the old-fashioned envelope. It was made of parchment, she noted, and addressed with flowing script in emerald-green ink. She took it in hand gingerly and read the front aloud:

 

_Miss H. Granger_

_The Smaller Bedroom_

_Suite 405_

_Hotel San Zulian_

_Venice, Italy_

 

Dan shot to his feet. “How did you know what room our daughter was sleeping in?”

Minerva sighed. This was happening more and more every year. Perhaps it was time to change the addressing spells. “I did _not_ know, Mr. Granger,” she said. “The letters are addressed automatically.”

“So you can just automatically find anyone wherever they are?”

“For the most part, yes. There are ways of concealing one’s movements when they are called for, but that’s hardly the concern of a student. In any case, tracking charms like that are strictly regulated.”

Grumbling, but mollified for the moment, Dan sat back down. Hermione broke the ornate wax seal and slid the letter out of the envelope. She read:

 

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on 1 September. There will be an orientation for incoming students of non-magical parents held at 9:00 AM on 27 July at Platform 10, King_ _’s Cross Station, London, at which time you will be able to submit your enrolment forms._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

“Your orientation is in a train station?” Emma asked.

“That is the beginning of the orientation, Mrs. Granger. The itinerary will include a tour of important magical sites in London, as well as time to purchase school supplies.” McGonagall dug into her handbag again, raising eyebrows when her hand dove in deeper than the size of the bag, and pulled out a large brochure. “I have some basic literature on Hogwarts here for you: classes offered, extracurricular activities, profiles of the professors, and so forth.”

“That’s very helpful, thank you.”

“Do witches _actually_ wear pointed hats?” Hermione exclaimed as she read the lists of school supplies.

“I admit they are falling out of favour, but they are still part of the uniform, yes.”

“Um, we may have a problem,” Dan said as he reread Hermione’s acceptance letter for himself. “We were planning on flying home on the 27th. Is it possible to do the orientation later?”

McGonagall blinked and adjusted her spectacles. It had been a while since something like this had happened. She considered her schedule and said, “If you like, I can meet with you personally on the following weekend. Or, if you prefer, I can arrange to have your flight changed to a day earlier at no cost to yourselves.”

“You can ar…arrange…? What do you mean? It’s pretty hard to change flights at the last minute.”

With a barely-discernible _hmph_ , the witch answered, “Well, I suppose it might be considered bending the rules a bit by muggle—that is non-magical standards, but I assure you that we can do it quite easily—and above board.”

Emma wore a resigned look: “Well, then…I suppose we won’t have any trouble going back a day early. And I doubt we’ll be able to keep Hermione from trying to get a hold of these magical textbooks for another week.”

Mr. Granger smirked at that remark, and a gleam flittered through Hermione’s eyes. McGonagall couldn’t help but think, _Ravenclaw for sure, this one_.

But her thoughts were interrupted when the girl spoke up again: “Excuse me, ma’am, but none of these look like books for non-magical classes at all.”

“Hmm, she’s right,” Emma said, thumbing through the brochure again. “There’s no English classes, no—what did you call it? Muggle history? And not any kind of sciences or maths that I’ve heard of, unless it’s this Muggle Studies thing.”

“You’ve just _got_ to have maths classes,” Hermione insisted.

“Yes, just for starters,” Emma agreed, although Hermione was sure to need maths instruction far beyond what any secondary school could provide. “How is Hermione supposed to get a well-rounded education with classes so heavily biased toward magic?” She wondered to herself how she had got to the point of stringing those words together.

McGonagall held up a hand to stem the tide of questions. This _was_ a common question, though not one to which she had an ideal answer: “Now, then, it’s not quite as bad as it may look just from the course listings. Most of our classes have an essay component that is graded on language as well as content, so English is certainly not neglected. For maths, we offer an elective Arithmancy class beginning in third year that covers much of the same maths as muggle secondary school. I will admit that our curriculum is light on muggle sciences and history. We must cater to the needs of our students, and nearly all of our students, including muggle-borns—those from non-magical families—choose to live in our world. Our curriculum is designed to help our students succeed there.” She held up her hand again for the obvious next question. “You can of course, hire tutors to cover the remaining subjects, and magical education is only compulsory up through the fifth year. Very rarely, we do have students leave after their fifth year to take an early apprenticeship or prepare for a muggle university. If you like, I can put you in contact with some former students who have done so.”

Both Granger parents leaned back, digesting this information, though Hermione was still looking over the brochure and frowning.

“Well, I suppose all that does make a kind of sense,” Emma said. “At least she would keep her options open. What do you think, Dan?”

Dan stared at the ceiling. “I think I’m having the strangest dream of my life, and I’d like to wake up, now, please,” he mumbled. “But on the off chance this is real, I can’t see why it would hurt to go home early and go to the orientation. Hermione, what’s wrong?” he added when he saw his daughter’s face.

“You don’t have _any_ maths the first two years?” she said. “Do you think I could I test into the Arithmancy class, Professor?”

“Wha…? Test into…?” McGonagall sputtered. “Well, that would be _highly_ irregular. And I’m afraid that few students could do well in that class at your age, even clearly gifted ones like yourself.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen our Hermione around numbers, yet, Professor McGonagall,” Emma defended her daughter.

“I could show you what I’ve been working on,” the girl said, and before McGonagall could protest, she had disappeared in a flurry of brown hair and soon returned with a large book that she opened to a spot a little ways in and presented to her. “This is what Mr. Andrews has been teaching me this summer. I haven’t got that far yet, though. I’ve only got up through differentiation of rational functions.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed in confusion, then slowly grew to the size of saucers as she began to thumb through the book. It was a muggle textbook, yes, but this was the kind of maths used in N.E.W.T.-level Arithmancy, and in much more detail. McGonagall had _forgotten_ most of it, and she wondered if even Professor Vector knew all of it. “My goodness, you can really do this kind of work?”

“Of course.” Hermione started to explain how to do one of the problems, but McGonagall cut her off.

“That’s quite alright, Miss Granger, I believe you. Irregular it may be, but with maths skills like these, you could _teach_ the non-magical part of the class. I’ll ask Professor Vector if she is willing to interview you for a possible Arithmancy placement before you come to Hogwarts.”

Hermione giggled at the name Vector. “Thank you, Professor.”

With that crisis settled, McGonagall answered a few more of the family’s questions about the school and gave them a brief overview of the magical world. She was sure they would need time to fully understand everything that had happened, just like all the muggle-born families, but she confirmed that they would be at the orientation and promised to contact them through the hotel with their new travel arrangements.

After she left the hotel room, she waited until she was out of earshot before allowing herself a heavy sigh and wondering why it was always the most studious children who caused her the most trouble on these visits.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts after a long two days of visiting muggle-born families. As always, she was glad to be out of that muggle dress and back in proper witch’s robes. But it was too late that night to bother reporting in that night, so she didn’t head up to the Headmaster’s office until after breakfast the next morning.

As usual, she didn’t have to knock on Albus’s door before he called out a hearty “Ah, do come in, Minerva.” She entered the office and sat down among the many twittering contraptions (she had long suspected that most of them were completely useless, but Albus simply ignored any such comments about them).

“Sherbet lemon?” the Headmaster asked before popping one in his mouth himself.

“No, thank you.”

“So, the visits with the muggle-born students took longer than usual I see.”

“Yes, Albus. One of them turned out to be on holiday in Italy. I had to register an international portkey and rearrange a muggle aeroplane schedule to deal with her. Muggles travel so much these days, I’m beginning to think we should change our orientation procedures.”

“Hmm, perhaps a consideration for next year. No other troubles, then?”

“No more than usual, although I’ll need to talk to Septima about that one as well.”

Albus’s bushy eyebrows rose at that. “Septima? For a first-year student? Why would her involvement be needed?”

Minerva allowed herself a small smile. “Because if Miss Granger is as good as I think she is, Septima will want her for an apprentice before she’s through with her.”

Albus stroked his beard. “How intriguing,” he mused. “Good arithmancers are hard to find.”

“Indeed. So no problems here, then, Albus?”

“Only a spot of difficulty in contacting Harry Potter.” At that moment, one of the devices on the walls chimed six times. Albus rose to inspect it. “Oh dear, it appears that all six letters I sent to Mr. Potter this morning just triggered as lost.”

“Six!”

“Yes, this is the third day in a row. I’ll have to arrange another post to him for tomorrow.”

“Albus, if six letters couldn’t get through to the boy today, I can’t see how sending more will help. If I had to guess, I’d wager those awful relatives of his are keeping them from him.”

“Now, now, Minerva, I left specific instructions with them…”

“Specific instructions my foot, Albus,” Minerva cut him off. “I told you how awful those muggles were ten years ago. Perhaps I should visit the boy in person.”

“No, Minerva, you’re doing quite enough this week with the muggle-borns…I think that if Mr. Potter does not read his letter before his birthday, I’ll send Hagrid to deliver it,” Albus said with that characteristic twinkle in his eye. (Minerva had long ago decided that must be some kind of spell, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was.) “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see the boy again.”

Minerva thought about those prim and proper muggles’ likely reaction to the half-giant barging in on them and smiled in spite of herself. “Well, I suppose Hagrid _is_ up to the task,” she said.

* * *

The last month of summer was a whirlwind for Hermione. First, there was the orientation at King’s Cross, where she met Sally-Anne Perks, Sophie Roper, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, Kevin Entwhistle, and the last-minute addition, Dean Thomas. Then, there was the wonder of Diagon Alley, buying her robes, her supplies, her wand (at her insistence, Mr. Ollivander had let her try a few simple spells in his shop), and of course, her textbooks.

All of the books were fascinating, of course. She was surprised to find that several of the textbooks covered multiple years, making them even more useful. She bought the Arithmancy textbooks all the way up through seventh year, and even in the first one, she was amazed at how something as smooth and organic as magic could be broken down mathematically. She devoured the history books, too, trying to learn as much as she could about her new world. Her respect for Albus Dumbledore shot up several notches when she learnt that he single-handedly defeated Hitler’s dark wizard ally in World War II, but she was a little unnerved when _Modern Magical History_ described a terrorist who sounded like a comic book supervillain who was defeated by a boy named Harry Potter only a decade ago. There had been a civil war in Magical Britain back then—against the muggle-borns. She was certainly glad that she didn’t have to deal with that now.

In the meantime, Professor Vector had been nice enough to arrange a visit to her house to meet her a week after the orientation. At the appointed time, Emma Granger opened the front door to find a middle-aged woman with long black hair who was dressed in a flowing burgundy robe and a matching pointed hat, much like the strange dress of many of the people they had seen in Diagon Alley. Emma looked the woman up and down once before saying, “You _must_ be Professor Vector.”

Vector turned up her nose slightly and she answered haughtily, “And you must be Mrs. Granger. How do you do? I’m here for the interview with your daughter.”

Emma felt vaguely annoyed by the woman’s demeanour, but quickly invited her in and started some tea.

“Mr. Granger?” Vector shook Dan’s hand.

“How do you do?”

“And you must be Hermione.”

“Pleased to meet you, Professor Vector. Thank you for coming,” the girl said politely.

Vector shook her hand stiffly. The child didn’t look like much—all teeth and curls, not that appearances mattered. She was quite polite, though, and plainly excited, but to be honest, Vector wasn’t expecting much. She was only doing this as a favour to Minerva. Despite what her colleague said, she found it hard to believe that an eleven-year-old could qualify that highly in Arithmancy.

They retired to the living room, where the family sat down, and Vector cautiously took a chair, eyeing the electric lights and the switched-off television curiously. Unlike far too many of her fellow Slytherins, she had no quarrel with muggles, and she recognised how often muggle-borns outperformed their peers academically (there _was_ something to be said for muggle primary school), but she didn’t think she would ever get over the culture shock each time she entered their world.

“Thank you for the tea,” she told Emma. “Now, Miss Granger, I, of course, am Septima Vector, Professor of Arithmancy at Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall informed me that you are interested in testing into my third year Arithmancy class as a first year.”

Hermione looked nervous as Vector gave her a stern look, but she tried to answer calmly. “Yes, ma’am. It sounds terribly interesting—and useful because it deals with spellcrafting, according to _Numerology and Grammatica_. And I really wouldn’t want to go two years without a maths course. I want to keep it fresh in my memory.”

Well, she was certainly dedicated, Vector thought, especially to have started _Numerology and Grammatica_ already. “You should know that I have never before considered early placement for my classes,” she said. “Arithmancy is a very rigorous subject—in my opinion, the most rigorous taught at Hogwarts, and I expect a full effort from all of my students, regardless of their age.” Hermione started frowning. “However, Professor McGonagall informed me that your mathematical prowess is the finest she has ever seen from a first year, and she _insisted_ that I take a look. So if you could show me what kind of maths you have been taught, it would give me an idea of your possible placement.”

“Of course, ma’am. I’ve got my calculus book right here.” Hermione jumped up and grabbed the thick textbook from one of the stacks on the side table. She didn’t see Professor Vector twitch in surprise at the word “calculus.” She opened the book to the right section and said, “My lesson this week is differentiation of compound functions. In principle, it’s a very simple application of the Chain Rule. You just treat the inner function as a variable when taking the derivative of the outer function, then multiply it by the derivative of the inner function. Of course, with more complex functions, it can be very complicated—”

“Miss Granger,” Vector cut off the enthusiastic child, “may I see that book?”

“Of course, ma’am.” She handed it over, and Vector looked over the open pages. The description of the Chain Rule was correct, of course, and as she flipped to the previous pages, she was amazed to see the elements of calculus explained in such detail. The N.E.W.T.-level Arithmancy book was smaller than this one, and the maths parts only took up half of it. And the child certainly acted like she understood it, which would be astounding if true. Vector needed to see this for herself.

“Miss Granger, if I gave you an equation based on this material, would you be able to solve it for me?”

“Yes ma’am,” she nodded emphatically.

“Very well, do you have any parchment?”

Emma rolled her eyes. The fact that the magical world seemed to be stuck in the nineteenth century had not escaped her. “No, but we have a pen and paper right here.”

“Of course.” Vector took the unfamiliar muggle writing implements. Holding a pen should have been the same as holding a quill, but it still felt a little awkward. She began writing a formula for the Granger girl to differentiate. Just to be sure, she made it a fiendishly complicated formula, one that seventh-years would struggle with, which required her to apply the Chain Rule twice, and on a rational function at that. A good student would try and probably get a mostly-correct answer. A fake would be forced to give up at once. “Mm-hmm. Very good,” she said, handing the paper over. “Perhaps this one, then?”

Hermione paled when she saw the complex formula, but she set her face with a determined expression and got to work, leaning over the coffee table as she began figuring. Even watching it upside-down, Vector could see that the girl was serious, much to her surprise. She was definitely doing real algebra and what looked like real calculus. It took ten minutes of figuring, including checking her work twice and handing it back with a nervous look, but she finished it.

Vector looked over the paper. In neatly-written letters, Hermione had shown her work in great detail. The professor worked through each step herself, growing more and more excited as she found no mistakes. As she reached the end, she felt faint as her haughty, sceptical facade crumbled, and she was forced to conclude that the answer was correct. “Miss Granger,” she said, “do you realise that the majority of my seventh-year students could not solve this equation correctly as quickly as you have just done?”

Hermione smiled nervously, unsure what to say, but her father jumped in and said, “That’s our Hermione. She’s been doing secondary-level maths for years, now.”

“I should certainly say so,” Vector said, any hint of superiority in her voice gone. “That is without a doubt the most extraordinary display of mathematical prowess I have ever seen from a first-year student.” Hermione’s smile grew broader. “Of course, arithmancy is more than just calculus. For example, have you learnt multiplication of matrices, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, ma’am. That was in my Algebra II class.”

Vector didn’t particularly know was “Algebra II” meant, but she took another sheet of paper and wrote down two grids of nine numbers side by side. “I see. So perhaps you could multiply these matrices together, then?”

“Yes ma’am.” Hermione took the paper and started figuring.

Vector hadn’t thought she could be more impressed with this child after the calculus display, but she was wrong. She knew full well that the problem she had given her required forty-five arithmetic operations, and as she watched, Hermione worked it out, entirely in her head, in forty-five seconds. It actually took Vector longer to check the answer than it had taken her to compute it.

“I don’t know how you did that so fast, Miss Granger, but you are again correct…Well, then, I assume you have also learnt geometry and trigonometry?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent.” Vector drew up a complex geometric figure for which some of the distances and angles had to be solved. It required the use of both trigonometry and the geometry of circles, but Hermione made short work of it, giving the exact answers in terms of square roots.

“Well, Miss Granger, I think your mathematical skills are above reproach.” Vector was conversational now, although she was not about to compromise on quality. “However, if you place in my class, you will need to be adequately versed in the theory of magic as well. So, can you tell me why the wand motion is important when casting a charm?”

It was an easy question from _Magical Theory_ , which Hermione had, of course, already read, and she repeated the book’s explanation almost word-for-word: “The movement of the wand aligns the ambient magical energies with those embodied by the charm’s intended effects. This alignment of energies makes the charm much easier to cast, especially for beginning magic users.”

“Mm-hmm, very good…Something a little more difficult, then. What are the principle magical properties of the number seven?” That was straight out of chapter one of _Numerology and Grammatica_.

“Well, seven is the most magically powerful number. More spells include an arithmantic factor of seven than any other number, and in magical fields that include instances of sevenfold symmetry, the resonant energies often cause the magical effects to be more powerful and more stable. Numerologically, arranging objects in groups of seven can—”

“That’s enough, Miss Granger, thank you. It’s clear that you have read the course books very thoroughly. The important thing is that you can apply what you have learnt. For example, what is the geometric structure that describes the magical fields of the _Lumos_ Charm?” That was one of the homework questions for chapter three.

“A sphere, ma’am.”

“And why is that?”

“The _Lumos_ Charm produces light by confining the uncontrolled magical energies that produce sparks around the tip of the wand. The most efficient shape of the confining field is a sphere.”

Now _that_ was the kind of magical intuition Vector was looking for. And she surprised herself that she really was hoping to find it. Here was one of the most extraordinary minds she had ever seen, and she really wanted to see what the girl could do. She asked a few more questions along these lines and then decided to see just how far the she had got in her studies. “Alright, one last question,” she said. “What is the _arithmantic_ difference between a jinx and a hex?”

Hermione paled, and she looked down at her feet. “I…I don’t know, ma’am. I thought that jinxes were spells that were just irritating, and hexes were spells that were actually harmful…”

“That’s quite alright, Miss Granger, this is actually a fifth-year topic. The answer is that while the definitions you will learn in Defence Class are roughly correct, jinxes are described using algebraic equations, while hexes, which are more powerful spells, are described using transcendental equations.”

Hermione’s analytical mind started spinning at the implications of this, but she filed them away for future reference as the professor smiled and continued speaking.

“I must say, Miss Granger, in my twenty years of teaching, I have never seen a child with a greater aptitude for arithmancy at your age. I will inform Professor McGonagall to add third-year Arithmancy to your schedule when you arrive at Hogwarts.”

“Yes!” Hermione leapt to her feet and nearly tripped when she narrowly prevented herself from hugging the professor. Instead, she managed to restrain herself to shaking the witch’s hand vigorously. “Thank you! Thank you, so much, Professor Vector. I won’t let you down.”

“No, Miss Granger, I’m sure you won’t.” Vector looked back to the girl’s parents. Her father was beaming with pride, and her mother looked more than a little smug. She probably deserved that, she admitted. She gave the family a brief outline of the full five-year curriculum and answered a few more questions about Hogwarts and the wizarding world in general. She noted that Emma was quick to ask about career prospects, but of course she could say they were quite diverse for a skilled arithmancer.

As a bit of a courtesy (and a suddenly renewed curiosity), Vector asked a few questions about the muggle world, and in particular, what they used their advanced maths for. While she only understood about half of their answers, that half was impressive. The applications to muggle sciences were amazing, like that mission of sending people to the Moon that Professor Sinistra always raved about. Equally impressive was Hermione’s knowledge of these endeavours, even if they weren’t up to her level in pure maths.

When she finally took her leave, Vector shook her head and thought, _That girl_ _’s going to have my job by the time she graduates._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Only JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not JK Rowling. Therefore, I do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
> 
> I have taken some liberties with the layout of the castle to try to mesh the books with the more elaborate and varying layout of the movies, and to facilitate some cool things that will happen later on.

With her last reservations about Hogwarts dispelled, Hermione eagerly awaited the 1st of September. Her parents weren’t as enthusiastic about sending her off to boarding school as she was about going (not to mention they were still trying to wrap their heads around the whole magic thing), but she could tell they were genuinely happy for her. They assured her that her calculus book would be enough to get her through Christmas when she asked for differential equations, though, and they made her promise to try to make some friends. Before she knew it, she was saying goodbye to them and boarding the Hogwarts Express.

“Have fun at school,” her mother told after her. “Be sure to write us.” Her father lifted her heavy trunk onto the train.

“Yes, Mum,” she said as she climbed on board. “I love you.”

She waved to her parents and then walked down the train a ways, looking into the various compartments. She felt a little like the older students kept looking down on her, but she wasn’t too worried yet; secondary school hadn’t been too different the first day.

She found an empty compartment and went ahead and changed into her Hogwarts robes to get that out of the way. Then, she sat down and pulled out her copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ , one of the books she hadn’t got around to finishing yet. She’d read through all the course books, naturally, and even memorised the spell lists. She’d met a girl with a photographic memory at secondary school last year who once encouraged her to memorise whole books, but while Hermione’s own memory was very good, it wasn’t _that_ good. With as much background reading as she was doing, it wasn’t worth the time to read through everything three times to learn it by heart.

A pair of first year girls who looked to be close friends entered her compartment and introduced themselves as Susan and Hannah as the train got underway. They were both pureblood witches, but they were nice enough. She asked them about the houses at Hogwarts. Both Susan’s and Hannah’s families usually went to Hufflepuff, but Hermione couldn’t decide whether Gryffindor of Ravenclaw sounded the best to her. They chatted for a little while about the differences between their two worlds, but Hermione felt as if she were speaking a foreign language when she tried to explain electricity to them.

She was about to give up and return to her book when a pudgy first-year boy showed up at their door with tears in his eyes. “Sorry…have any of you seen a toad?” he whimpered. “I can’t find him.”

Susan and Hannah just shook their heads, but Hermione stood up and said, “No, there haven’t been any toads in here. Where did you last see him?”

“Back at the end of the train,” the boy said.

“Well, let’s look back there, then. I’ll help you. He’s not that fast, is he?”

“I don’t know…I never see Trevor move very fast, but he keeps disappearing.” He seemed to suppress another whimper.

They looked in the first couple of compartments and didn’t see anything. This would be easier with some kind of detection or summoning spell, but there weren’t any of those that would be useful in the first year books.

“I’m Hermione Granger, by the way,” she said remembering her promise to make some friends. “What’s your name?”

“Neville,” he said, and then, as if as an afterthought, “Neville Longbottom.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

The next compartment they checked contained two first-year boys, a taller one with flaming red hair, and a small, skinny one with messy black hair. He should really try to comb it, Hermione thought. “ _Has anyone seen a toad? Neville_ _’s lost one_ ,” she said, but she didn’t even hear the redheaded boy’s reply when she noticed that he held his wand in his hand. Maybe she could finally see some serious magic firsthand.

_“Oh, are you doing magic? Let’s see it, then.”_

_She sat down. The boy looked taken aback._

_“Er—all right.”_

_He cleared his throat._

_“Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow,_

_Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow._ _”_

_He waved his wand, but nothing happened. The rat stayed grey and fast asleep._

_“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” said Hermione. “Well, it’s not very good is it. I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice, and it’s all worked for me._ And _Numerology and Grammatica_ says that most spells aren’t even in English because the syllable structure has to match up with the wand movements, and English has fewer syllables than most Western languages.”

“The syllable what, now?” the redhead said, but Hermione was still talking.

“ _Nobody in my family_ _’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter._ But I was ever so pleased when Professor Vector said I could take Arithmancy to continue my maths studies. I’ve read all the other course books too, of course— _I just hope it will be enough—I_ _’m Hermione Granger by the way, who are you_?” She stopped short as she realised that she had been talking over the two boys at a mile a minute, and they were now staring at each other in surprise.

“I’m Ron Weasley,” the redhead muttered.

“Harry Potter, the other boy said.

Hermione’s eyes widened. Of course, she had added up the numbers and figured out that Harry Potter would be starting at Hogwarts this year, but the scrawny boy in ill-fitting clothes in front of her was not at all what she had expected. All the books painted him as some great and powerful hero.

 _“Are you really?” she said. “I know all about you, of course—I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in_ Modern Magical History _and_ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and_ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century _._ _”_ Although come to think of it, now, how could they know anything about him if he really had been raised by muggles like they said, and no one had seen him for the last ten years?

_“Am I?” said Harry, looking dazed._

_“Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me,”_ she said. Harry just shrugged his shoulders.

“Are you really taking Arithmancy?” Neville finally broke his silence. “That’s a third year class.”

“Oh yes, Professor Vector came and tested me and she said I could start it right away as an extra class.”

“Blimey,” Ron interrupted. “Why would you want to take an extra class?”

Well, that settled her opinion of Ron Weasley. “Because it’s ever so interesting. I’ve been taking extra maths classes all through primary school, and Arithmancy uses a lot of maths. And in the fifth year class, we even get to invent our own spells. Anyway, we’d better try to find Neville’s toad before we arrive. I expect we’ll be there soon.”

The two of them went on to the next compartment. “Do you know what house you’ll be in, Neville?” she asked.

“Probably Hufflepuff,” he said sadly. “But my Gran wants me to be in Gryffindor like my Dad.”

A couple of compartments later, they finally found his toad, and the boy shook her hand and thanked her profusely. That problem solved, Hermione began wonder how much longer it would be. It was getting dark outside. _Well, nothing for it_ , she thought. She worked her way to the very front of the train, past the first car that held the prefects who were not on patrol (she made sure to memorise as many of their faces as she could in case she needed help later), until she reached the conductor.

“Excuse me, sir,” she called to him. “Could you tell me when we’ll arrive?”

“Aye, we’re almost there, lass,” the conductor said. “About twenty more minutes, we’ll be at Hogsmeade Station.”

“Thank you.” She hurried back to her compartment to get her luggage, but as she approached, she heard a commotion. There was shouting coming from a few cabins down. As she approached the cabin, the one she recognised as containing Harry Potter, a prefect came from the other direction, and suddenly the door burst open. A smarmy-looking blond boy and two larger, tough boys came storming out towards her down the hall. The pushed past her roughly with the prefect following close behind, shouting at them. _How childish!_ she thought.

She ducked into the cabin to escape the chaos only to find it again on the inside. The two boys’ piles of sweets were scattered all over the floor, and Ron Weasley was picking up his pet rat by the tail.

“What _has_ been going on?” she said. “And why are you hurting your poor rat?”

“He won’t feel it. Those gits knocked him out,” Ron said, examining the rat closely. “No, wait—I don’t believe it! He’s gone to sleep again!” He set the rat back on the seat. “So you’ve met Malfoy before?” he said to Harry.

“Malfoy?” Hermione said. “Is he one of those boys that—”

“Yeah, the little blond ponce,” Harry said with surprising annoyance. “I ran into him when I was getting my robes in Diagon Alley. He was all about how he wanted to be in Slytherin, and he kept making fun of Hufflepuff House and Hagrid and muggle-born wizards.”

Hermione made a mental note to stay far away from Malfoy.

“Everyone’s heard about his family,” Ron said darkly. “They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been under _Imperius_ —that’s the mind control curse—but a lot of people don’t believe them. My Dad says the Malfoys have been dark all the way back to the Conquest.”

“Who was You-Know-Who, anyway?” Hermione asked. “None of the books I read would even print his name.”

“Hagrid told me,” Harry said, glancing at Ron, who seemed to brace himself. “It’s Voldemort, but no one likes to say it.”

“But why? It’s just a bad French pun.”

“It’s…huh…” Ron said, surprised. “I never noticed that…But still, you just don’t say it. You’re muggle-born—no offence, but you haven’t heard the stories.”

“I’ve read the books,” Hermione defended herself.

The five-minute warning sounded through the train, informing them all to be ready to go and to leave their luggage to be handled separately.

“Sorry, would you mind leaving while we change?” Ron said.

“Alright. Oh, and did you know you’ve got dirt on your nose?” She was trying to be helpful, but Ron scoffed at her as she left.

Since she didn’t need to get her luggage, she decided to line up by the doors. She was glad she did, as a crowd was rapidly forming. The train slowed to a stop and everyone pushed out onto a small dark platform.

A single lantern bobbed along the platform. It looked as if someone was holding it over their head, but when it approached the middle of the crowd, it amazingly rose up even higher, and Hermione found herself looking up into the face of the largest man she had ever seen.

He was somewhere between eleven and twelve feet tall, she estimated. He must not be fully human. Not giant, though. She’d read about them, and they were even bigger—maybe half and half, though, if it were possible. He wore a huge, black, bushy beard and seemingly-uncombed hair, and he boomed out in a rough-sounding voice, _“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here! All right there Harry?”_ This must be the Hagrid that Harry was talking about. _“C’mon follow me—any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!”_

Hagrid led them down a steep, narrow path that appeared to be cut through a forest. Hermione thought they ought to put in hand rails or stairs or something to navigate it in this darkness. She couldn’t see any of the grounds from here, but then the path opened onto the edge of a loch, the water blacker than pitch under the starry sky. Beyond the loch was a high mountain atop which sat Hogwarts Castle, its windows glittering against the backdrop of stars.

Even Hermione couldn’t help oooooh-ing at the beauty of the castle with the other students. She had read all about it on the train, and it was not too different from how she had pictured it, with its many turrets and towers, but it was huge: seven stories tall, and the highest towers had to be over two hundred feet, taller than any muggle castle she’d ever heard of. Some of the architectural features she was certain could only be supported with magic.

She barely noticed as she found herself in a little boat with Neville, Ron, and Harry, being entirely focused on the castle as it loomed higher and higher and drew closer and closer. The lake was as smooth as glass. The many boats barely made the slightest ripple. That must be part of the magic, too, she realised, and her mind blossomed with the possibilities for using magic to enhance the beauty of nature on such a grand scale.

“Trevor? Trevor! Where’s he gone, now?” Neville cried, looking around the boat for his toad.

“Heads down!” Hagrid ordered. They all ducked as they reached the entrance to a cave and passed through a curtain of ivy. They were in a long dark tunnel, but Hermione thought she saw glints of light off the wall. She let her eyes adjust and saw angular shapes. Crystals! They were in a crystal cave that would have to be incomparably stunning if it were lit properly, but the wizards seemed to be all but ignoring it. They sailed far enough in that they must be underneath the castle when they reached a small underground harbour.

The harbour was lit by a few torches, but they still only gave a haunting hint of the splendour of the walls of quartz surrounding them—though she supposed that, lit as if by starlight in the flickering flames, it had a kind of subdued beauty all its own. She saw a large staircase rising from one side of the harbour and another dark tunnel extending directly forward.

The first years clambered out of the boats onto rocks and pebbles and little bits of quartz. Hermione discreetly picked up a few of them and put them in her pocket to look at later. She had an odd feeling about them. Hagrid, she noted, found Neville’s toad again, not in their own boat, but in a different one. Hagrid was about to lead them up the stairway, when Hermione stepped forward and pointed down the dark tunnel: “Please, Mr. Hagrid, where does that go?”

“That? Oh, that goes to the Foundation Stones of the Castle, of course,” the huge man said, as if that explained everything. She added it to her mental list of things to look up in the library when she had the time.

Hermione estimated the stairway to be about two hundred feet high based on what she had seen of the cliff outside, winding up through another dark passage that slowly morphed from quartz to granite as they climbed upwards. Hagrid took the steps three at a time like they were nothing, but the group of eleven-year-olds behind him quickly began to tire. Luckily, there was a landing about halfway up where the stairs doubled back that was large enough for them to rest for a few minutes. Hermione was very glad now that she didn’t have to carry her own trunk. It was hard enough with these heavy woollen robes.

The stairs came out in a small, grassy courtyard just at the edge of the cliff. If Hermione’s sense of direction hadn’t failed her, the dark tunnel to the Foundation Stones must have ended up under the largest tower. The students staggered out into the open and up to the great oaken front doors. Even Hagrid looked small against those doors, but he still made plenty of noise when he raised a fist the size of a bowling ball and pounded on them three times.

The doors swung open in a rush, revealing…Professor McGonagall. Hermione sighed with relief when she saw the familiar witch standing in the entranceway wearing an elegant emerald green robe. The first years followed her inside, their footsteps echoing in the enormous entrance hall. The sheer scale of the place was incredible. The marble staircase that rose up to her right was probably the broadest she had ever seen after the Spanish Steps in Rome. She could hear a drone of hundreds of voices somewhere up ahead, but Professor McGonagall first led them into a small annex near the doors in order to explain the Sorting, the Houses, and the House Cup. This was probably a review for most people whose parents had gone to Hogwarts or who had read the brochures, but it was good to remember.

_“How exactly do they sort us into houses?” Harry asked Ron._

_“Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking.”_

_A test?_ Hermione thought. That seemed unlikely since they all knew little-to-no magic. And it didn’t seem like the houses were ranked like a test would do. And they certainly wouldn’t hurt the students to sort them…would they? All the other first years looked very nervous, and Herimone was finding it was contagious. She guessed it was some kind of tradition not to tell the first-years how the Sorting was done—a tradition she was approving of less with each passing moment. She whispered the spell lists she had memorised to herself to calm her nerves, but this only made the others around her more nervous.

Then she screamed.

She felt embarrassed at once, as she had read about the Hogwarts Ghosts that afternoon, but it was still jarring to see pale, transparent spirits floating out of the wall and gliding on toward the feast. _Dead people!_ That was going to be hard to get used to. At least she wasn’t the only one who screamed. Harry had leapt about a foot in the air.

And yet, what a wealth of knowledge! Some of them had lived centuries ago. Between the ghosts and the magical portraits she had read about, there was probably more history to be told than was contained in the library.

McGonagall soon returned and led them out of the annex and across to the double doors of the Great Hall. Hermione had been waiting to see this most of all, and she wasn’t disappointed. It was easily the most magical place she had yet seen, and her anxiety at the impending Sorting was momentarily forgotten as she took in its splendour. The long wooden tables were impossibly luxurious, with golden (or at least gold-plated) plates and goblets. The professors were lined up at another long table at the head of the Hall, and at the centre, the most powerful wizard in the world, Albus Dumbledore himself, sat on a golden throne. Above the tables, floating candles filled the hall from just over the students’ heads to the ceiling—a little over nine thousand, at a quick estimate—filling the Hall with a warm, homey sort of light. They flickered as the ghosts floated through them, seemingly oblivious.

The ceiling itself was velvety black and dotted with stars just visible through the candles. It was so well camouflaged that it looked as if the Hall were simply open to the heavens. Astronomy class would be wonderful here so far from any cities or towns, or, indeed, anyone who used electricity.

The girl behind her elbowed her, and she looked forward again to see Professor McGonagall placing a wooden stool and and old, patched-up, dirty witch’s hat at the front of the Hall. There was complete silence, and she wondered how a hat could be part of the Sorting when a seam on the hat ripped open and it began _to sing_.

The “Hogwarts Sorting Hat’s’ musical skills left much to be desired. Hermione actually winced at the loyal-toil rhyme. But when the song ended, the Hall burst into applause. She politely clapped along.

Then McGonagall called the roll. Hannah and Susan went first, back to back. Sure enough, they both went to “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Hermione admired the brilliant simplicity of the Sorting process, even if she was a little unnerved by the idea that a hat could read her mind. Seriously, “There’s nothing hidden in your head the Sorting Hat can’t see,” sounded kind of creepy.

Seamus Finnigan went to “GRYFFINDOR!” after the hat sat on his head for nearly a minute, and Hermione’s apprehension grew again. What if the hat couldn’t sort her? What if the hat threw her into Slytherin where all the unsavoury characters seemed to be going? She barely noticed as Anthony Goldstein went to “RAVENCLAW!” and Gregory Goyle was almost instantly sent to “SLYTHERIN!”

“Granger, Hermione,” McGonagall called.

She ran to the podium, mainly because she was so tense that her only other option was to turn on her heels and run away. She jammed the hat on her head, and it immediately shouted out “RAV—” then stopped. “No, perhaps not…” the hat murmured in a voice only she could her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hat,” she whispered, or perhaps she only thought it. “What’s wrong with Ravenclaw?”

A little to her surprise, the hat answered: “Oh, you would be great in Ravenclaw, no doubt about it. I haven’t had the pleasure of sorting a mind like yours in over fifty years. But I do not send students to the house where they would excel with ease, but to the house that they need to realise their full potential. And there is more than raw brainpower in _your_ head. There is a spark of something greater—a spark that must be cultivated, and for that job, you’d better be…GRYFFINDOR!”

Hermione smiled with relief to be sorted into one of her two preferred houses, even as she began to ponder what the Sorting Hat had said. The students applauded, especially the Gryffindor Table, but as she placed the hat back on the stool, she was sure she saw a faint look of surprise on Professor McGonagall’s face. Unbeknownst to her, at the High Table, Professors Vector and Flitwick also wore looks of surprise, while Dumbledore appeared thoughtful.

Hermione all but skipped to the table and sat down next to the tallest of the redheaded boys, whom she recognised as the prefect who was chasing Malfoy on the train. A set of redheaded twins were sitting opposite him, and a ghost with a nasty cut across his throat was a little further down.

“Congratulations on making Gryffindor, Miss Granger,” the prefect said quietly, offering his hand to shake. “I’m Percy Weasley, fifth year prefect.”

“Pleased to meet you, Percy,” Hermione said in between sortings. “I met your brother, Ron, on the train.”

“Oh yes, ickle Ronniekins,” one of the twins said.

“Do hope he makes Gryffindor,” the other twin said.

“Can’t imagine what would happen—”

“—if he were in Slytherin.”

“The green would clash horribly with his hair.”

“Not to mention Mum would kill him.”

“Fred. George. Cool it,” Percy scolded. They paused as the Hall applauded for another student.

“But congrats on Gryffindor,” the one she thought was Fred said.

“Yes, haven’t seen the hat change its mind like that before,” George added.

“Classes haven’t even started, and she’s already shaking things up, brother.”

“Indeed, a woman after our own hearts.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Granger,” the twins said in unison with a small bow of their heads.

“Pleasure,” Hermione replied uncomfortably. Seriously, were these two reading each other’s minds?

At the front of the Hall, McGonagall said, “Potter, Harry.”

Silence descended, only to be broken by a rising wave of whispers as the skinny, messy-haired boy slowly walked up to the stool and put on the hat. The hat’s seam was undulating strangely, and, watching closely, she could see Harry’s lips moving. He must be having a conversation with the hat, too. She wondered what he was saying.

After about half a minute, the hat screamed out, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The hall erupted with shouts and cheers far louder than anyone else had got. The whole Gryffindor table shot to its feet, and Hermione was caught up with them, applauding for the extremely relieved looking boy who was now making his way toward them. Fred and George started loudly chanting, “We got Potter! We got Potter!,” and Percy reached out and shook his hand vigorously before Harry finally sat down next to her.

The last few students were sorted. Hermione clapped loudly when Ron was sorted into Gryffindor and sat on Harry’s other side after being congratulated by his brothers. And finally, Blaise Zabini went to “SLYTHERIN!”

It was then that Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet, smiling broadly, his arms spread wide like Moses, his long hair and beard shining silver as if they had been charmed to glow in the candlelight. _“Welcome,” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!”_

Hermione sat still, her eyes wide. _This_ was the greatest wizard alive? The Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and defeater of Grindelwald?

_“Is he—a bit mad?” Harry asked Percy uncertainly._

_“Mad?” said Percy airily. “He’s a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”_

Hermione looked down at the table to find a marvellous feast had appeared in the blink of an eye: seven kinds of meat, piles of vegetables, ketchup, gravy, and…peppermint humbugs? Not her first choice, but still, the rest of it looked delicious, and it most certainly was…until she took a sip out of her goblet.

“Ugh,” she said, screwing up her face. “What _is_ this stuff?”

“Pumpkin juice,” Percy said lightly.

“ _Pumpkin_ juice?”

“You’ll get used to it.”

She was about to respond when she witnessed something even more disgusting: the ghost across the table “nearly” removed his head from his body. Hermione raised her napkin to her nose and mouth and took a deep breath to prevent herself from losing her dinner when she’d barely started it. Hermione had seen pictures of dissections in her parent’s medical textbooks, but she definitely didn’t need to see it in person.

Desperate to change the subject back to something, well, living, she turned to Harry. The boy barely seemed disgusted at all by the blood-stained ghosts. In fact, he was scarfing his food. It made her wonder a little, since he was so small—not unhealthy, as far as she could tell—but definitely small.

“So what did the Sorting Hat say to you?” she whispered to him.

“Huh?” he looked at her nervously.

“I saw your lips moving. I was wondering what you talked about…I’m sorry, it’s alright if you don’t want to say.”

Harry swallowed and took a swig of pumpkin juice, grimacing only a little at the strange drink. “Um…did it…did it talk to you?” he said.

“Uh huh. It said I’d do well in Ravenclaw, but it wasn’t what I ‘needed.’”

Harry looked surprised at that, and he cautiously whispered so that no one else could hear, “It…it said I’d do well in Slytherin, but I asked it not to put me there.”

“You can do that? Well…I think if you didn’t want to go there, it probably wasn’t right for you, anyway.” Harry seemed to accept this and went back to his steak.

As soon as everyone was done eating the dinner, desert appeared on the table in amazing variety. Finally away from her parents’ watchful eyes, Hermione helped herself to ice cream, apple pie, and a chocolate eclair.

“So, Miss Granger,” Percy said, perhaps a little patronisingly. “Are you excited for classes to start?”

“Oh, yes! I _do_ hope they start right away. Professor Vector’s letting me start Arithmancy this year, but I’m interested in Transfiguration, too.”

“Arithmancy?” Percy said in surprise. “I’ve never heard of someone taking an elective early. You must be _really_ good to have convinced Professor Vector. She’s quite strict.”

“Oh, you take Arithmancy?”

“Of course. It’s a very useful class if you’re willing to put in the effort. You’ll be starting small, though—predictions and probability tables, that sort of thing—What is it?” Percy asked Harry, who seemed to have come down with a sudden headache.

“N-nothing,” Harry said, although Hermione thought it was strange that he immediately asked about Professor Snape, the potions master, afterwards. She filed it away for future reference.

_At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent._ _“Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start of term notices to give you._

_“First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.” Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.”_

Hermione decided that she should _definitely_ be careful around those two.

_“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”_

_Good to know_ , she thought.

_“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch._

_“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”_

_What?_ Hermione thought. What kind of warning was _that_? Wasn’t that just _inviting_ people to go up there? And why would they have something that could cause a “very painful death” in a school in the first place?

_“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. He gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words._

_“Everyone pick their favourite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”_

After that “performance,” it was easy to see where the Sorting Hat got its musical tastes. Hermione had done some music, and there were musical clubs at Hogwarts she had been interested in, but she now had to wonder about the quality of those clubs.

They were dismissed, and Percy led the first years up to the Gryffindor dormitories, along the “quickest route.” Unfortunately, the quickest route involved going up staircases that “liked to change” or had a vanishing step, walking through sliding panels and behind tapestries, and evading the castle poltergeist. Giving a password to the portrait of the Fat Lady was one thing, but the rest of it was just asking to get lost for days. Hermione resolved to try to get a map of the castle from someone, and if she couldn’t find one, she would step off the corridors and start making one herself next weekend.

* * *

Hermione was sure that she would get plenty of exercise at Hogwarts just climbing up to her dormitory. It was seven flights up from the Great Hall to the Common Room and another seven to her bedroom.

“Just our luck first years get the top floor this year,” said a girl with curly, dirty-blond hair in front of her.

“I know, I can’t believe they expect us to climb up and down these things every day,” said one of the Patil twins—Parvati, she was pretty sure. “I’ve heard Slytherin and Hufflepuff have all their rooms on the same floor…I’ll bet Padma’s got the same problem as us, though.”

“Augh, finally!” the blond-haired girl said. Hermione nearly ran into her as she reached the door. “Oh, hi, I’m Lavender Brown,” the girl said, turning around.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Parvati Patil,” the other girl said in as they opened the door.

Their bedroom was nearly semi-circular, with five four-poster beds lining the outside wall, alternating with windows. A small lavatory was visible through a door at the far end. A trunk had been placed at the foot of each bed, along with a calico cat sleeping on one of the beds. Hermione saw her own trunk at the spot nearest the door.

“It looks like the beds are assigned,” she said.

“We can switch them if you want,” Lavender offered.

“No, thanks. I think I’m good—”

They stopped as they heard a huffing and puffing sound, and a moment later, two more dishevelled-looking girls came staggering into the room supporting each other.

“Sally-Anne, are you okay?” Hermione rushed to help the ethereal, dark-haired girl she had met at the orientation.

“I’d like to file a complaint with whoever designed this place,” Sally-Anne said weakly, spotting her trunk and making her way to her bed.

The other girl, who wore light blond hair in multiple, asymmetric braids leaned against the door and explained, “That boy, Neville, tried to come up our stairs by mistake, and they turned into a slide, and we fell on top of him.”

“Oh, no,” the other three girls groaned.

“My name’s Lily Moon, by the way,” she added. The other girls all introduced themselves.

“Pleased to meet you,” Sally-Anne told them wearily. “I’m gonna go to sleep, now.” She flopped down onto her bed and was out like a light.

They watched her queerly for a moment, then turned their attention back to Lily.

“Is that you cat?” Lavender asked, pointing at the calico.

“Yes, that’s Wendelin.”

“Aw, she’s so adorable.”

“Yeah, just watch out when she wakes up. She’ll steal your socks.” The other girls giggled.

Hermione considered doing some more reading, but she found that she was so tired after the train ride and that big feast that it wasn’t worth the trouble. She settled on organising her books for the week’s classes on her bedside table before going to sleep, wishing the professors would hand out the schedules more than an hour before classes started.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Mathematically speaking, my ownership of any rights to the Harry Potter franchise is 0%.
> 
> Thanks to aplusbex for pointing out that there may be some confusion about what maths Arithmancy covers. Basically, N.E.W.T.s are equivalent to A-levels, which do include calculus.
> 
> Thanks to everyone else who suggested ideas about arithmancy and spellcrafting. I have some of my own as well, but I’ve made notes on all of them.

Breakfast the next morning was served Scottish style with black pudding, lorne sausage, and tattie scones alongside the bacon, eggs, and toast. The floating candles from the feast the night before were gone, and the Hall was brightly lit by the sunlight streaming through the windows and the blue sky on the enchanted ceiling above. Overhead, a whole parliament of owls came winging its way into the Hall, delivering letters and the occasional parcel to students and professors alike. Hermione hadn’t quite believed (or wanted to believe) that owls were the main component of the post system in the magical world, but she couldn’t deny it now.

Hermione sat near Percy again. The other Weasleys were scattered around a few seats away. Percy fielded a few questions from the other first years until Professor McGonagall approached him.

“Mr. Weasley, the first years’ class schedules,” she told him.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said, rising to pass them out.

McGonagall then touched Hermione on the shoulder and told her, “Miss Granger, your first class will be Transfiguration with me in Classroom 1B on the first floor. Please come early. I will need to discuss your schedule with you personally.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, wondering if there had been a problem with the scheduling. She hoped there wouldn’t be anything to disrupt her plans.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by one of the second years across from her whispering, “There look, next to the other Weasley.”

“Wearing the glasses?” the boy’s friend said. They were obviously talking about Harry Potter.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I can’t see a scar from here. Did you see it?”

“Yeah, like a lightning bolt, just like everyone says.”

“That’s not very polite, you know,” Hermione interrupted them. They stared at her in surprise. “Talking about him behind his back like that.”

“It’s _Harry Potter_ ,” the first boy said, as if that made it alright.

“So? He’s just here to learn, like the rest of us.”

The second boy rolled his eyes. “You must be muggle-born.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing!” the first boy said quickly. “It’s just that you wouldn’t know how important Harry Potter is to the rest of us.”

“Well, he doesn’t know it either. I met him on the train yesterday, and he said he was muggle-raised—”

But there was a clatter as the two boys dropped their silverware and leaned toward her over the table, wide-eyed. “You met him?” the second boy said. “What’s he like?”

She groaned to herself. “You know, you could just talk to him like a normal person.” She finished her breakfast quickly after that, trying to avoid being asked any more such questions, and trudged up to her dormitory for her Transfiguration book. She considered taking the whole stack, but she decided she’d never be able to haul them back up the stairs that afternoon. Most of those books were pretty big.

She made it to Classroom 1B at a quarter to nine, easily the first student in the room, despite the difficulty of finding her way. There was only one fully enclosed connection between the residential and academic wings of the Castle, and it was down on the ground floor. Professor McGonagall was waiting for her when she arrived.

“Miss Granger. Good,” McGonagall said. “I have your class schedule here. There was only one small difficulty. The third-year Arithmancy class conflicts with the first year Gryffindor-Ravenclaw History of Magic class. Now, I _was_ able to remedy this by placing you in the Hufflepuff-Slytherin section, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh—of, course, Professor,” Hermione said quickly once she realised she’d been asked a question.

“Good. I’ve placed your name on Professor Binns’s roster for that section. However, as Professor Binns’s memory for anything that’s happened since 1954 is questionable on the best of days, it is possible that he may fail to recognise you or call on you. Please see me if you have any problems with him.”

Well, _that_ was reassuring. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Here is your schedule Miss Granger. I’ll also write you a pass for Professor Quirrell’s class so you have time to get your other books after this.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Hermione took her seat and looked over the slip of parchment. She had Defence, Herbology, and History today—she would need her gloves as well as her books—and Charms and Arithmancy tomorrow. She balked when she saw Thursday: Astronomy ended at two in the morning, and she had to be up in time for Charms at ten-thirty. Then Potions only met on Friday for some reason, though the word on Professor Snape didn’t exactly have her looking forward to that one.

The other students began to file in, her fellow Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs. Hannah and Susan waved to her as they took their seats. Ron and Harry were the last to arrive, running in and just barely beating the first bell.

Then Professor McGonagall stood and addressed the class: “Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor and five points to Hufflepuff for everyone getting to their first class on time.” She must have a very good memory to rely on a head count and skip calling the roll after having only seen most of them at the Sorting, Hermione thought.

_“Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts,” she said. “Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned._

“It is extremely important that you understand the fundamental rules governing transfiguration because it is easier here than in most branches of magic for something to go wrong. I want you all to write this clearly at the top of your notes and memorise it.” She wrote in large letters on the blackboard: _Some transfiguration is permanent, and some is not._

“Some transfiguration is permanent, and some is not,” she repeated aloud.

Hermione nodded to herself as she wrote the words at the top of her notes. This had been explained in graphic detail in the first chapter of _A Beginner_ _’s Guide to Transfiguration_ , but it was serious enough to require a strong reminder.

“For example,” McGonagall said, “this is _not_ a permanent transfiguration.” She waved her wand over her desk, and the desk changed into a pig. The class cheered and some of them laughed, but McGonagall held up her hand. They instantly fell silent again. “This is _not_ a permanent transfiguration,” she repeated. “Left alone, it would change back into a desk within a few hours. Nor is it, in strictest terms, a pig, but only a magical construct that looks and behaves _like_ a pig—and that only as well as _my own_ knowledge of pigs allows. For any transfiguration, permanent or not, the result is only as good as the image in your mind.”

She changed the pig-construct back to a desk and picked up the chalk again, writing a number one under the first line. “Now, under this line, you will write the most important safety rules of transfiguration. First, transfigured food is not edible. Say that with me, please…Transfigured food is not edible. You are not attempt to transfigure any food in this class or outside of it. We will _not_ be covering that topic.

“In _most_ cases, it will be obvious that transfigured food is not edible from the taste and smell, which is why this is not an even more dire rule than it is already. But transfigured food may look right; it may smell right; and if it is done extremely well, it may even taste right, but it is _not_ edible. It won’t kill you unless it was transfigured from something poisonous, but it will make you quite ill, and we don’t want to have any of that.

“Second,” she continued, writing the next line on the blackboard, “transfigured clothing will change back at the worst possible time.” This prompted some giggles from the class, but McGonagall remained stern. “It may sound funny now, but the risk is much greater than mere embarrassment. You don’t want to have to worry about your robes untransfiguring themselves when the worst possible time is in a dark alley, or in the middle of a snowstorm.” That sobered the class up. “You are not to attempt to mend or modify any clothing using transfiguration in this class unless you are specifically instructed to do so,” she concluded.

“Third, transfiguring money is illegal and will rarely fool anyone. I shouldn’t even have to tell you that one. Most people can’t make transfigured gold or silver last long enough to fool anyone anyway, but there always seems to be one person in Professor Dumbledore’s Alchemy class who doesn’t get the message. It _is_ illegal, and the goblins in particular do not take kindly to it.” Some members of the class shuddered, having seen the goblins in action at Gringotts.

“Fourth, and most importantly, human transfiguration should _never_ be attempted below N.E.W.T. level. Again, human transfiguration should _never_ be attempted below N.E.W.T. level. Transfiguring any living subject is more difficult than normal, and human transfiguration is particularly dangerous when it goes wrong, although it is _usually_ reversible. You will not attempt to transfigure _any_ living subject unless specifically instructed, and you will not attempt human transfiguration on yourself or anyone else, _even if instructed_. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Professor.” To their credit, every student answered. Minerva McGonagall’s presence was that commanding, especially when she was talking about things that were _usually_ reversible.

“We will revise these rules several times over the course of the year, and we will study in depth the consequences should they be broken. I expect all of you to keep them most scrupulously. I have not had any students permanently injured by transfiguration during my tenure at Hogwarts, and I do not intend to break that streak.

“Today, then, we will begin with the free transfiguration of a matchstick into a needle. This is not the easiest transfiguration, even with its small scale, because any kind of metal is difficult, but I believe in laying the groundwork early for the more conceptually challenging forms of transfiguration later on…”

Professor McGonagall spent most of the period explaining in great detail exactly how transfiguration worked on a fundamental magical level, the silent incantation for free transfiguration and how it related to the actual transformation, and the mental concepts of changing form and substance that were required to be held in mind to make it work. Most of the class seemed disappointed and impatient to get to the actual wandwork, but Hermione found it fascinating. It seemed to mesh together bits of Arithmancy, a dash of muggle chemistry, a surprisingly large dose of Platonic philosophy, and practical magical instruction. Granted, most of it was in _Magical Theory_ , but she thought Professor McGonagall did a better job of explaining it.

With about half an hour left in the class, she finally handed out the matches. Free transfiguration was indeed very difficult, not like the simple charms Hermione had tried. She worked very hard, applying the silent incantation while focusing on the mental forms, just as McGonagall had said. By the end of class, she was dismayed to see she was only halfway there; she had succeeded in transfiguring her match into a metal toothpick, but not a needle. But she swelled with pride when McGonagall actually smiled at her and showed her results to the class. It was only then that she noticed that the other nineteen students all still had nothing but matches.

Hermione rushed down to the ground floor to get back to the West Wing and then up the fourteen flights of stairs to her dorm to grab the rest of her books and got to Defence class only a few minutes late. Her legs felt like lead by the end of it, though, and she was panting like she’d just run about a mile. She could tell it was going to be a long year. At this rate, she was worried might need to see Madam Pomfrey for muscle strain before the week was out, if there was even anything that could be done for that. She could see it was wearing on some of her classmates, too.

Meanwhile, Defence class itself meant sitting in a sickeningly thick odour of garlic while listening to Professor Quirrell stutter his way through basic principles of jinxes. Hermione had a very hard time giving him his due respect as a professor, since it looked like he wouldn’t be able to defend himself from so much as a swarm of pixies if he had to.

After lunch was Herbology. Hermione had been dreading Herbology more than any of her other classes since she was decidedly not the outdoorsy type. But she soon found there were advantages to a more hands-on class. Professor Sprout believed in taking fewer notes, since _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ was about as good a reference as anyone could hope for, and instead focusing on the practical side of growing and working with plants. First year would mainly teach identification of common plants and the basic principles of gardening, primarily with non-magical plants—or at least plants that were known to muggles—since an awful lot of them tended to find their way into potions. Hermione quickly learnt that being able to get some fresh air and work with her hands gave her a chance to relax and partially disengage her overactive, analytical mind. It wasn’t what she was used to, but she enjoyed it much more than she expected.

History of Magic, on the other hand, was no better than Defence. Professor Binns successfully called her name once on the role and then called her “Miss Grant” every other time he addressed her, presumably after someone he had taught in 1954. She’d have to keep an eye out to make sure her grades got in correctly. He began lecturing at the very beginning—the earliest known evidence of magic: stone circles unearthed in Turkey that were estimated to be ten thousand years old, twice as old as Stonehenge. Hermione had enjoyed _A History of Magic_ , but Professor Binns was so mind-numbingly dull that she could barely stay awake. The Hufflepuffs in the class could barely stay awake, too, and the Slytherins were too hypnotised to make any trouble, for which she was grateful. She was a little disappointed in the castle ghosts in general. It seemed like only Sir Nicholas and the Fat Friar were the only ones who were really talkative.

She spent the rest of the afternoon checking out the library, partly for its own sake and partly so she wouldn’t have to go all the way back up to Gryffindor Tower. The library was certainly impressive, and why not? Since there didn’t seem to be any public libraries in the magical world, and the largest collection of scholars was right here, why shouldn’t Hogwarts have the most books, too? But even so, there were thousands of them! She did some quick figuring and decided that the Hogwarts library must have a majority of all the books on magic ever written in Britain, and there was quite a selection from Canada, the United States, and Australia, as well a substantial foreign language section. She was pleased to see there were also extra copies of all the textbooks for all seven years.

Hermione ate diner mostly in silence that night. Percy Weasley was already engrossed in his O.W.L. classes. He boasted about taking twelve O.W.L.s this year, which surprised Hermione since she thought one could only take ten courses. Percy was suspiciously evasive when she asked him how he could schedule that. Fred and George also said hello to her, but she was trying to keep her distance from them, having heard of their reputation by now. Her fellow first years made small talk about their classes and complained about how much homework they had already. That was a lot like her secondary school all over again. She’d have to try to find some studious Ravenclaws to hang out with if she wanted to converse with people more on her level.

In the evening, she sat in the Common Room and read up for the next day for a while before going to bed. She tried to talk to her roommates some, but Sally-Anne was already falling asleep, Lily was busy doing her hair, and Parvati and Lavender, easily the chattiest girls in the room, were far more preoccupied with things like clothes, gossip, and Quidditch than schoolwork, so she gave up on that pretty quickly.

* * *

“Parvati Patil?”

“Present.”

“Padma Patil?”

“Present.”

“Sally-Anne Perks?”

“Present.”

“Harry Pot—EEK!”

Professor Flitwick dropped the class roster and swung his arms in little circles as he lost his balance and toppled off the pile of books he was standing on with a thud. A few people laughed, but Hermione, among others, was concerned until she saw his hands appear on top of the desk and he climbed back to his feet.

“Ah, terribly sorry about that, class,” he squeaked. “Now, then, Mr. Potter?”

“Uh, present, sir,” said the shy, dark-haired boy.

Professor Flitwick was obviously part goblin with his wrinkly bald head and bushy white beard. And at about three-foot-six, he was small even by goblin standards, but he was definitely very knowledgeable about his subject—the rumour was he had been a world-class duelling champion back in the day and had earned a Doctor of Wizardry in Charms.

Much like Professor McGonagall, he began with a long lecture on the theory of Charms. Transfiguration may have been difficult and dangerous, but Charms wasn’t exactly easy either. You had to say exactly the right words with the right inflection and rhythm, with the correct wand movement and a clear picture of the spell in your mind. The slightest slip of the tongue could produce disastrous and unpredictable results, although the magic became more forgiving with experience.

Unlike Professor McGonagall, however, Professor Flitwick believed in starting with the very simplest spells and elements of wand handling. When it came time to start the practical lesson, he told the class to get out their wands and simply wave them to produce uncontrolled sparks. That was a lot of fun. Everyone’s sparks were different colours, and sparks were flying all over the classroom. Some were only one colour, while some were more than one, like Harry’s red and gold, and Morag MacDougal produced an entire rainbow. Neville Longbottom seemed to need to use a lot of effort to produce any sparks. He didn’t get very many, and the ones he did were a horribly clashing purple and orange.

Professor Flitwick then taught them the incantation to force their wands to produce _white_ sparks, _Argentious_. This, Hermione deduced, was to help learn how to control their raw magical energy to cast the _Lumos_ charm, which was the first spell taught in _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_. Hermione’s sparks were pretty close to white to start with, so the charm came easily to her. Professor Flitwick praised her work to the class and said that her natural colour showed a high degree of magical control.

After lunch, though, came the class she had most been waiting for: Arithmancy. She wasn’t intimidated by going to a class with students two years older than her; she had sat in on the trigonometry class for a while last year, although the pace had wound up being too slow for her. But she did turn some heads as she walked confidently into the classroom.

Professor Vector was already seated at her desk, and a few students from all four houses sat around the room. A tall and, if she did say so, handsome boy in Hufflepuff robes sitting near the door turned toward her as she entered. “Can I help you?” he asked. “What classroom are you looking for?”

“This one,” Hermione answered. The boy’s eyebrows shot up, as did some others.

“Miss Granger will be joining our class this year, Mr…Diggory, is it,” Vector explained, checking her roster for his name.

“What?” spat a black-haired boy in Slytherin robes. “She can’t be in this class, she’s just a m—firstie.”

“Mr. Montague, I have interviewed Miss Granger personally, and I am confident that she can handle the material,” Vector defended her. “And you will show appropriate respect.”

Montague settled in, grumbling, and Hermione smiled a little. With only Professors Snape and Vector and Madam Hooch from Slytherin among the staff, that house really didn’t get as much internal control as it needed. Professor Vector, it seemed, made sure to do her part.

Hermione sat down next to Alicia Spinnet, the reserve Quidditch chaser she had met at breakfast. About a minute later, a Ravenclaw wearing his hair long came in and sat on her other side. He looked past her and gave Alicia a questioning look.

“Hermione Granger,” Alicia whispered. “She tested in. Hermione, this is Roger Davies. He’s on the Ravenclaw team.” They nodded in acknowledgement to each other just before Professor Vector stood to call the role. The class was nearly half Ravenclaws, with only three Gryffindors besides herself. With a few notable exceptions, most Gryffindors didn’t seem to be the analytic type.

“Welcome to Arithmancy class,” she told them. “Arithmancy is perhaps the most analytical and challenging branch of magic. It is _not_ for those who are looking for an easy O. But it is also useful in ways that other forms of magic cannot hope to match. Most modern spellcrafting and even some potions innovations are done by arithmancy. It forms the foundation for curse-breaking, magic reversal, spell detection, and spell analysis. It is an integral part of alchemy and advanced astronomy, and an excellent aid to improve rune-based magic and wards. It is also used for statistical prognostication, which, in my humble opinion, is far more reliable than any other form of divination because it can be backed up with hard numbers, although I’m sure Professor Trelawney would disagree.” Everyone but Hermione laughed.

“We will mainly focus on arithmantic prognostication this year, since that requires the least complex mathematics, but we will also cover the mathematical and magical foundations of spell analysis and spellcrafting. These things can be quite tricky and must be done with great care, so I expect a full and focused effort from each of you. In particular, there is to be no fooling around with untested spells. Doing that is far more likely to land you in the hospital wing than anything else.” Everyone nodded. Professor Vector’s reputation regarding fooling around was similar to Professor McGonagall’s.

“I would like to begin the class with a short quiz,” Professor Vector continued. She began to hand out pieces of parchment. “You will not be graded on it, and, indeed, most of you will probably not be able to finish it. It is merely to ascertain your level of mathematical instruction. I do this because students often come into this class with very different backgrounds in the subject. In fact, I’ve noticed that maths is the one area in which muggle schooling consistently outstrips our own,” she added, looking pointedly at the Montague boy who had called Hermione out. “Please begin. You have ten minutes.”

Hermione looked down at the parchment and saw that the quiz, unsurprisingly, was just arithmetic and basic algebra. She could do this in her sleep—literally. She’d had dreams about more complex maths than this. Even checking her answers, she was the first to put her quill down after less than five minutes. There were some snickers from people behind her who thought the little firstie had given up, but Alicia and Roger weren’t laughing. They could see that she’d at least written something.

Professor Vector collected the quizzes and gave them a quick glance over, clearly just seeing how far people had got on them. She paused over one of them and scanned it from top to bottom, checking it against an answer sheet. Then she smiled at Hermione knowingly before continuing on, prompting some surprised and confused looks from the rest of the class.

“Good. It looks like you all have a solid foundation in arithmetic, so we can advance straight into numerology and probability. Later, we’ll get into algebra and geometry. The O.W.L. exam in Arithmancy requires proficiency in these topics as components of basic spellcrafting and spell reversal. In fact, the maths portion of the exam is remarkably similar to muggle O-levels, or whatever they’re called now. Should you choose to continue at N.E.W.T. level, we will study more advanced spellcrafting, an introduction to curse-breaking, and the equivalent of muggle A-level maths, that is, trigonometry and calculus.

“For a first look today, we will study the magical properties of the number seven and the ways in which sevens appear more often in magic than you would otherwise expect…”

Hermione found the first lecture not to be very interesting, but sitting through a couple weeks of tossing numbers around would be worth it when they got to the actual magic. She quickly concluded that Professor Vector was more subtle than any of her other professors in the way she interacted with her students, but they seemed to be on the same wavelength. She never mentioned her score on the quiz, but Hermione was certain that if it had been anything less than perfect, she would have received a slightly sadder smile.

“No, really, Cedric, she wrote the answers in like two minutes,” she heard Roger Davies say to the Diggory boy on their way out. “Wait, there she is. Hey, Granger, when did you learn to do maths like that?” he asked.

Hermione blushed slightly as she tried to think back to her chaotic lesson schedules. “Um…that maths in particular? It must have been…two and a half years ago.”

Cedric, Roger, and Alicia, who was standing nearby, were gobsmacked. Cedric recovered first: “I can see why Professor Vector let you in the class…Miss Granger, would you like to join our study group? You’ll probably need some help with the magic, since there will be third year spells, and you could help us with the maths.”

Hermione was tempted to point out that she wasn’t going to do their homework for them, but Roger and Cedric, at least, seemed pretty bright about that sort of thing from the way they’d answered Professor Vector’s questions in the lecture. “Yes, I’d like that. Thank you,” she said.

“Great. We were planning on meeting in the library on Mondays and Wednesdays after classes end—oh, but when do your Flying Lessons start?”

“I don’t know. They haven’t mentioned them.” Hermione was _not_ looking forward to that class.

“They’ll be Thursdays for Gryffindors, unless they’ve changed it,” Alicia said.

“Well, that’s fine then,” Cedric said. “So, tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

* * *

“Hey, Hermione,” Parvati said when they made it up to their dorm that night. “Why weren’t you in History class today?”

“Oh, I’m taking History with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. I have Arithmancy Tuesday and Thursday.”

“Arithmancy? I didn’t know you could take that in first year.”

“Well, I met Professor Vector this summer and tested into third year.”

“Wow, that’s great. I was a little worried. I didn’t think you’d be one to skip class.”

“Ooh, did you meet Cedric Diggory? I think he’s in that class,” Lavender interrupted.

“Yeah…he asked me to join his study group.”

Parvati and Lavender both squealed loudly.

“Oh my God, what’s he like?”

“Is he really cute?”

“Uh—yeah, I guess. But he’s really nice, too, and he seemed pretty smart.”

“Hermione, that’s awesome,” Lavender gushed. “Do you know if he’s single?”

“I don’t know! We only talked about maths!” Hermione said quickly.

“Padma said she thinks he’s got his eye on Cho Chang in second year,” Parvati replied.

“Ooh, tell me everything!”

The two of them soon devolved into a conversation about who was allegedly dating whom. Hermione rolled her eyes and went back to her books. _Some girls_ , she thought.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: (Money JK Rowling gets from Harry Potter) / (Money I get from Harry Potter) = Error: divide by zero.
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
> 
> Just so there’s no confusion here, the Room of Requirement is over in the East Wing. I won’t make things quite that easy for her.

“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione asked the next morning after barely finding her way to the Transfiguration classroom on the moving staircases. “Is it possible to get a map of the school somewhere?”

“A map? No, I’m afraid not, Miss Granger,” McGonagall answered. “The castle changes too much for any maps to be useful.”

“But couldn’t you just mark where all the moving staircases go, ma’am? That would make it easier.”

“No, it’s a little more complicated than that. Everything moves around a bit over time in a place with as much magic as Hogwarts Castle. But not to worry, the classrooms hardly ever change, and I’m sure you’ll find your way around in a few days.”

Hermione wanted to say that she was interested in a map for more than just finding her way around, and just how could a thousand-year-old stone structure move around even with magic, anyway? But class was starting, so she held her tongue and took her seat. It didn’t look like the professors would be that much help with this task. Maybe her fellow Arithmancy students would be able to help at their study session.

* * *

“What’s a hundred and forty-six times eighty-seven?” Alicia Spinnet said.

“Twelve thousand seven hundred and two.” Hermione didn’t even hesitate.

Alicia checked the answer. “That’s right.”

“Wow,” said Cedric Diggory.

“I told you she was that fast,” Roger Davies replied smugly.

“Well, okay, but can you do bigger numbers?” Cedric asked Hermione.

“Uh huh.”

“Alright, then…how about 6,843 times 9,572?” He scribbled down the numbers for himself.

Hermione still didn’t hesitate, exactly, but she did have to slow down and sound out answer a bit: “65 million…501 thousand…196.”

It took Cedric nearly a minute to check the answer, but he was amazed to find that was also correct. The three third years kept at it, interspersing a few addition and division problems to mix it up. But multiplying large numbers seemed to be the main focus of the questions they were giving her, which wasn’t too different than at her secondary school. Wizards, of course, didn’t know about other common challenges like finding the thirteenth root of a thirty-nine digit number (which was, in fact, quite easy) because, working with only quill and ink, it would have been nearly impossible for them to _find_ a thirty-nine digit number that was a perfect thirteenth power in the first place.

A small crowd, mostly composed of Ravenclaws, started to gather around as Hermione solved every problem correctly (no easy feat even for her), most of them in her head.

“Hey, I saw somebody do this once in a play,” Alicia said. “What day of the week was 14 September, 1194.”

It took her only a couple seconds. “Wednesday.”

Alicia paused for a moment, then picked up her copy of _A History of Magic_. After flipping around for a couple minutes and thinking about it, she said, “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Whoa,” several of the spectators said.

“24 March 1603,” one of them threw out.

“Which calendar?” Hermione shot back.

“What?”

But she already had the answer: “It was a Thursday on the Julian Calendar, which was in use in Britain at the time, but a Monday on the Gregorian Calendar, which was in use on the Continent.” The spectators all looked at each other, having not even thought of that problem.

“Alright, Granger,” Roger said with an evil grin. “Try _this_ one.” He slid across a piece of parchment to her on which she was expected to multiply two ten-digit numbers. He had been silent and carefully hiding what he was writing for the past five minutes, clearly needing the time to work out the problem for himself.

“Ooh…” several people said.

Hermione got right to work. The bystanders gasped when she started writing out the digits of the answer directly, two by two, without getting into those messy rows of addition that normal people used. It took her a little over a minute, but she put her quill down and confidently crossed her arms.

“There’s no way that’s right,” one of the bystanders said.

“Check it!” said another.

“That’s what I’m doing.” Roger took the parchment back and checked it against his own work. “No, you got that wrong,” he said. There were some murmurs from around the table.

That was possible, but unlikely, Hermione thought. She slid the parchment back over to her side and looked over Roger’s work. It took her only a few seconds to spot the problem. “No, you made mistakes here and here,” she pointed out.

Roger quickly snatched the parchment back and looked where she had pointed. “Dammit! You’re right.”

A few people cheered and others mocked Roger for being shown up by a first year, until Madam Pince shushed them all and forced the gathering to disperse.

“Hermione, that was incredible,” Alicia whispered. “How did you do all that?”

“Just a lot of practice,” she answered with a shy smile, coming down from her revelry.

“No, there has to be more to it than that,” Cedric said. “I’ve never even heard of anyone that good.”

“Not really. It’s not…” She smirked a little. “It’s not magic or anything like that. I mean, there’s some tricks I could teach you, but, honestly, it’s probably not worth the trouble for you to learn it. It’s mostly for fun, and it doesn’t help you all that much on more advanced maths.”

“Yeah, but still, how did you get that good?” Alicia pressed.

“Well, a lot of it’s just common sense things, like I memorised the multiplication table up to 100 times 100. And that wasn’t even from trying so much. I just practised enough that I remembered it. You have to memorise a lot of things: logarithm tables, prime numbers, and there’s a bunch of seemingly random multiplications. Like—do you know what thirty-seven times twenty-seven is?”

“Ha, no! _You_ _’re_ the human slide rule,” Roger said.

“It’s nine hundred ninety-nine. And that makes it really easy to multiply things by 37 because it’s close to a round number. I’ve memorised a lot of those kinds of factorisations. Like 499,999 is 3,937 times 127.”

“Okay, I can kind of see what you’re saying,” Cedric said, “but even knowing all that, I don’t get how you can do bigger numbers that fast.”

“Well, it’s a little hard to explain. I can just kind of…see it.”

“But…how?”

“It’s…uh…well, look, you’re all Quidditch players, right?”

“Yeah,” they all said.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know much about sports, but I assume you have formations and plays, and there are some that are probably standard to the game.”

“Of course,” said Roger.

“And when you first start playing, it’s got to be hard to keep track of fourteen players on the pitch, right?”

“Well, sure, if you’re a beginner,” Alicia said. “But if you practice, you start to understand the formations.”

Cedric and Roger nodded as they started to get the picture.

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “If you practice enough, you stop seeing individual players and start seeing formations, and you can react faster. Well, with me, if it’s something like…multiplying four-digit numbers, say, after I practised enough, I stopped seeing multiplying the digits and started just seeing the answer.”

“That…that is _amazing_ ,” Alicia exclaimed. “I didn’t know you could that with _numbers_.”

“Mm-hmm, I’ve read that you can do that with almost anything…But we should probably get started on the homework.”

“Right,” Cedric said, taking out the assignment that reportedly was already mystifying much of the class. “What are the chances that a random pair of socks from this drawer will match…? What does this have to do with making predictions?”

“Oh, you have to think of choosing the two socks as two separate events,” Hermione said. “Making predictions is all about tying chains of events together.”

“Okay, but what’s this probability matrix? I mean, I read about it, but I don’t really follow it.”

“That just shows what all the different possible outcomes are—it’s messier, but it might be easier to start off drawing a probability tree…”

With Hermione helping them to get on their feet mathematically, Alicia, Cedric, and Roger started to make sense of the basic elements of probability and statistics. Meanwhile, Cedric helped Hermione out with the more esoteric and magical aspects of numerology, although she was a very quick study, herself. By dinner time, they had all made great progress on the homework, and the third years were all very glad they had invited the “little firstie witch.”

“By the way,” Hermione said as they were packing up, “do any of you know if there’s anywhere I can find a map of the castle?”

“A map?” Cedric said, confused. “No, the castle changes too much to make a map. Why? You haven’t been getting lost, have you?”

“Some. I took a wrong turn on the way to Transfiguration this morning and almost got detention from Mr. Filch because I wound up near the forbidden corridor.”

“Ooh, that’s not good,” Alicia said. “Glad you slipped out of it. But don’t worry. You’ll get used to this place in a few days.”

“Yes, that’s what Professor McGonagall said…But it would be nice if I had a map and some pictures so I could show my parents what the castle’s like. They’ll never get to see it themselves.”

The others paused and digested that. They clearly weren’t used to thinking the way muggle-borns did. “Well, that would be nice,” Cedric said, “but I’m afraid you won’t find much. You can probably ask Madam Pince to copy some pictures of the castle, though.”

“Oh—I guess I can do that, then.” But silently, Hermione vowed that she would correct the oversight of the school of failing to produce a map. Seriously, what kind of excuse was “the castle changes too much’?

* * *

Hermione succeeded getting in a nap in before trudging up to the top of the Astronomy tower at midnight—more than two hundred feet above the Middle Courtyard and more than four hundred above the Black Lake. The top of the tower was open to the full dome of the heavens, and a clear, moonless sky sparkled with thousands of stars. Hermione was moved to tears by the sight, and she was happy to see she wasn’t the only one. She had never got far enough from the cities and towns to see a sky this dark, nor had many of the other students who lived near London.

Professor Sinistra graciously gave them a few minutes to admire the view. Then they viewed the rings of Saturn through their telescopes as it set. (Hermione had always thought Saturn looked a little _too_ perfect through a telescope and was very amused when Ron Weasley insisted his brothers had pranked him and painted it on his lens.) Then, the professor gave them a basic lecture on how to navigate on the sky: the North Star, the Ecliptic, the Milky Way, and how positions were measured on the sky. She was surprisingly knowledgeable about advances in muggle astronomy and even space travel, and she expressed great hopes for the Americans’ Hubble Space Telescope, even though it would apparently be two more years before they got the thing working properly. “Imagine a telescope the size of a train car, flying around and around the Earth like the Moon!” she had said. Many of the purebloods refused to believe it, even when Hermione and Sally-Anne insisted it was true.

They climbed back down just after the old crescent Moon peaked over the hills in the east. Hermione managed to wake up in time for breakfast on Thursday and got through the day without incident, aside from getting a bit lost again. Then, she spent that evening reading up for Potions. According to Alicia, she would need to be especially prepared.

She had no idea.

* * *

Hermione could tell within the first five minutes of Potions class that Professor Snape would probably be a most unpleasant teacher. It started with singling out Harry Potter during the roll call—and not in a nice way—to the sniggers of the Slytherin students. Then, he raised the bar by calling off of his students a “bunch of dunderheads.” You would think a teacher would be above openly insulting his students. Hermione was on the edge of her seat with nervousness. This class might be harder than she thought.

_“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”_

Seeing as she hadn’t actually bothered to completely memorise _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , even Hermione’s prodigious memory couldn’t supply the answer with certainty. She was pretty sure the answer was Draught of the Living Death, just as she was pretty sure that it wasn’t anywhere near a first year potion, but she kept her hand down. She wasn’t about to give Professor Snape any ammunition to call _her_ a dunderhead.

_“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry._

_Snape_ _’s lips curled into a sneer._

_“Tut, tut—fame clearly isn’t everything. Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”_

That one was pretty obvious to most, Hermione thought. Malfoy and even Crabbe and Goyle (who _did_ look like dunderheads, to be honest) were laughing at how easy it was. She could bet that a boy from an old, rich family like Malfoy would know all about poisons and their cures. But Harry was muggle-raised, she recalled. Sure, _she_ had read far enough ahead to know about bezoars, but it wasn’t fair of Professor Snape to assume Harry had. She tentatively raised her hand, partly to try to deflect attention away from the boy, but Professor Snape ignored her.

_“I don’t know, sir.”_

_“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter? What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”_

To his credit, Harry was still staring straight into Professor Snape’s eyes. Hermione raised her hand firmly this time, although she might not have remembered that one, either, except that she had seen references to wolfsbane here and there in other books.

_“I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”_

_A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus_ _’s eye, and Seamus winked._

Hermione blushed. That wasn’t exactly the kind of attention she had been going for, and it only got worse when Professor Snape snapped at her, “Put your hand down, you silly girl,” before explaining the answers to his questions and taking a point from Harry for his “cheek.”

Well, that settled it, Hermione thought. Professor Snape was officially the worst teacher she had ever had. She didn’t even have to wait to see how unhelpful he was in the actual lesson (which was very). In the muggle world, any teacher that openly rude and unfair would be sacked in a year. Professor Snape had been here for at least seven, according to the upper year students. She would have to remember to look up if there was a formal complaint process available.

As it happened, Snape—Hermione mentally stopped adding the “Professor” part about halfway through—wasn’t much of a lecturer. One could charitably say that he believed in learning by doing, like Professor Sprout, except that Professor Sprout demonstrated most of the things she taught to them first, not to mention that she was actually nice. Snape just told them to brew the Potion to Cure Boils from Chapter 1 of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ and then wandered around the classroom, inspecting their methods. His long, black cloak billowed out behind him as he walked, as if blown by a light breeze, even though the air in the dungeon was stagnant—far more stagnant, in fact, than it had any business being given the fumes they were producing. Hermione suspected there was a spell in play on the first point and could only hope there was a spell for the second as well.

Snape offered both compliments and helpful advice to the Slytherins, especially Malfoy. She was careful to write this down—advice was good any way she could get it—but he seemed to have only condescension for the Gryffindors in general and Harry Potter in particular.

Hermione had been paired with Dean Thomas, who wasn’t too bad at potions himself, even though he was also muggle-raised, unlike the unfortunate duo of Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan.

The Potion to Cure Boils wasn’t the simplest potion, or the easiest to make (though it scored better than most on both). But it was included in Chapter 1 of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ because it was one of the few potions that required no wand work at all. In principle, even a muggle could brew it if they had the ingredients.

Most potions required at least one spell, and often several, but many of the first-years would not be good enough with a wand to cast them reliably for a few weeks. The most common spell in potion-making was the charm to make the ingredients dissolve properly. After all, snake fangs and porcupine quills would not dissolve very well under any normal circumstances. But here, the Dissolving Charm would not interact well with the ingredients, so it was not used. Instead, concentrated bundimun secretion was added to the water to take care of that. Another common spell was the Sealing Charm that prevented any further dissolution of the ingredients once the potion was finished. Instead, this potion used mashed blueberries to counteract the corrosive effects of the bundimun secretion.

There were other spells, too, used for more advanced potions: spells to add magical energy directly to the mixture, spells to protect any living matter that got into the cauldron, reducing the need for gloves, spells to only dissolve certain ingredients, or to speed up or prevent certain reactions between them. Unfortunately, there were trade-offs in everything, and this potion that required no wand work turned out to be temperamental in other ways, as Neville learnt painfully when he melted down Seamus’s cauldron, _giving_ himself severe boils instead of curing them.

Since Snape was so unhelpful, just sending the two of them to the Hospital wing without explanation (or sympathy), it took Hermione a while flipping back and forth through the course books later to figure out what had happened. And to do it, she had to forget almost everything she knew about chemistry, or even cooking for that matter, and start thinking—she couldn’t think of any better analogy—like a poet. The bundimun secretion was corrosive and also caused decay. The porcupine quills were barbed and thus scratched things badly (much more than the snake fangs). The fire weakened the soft pewter. The three different types of damage shouldn’t have particularly amplified one another, but they did. Any two of them the magically-reinforced cauldron could withstand, but all three together were too much for it. When Neville added the porcupine quills without taking it off the flame, the cauldron melted.

Unfortunately, every ingredient had interactions with every other ingredient that had to be kept track of, which was the most important thing that governed the order they were to be added. No wonder inventing new potions was supposed to be so difficult.

But it all made sense in a poetic, medieval sort of way if you thought about how you might _expect_ things to work if you’d never been taught actual science. Some of the ingredients were used the way you would expect anyway: bundimun secretion was a solvent; nettles had known medicinal properties; horned slugs were a thickening agent. Yet on another level, the ingredients seemed to be almost metaphorical: live horned slugs didn’t _do_ much; therefore stewed ones didn’t interact much with other ingredients. Porcupine quills and snake fangs were best known for penetrating the skin; therefore, even crushed, they would help the skin absorb the final product. Blueberries grew in acidic soil; therefore they could counteract the corrosive effects of the bundimun secretion. This metaphorical dimension also probably had something to do with why some ingredients had to be prepared at a certain time of year or phase of the Moon in more advanced potions.

Hermione thought that _Magical Drafts and Potions_ did a really poor job at explaining all of this because it treated all the ingredient properties and interactions the same. That would be fine for a catalogue or reference book, but to teach the conceptual principles on potion demanded more discussion on the multiple ways in which one needed to think about the same ingredients.

One other good thing about the Potion to Cure Boils, setting it apart even from the other recipes in Chapter 1, was that it was easy to see how well it turned out from the final colour. Brewed properly, it was supposed to be a soft, soothing light blue. This allowed Snape to grade the potions on the spot when they turned in samples at the end of class—a nice touch for the the first class, Hermione thought, although she suspected Snape really did it so he could get in a few more digs at them. Sure enough, Draco Malfoy and Gregory Goyle (whom Malfoy didn’t allow to do any difficult work) got an Outstanding grade. Harry and Ron were graded Poor. Hermione and Dean received (grudgingly, she thought) an Exceeds Expectations, while poor Neville and Seamus got a zero for the day.

* * *

Hermione woke on Saturday morning to the excited chatter of her roommates who were happy to have a free day. “Free” was a relative term, of course, since they still had homework, but Lavender and Parvati seemed to be in the mood to put that off until tomorrow. Hermione, on the other hand, had got as much as she could done in the free period yesterday afternoon and last evening. She was looking to take a break from schoolwork herself today, but for a different reason.

“What about you, Hermione, what are you doing today?” Parvati asked her.

“Me? Oh, I just thought I’d explore the castle for a while,” she said innocently.

“Oh, well be careful with that. You don’t want to get lost,” Lavender said. “I heard the unused parts of the castle can shift around and trap you so you can’t find your way out.”

“What? Where did you hear that?” Hermione said.

“The Weasley Twins told me. I mean, sure they _might_ have made it up, but I’m not about to risk it.”

Parvati rolled her eyes at Lavender. “Anyway, we were going to check out the grounds this afternoon. You should come along.”

“Well, maybe,” Hermione said noncommittally. “I’ll see how the morning goes.”

Later, when she came back up from breakfast, Hermione dug out her small drafting kit and a book of graph paper. She didn’t use them all that much, but they were great for geometry and would be even better for map-making. She would show everyone who said she couldn’t make a map of the castle. She would just need to measure everything out.

“Sally-Anne, I was going to try to map out the castle. Do you want to, you know, come along?” she asked, before getting started.

“No, sorry, I’ve got a lot of homework,” her fellow muggle-born said. “I don’t know how you get through it so fast. It’s hard not having the magical background.”

“Oh…okay,” she said, a little disappointed. But she wrote it off and got to work. Starting with her own dormitory, she stepped off the bedroom, the lavatory, and the spiral staircase outside the door. She was pretty sure the boys’ dorm was a mirror image and that the other floors were the same, so a small, quick sketch was sufficient to describe the eighth through fourteenth floors of Gryffindor Tower. She followed this up by heading down and stepping off the Common Room, prompting a few funny looks, but she quickly got that done, too, and climbed through the portrait hole into the corridor, her graph paper in hand.

The first order of business was to step off the West Wing. She looked down the long corridor that led to Ravenclaw Tower, picked one of the seams between the stones on the floor and walked along it, stepping it off heel to toe from one end to the other. It took her about five minutes to cover the whole length, but she got the measurement she wanted. Hermione’s size two and a half trainers were nine and three-quarters inches long, so the one hundred seventy-two steps she marked in the corridor equalled one hundred forty feet. (Okay, a hundred thirty-nine feet and nine inches.) The second corridor, from Ravenclaw Tower to the Grand Staircase, was one hundred thirty-eight steps, or about one hundred twelve feet. So far so good.

Just to check her results, she paced off the other two corridors, up to the North Tower and back to Gryffindor Tower. But as she grew nearer to the North Tower, she grew more and more uneasy. Something didn’t look right, and as she crossed the last few feet, it was obvious. This corridor was only a hundred and fifty-nine steps long. She tried the fourth corridor. One hundred forty-seven. Clearly, the West Wing wasn’t a perfect rectangle.

It sure did look like it, though. She looked down at the stone floors of the corridors. The seams between the stones were perfectly straight. She took her protractor to a few of them. All the corners were right angles, or at least close enough that the lengths wouldn’t be off by that much. It looked like a rectangle, but the lengths of the opposite sides were about ten feet different.

She tried measuring the entire floor again, this time pressing as close as she could to against the outer wall, all the way around the seventh floor of the West Wing. She was extra careful now to place her feet exactly in front of each other in a straight line. She got all the same numbers to within three steps.

She tried a third time, this time along the inner walls of the corridors. With the extra care she took on the last two measurements, she got the same numbers again to within one step.

It took only a few seconds of mental math to figure out that that was physically impossible. If the castle weren’t a perfect rectangle, there should have been a larger difference than that between one side of the corridors and the other, no matter what the angles were. The only explanation—and because she had dabbled in the works of Lovecraft, she shuddered a little as she thought it—was that Hogwarts Castle was not built on Euclidean geometry.

Hermione Granger wasn’t about to give up, though. That would certainly make mapping the castle a pain, but the differences were only about ten percent. She could just take an average length to draw it as a rectangle and then write in the actual measurements. At least she wouldn’t have to be _quite_ so careful about doing it exactly right. Within a couple feet would be good enough since the castle didn’t seem to want to cooperate on exact measurements anyway.

By now, almost two hours had gone by, but she figured she might as well keep on going until lunch time. She went down to the sixth floor to pace that off as well and see if it was any different. And it was a good thing she did because when she got to the south corridor, the one that had been one hundred thirty-eight steps long on the seventh floor, she found it was one hundred forty-five steps on the sixth floor. This was going to be harder than she thought.

She was pacing off the north corridor on the sixth floor when she heard more footsteps behind her.

“Well, what have we here, Fred?”

“A little firstie wandering off by herself, George. I do hope she’s not lost. Good morning, Miss Granger,” Fred said, as both Weasley twins stepped in front of her and started walking backwards to face her.

Hermione looked up from her feet to glance at each of them. “Hello, Fred, George,” she said, trying to hide her discomfort around the notorious pranksters.

“And what are you up to on this fine morning?” George asked.

“Well…” _Oh, what could it hurt?_ “I was trying to make a map of the castle. I’m trying to measure the corridors.” She considered asking what _they_ were up to, but quickly decided she didn’t want to know.

“A map of the castle, Fred.” The twins shared a knowing look and started laughing.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing,” said Fred. “It’s just we’ve never heard of anyone making a map while _we_ _’ve_ been here.”

“ _And_ measuring the corridors with your feet,” George added. “I’d say that takes quite some dedication, wouldn’t you, Fred?”

“That I would, George.”

“Are you even counting your steps, Miss Granger?”

“Of course,” she said. “One-twenty-one, one-twenty-two, one-twenty-three—”

“Through this entire conversation?” George asked.

“Yes.”

“Without losing count?” Fred added.

She smirked in spite of herself. This proved to be a bad idea, since they took it as a challenge.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if we called out random numbers like—”

“One-sixty-two!”

“One-oh-five!”

“One-thirty-nine!”

“Seventy-seven!”

But she didn’t even slow her pace. Hermione Granger did not _lose_ count. “One-thirty-five, one-thirty-six, one-thirty-seven…”

“I think we’ve been had, Gred.”

“Well, Forge, we _did_ hear Alicia talking about this one. We’ll have to keep on our toes around her.”

“She’s certainly a clever one…”

“One hundred forty-seven,” she said, reaching the end of the corridor. “Hmm…that one was the same,” she mused as she marked the measurement on her map.

“The same as what?” one the twins asked—she’d lost track of which now.

“The seventh floor.”

They stared at her in confusion.

“The south and west corridors are different lengths on the seventh floor,” she explained.

“What?” the twins said at once.

“ _And_ all four sides are different from each other, even though the Quad is a rectangle.”

“Is that even possible?” One of them snatched her map out of her hand and started looking over her measurements. “This can’t be right. We would have noticed it on—” He stopped as the other twin coughed. “Now I _really_ think we’re being set up, George.”

“Indeed, Fred,” George said with an evil grin. “If you’re looking for a prank war, Miss Granger, we’d be happy to oblige.”

“I-i-it’s not a prank,” Hermione said nervously, taking a step back. “Y-you can step it off for yourselves.”

Fred and George looked at each other, no longer mischievously, but with genuine curiosity.

“I think this calls for investigation, brother,” said Fred.

“I quite agree. If Miss Granger can discover something about the castle in a week that we haven’t in two years—”

“She could be a valuable ally.”

“Well, I’m not looking to prank anyone, if that’s what you mean.” Fred and George looked unconvinced. “May I have my map back, please? I want to try to pace off a couple more floors before lunch.”

“Of course.” Fred handed back her graph book.

“And good luck with your…mapping.”

“Thanks…” Hermione backed away, not wanting take her eyes off the pair until she reached the staircase to go down to the fifth floor. She kept working.

The small windows that lined the Quad had no sills to speak of. She was able to poke her head out one of them and run her eye down the sheer wall. It was perfectly straight. She tied an eraser from her drafting kit to a string to make a plumb bob to check the walls. She tried it on both the fifth floor and back up on the seventh floor. All the walls were vertical. From those two facts, every floor of the West Wing should have been exactly the same shape and _size_. And yet, not only were the measurements different on each floor, but the perimeter of each floor she paced off was about ten feet larger than the floor above.

It was while she was stepping off the fourth floor, trying to get around it quickly to avoid going too far into the lunch hour, that another unwanted attendant spotted her. Hermione tried to ignore the scraggly-looking tabby as it meowed menacingly at her. She momentarily thought she had dodged a bullet when Mrs. Norris ran away, but, somehow, just a few seconds later, Argus Filch came around the corner. Hermione’s only direct run-in with the Caretaker, at the third-floor corridor on Wednesday, had not been pleasant, and most of what she’d heard from the other students was worse.

“You, there, what are you doing?” Filch wheezed.

The direct approach was probably best here. “I’m measuring the corridors, sir.”

“I can see that. What are you up to? Aiming fireworks? Spreading Slipping Solution? Planting those infernal Ricochet Balls?”

“N-no, sir, I’m just trying to map the castle.” And she held up her graph paper to show him.

“Mapping the castle? Mapping the castle?” Filch said suspiciously. “Oh no you don’t. I found the Weasley Twins doing the same thing up on the sixth floor. You’re definitely up to something. What is it? Searching for more secret passages? I won’t allow it.”

“Please, Mr. Filch, I’m not breaking any rules. I’m just trying to learn to find my way around. I only told Fred and George that the measurements are different on every floor. I didn’t ask what they were doing.”

“Measurements are different—” Filch’s mind apparently needed a moment to switch gears on that one. “Well of course they are!” he complained. “What did you expect with as much magic as there is around this place?”

“Please, sir, I’ve only known about magic for a few weeks.”

“Well, best learn to stay away from those two,” Filch said. “Nothing but trouble from the start. Deserve a few days strung up by their ankles if you ask me…Well, then, go on. Finish what you’re doing and get on to lunch,” he said, apparently conceding that he had nothing on her.

“Um…yes, sir.”

Filch walked away, muttering to himself, “Students wandering about like they own the place. Ought to stay in their Common Rooms where they belong…”

Hermione finished pacing off the fourth floor as quickly as she could and dashed down the stairs to the Great Hall, barely remembering to jump the vanishing step. _That_ was a health and safety hazard, alright. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t patch it up. In any case, Filch may have had nothing on her, but he certainly wasn’t nice to talk to. She felt much better when she was out of his sight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The time derivative of Harry Potter is JK Rowling’s writing habits.
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
> 
> Yes, I know there’s a lot of quoted material in this chapter. So far, Hermione’s different behaviour hasn’t spilt over much into the rest of the story, and this chapter is more of a reaction shot. But don’t worry; things will start to really start to diverge in the next chapter, probably with no more quoted material from now on.

Hermione wandered around the grounds with her roommates for a little while that afternoon, but she was distracted the entire time. She had a hard time focusing on her work that evening, too. She looked around at the castle walls and started questioning everything, started trying to measure everything in her head.

The thing that everyone kept telling her kept echoing in her mind: “The castle changes too much to make a map.”

She waited till the next morning to test it. She guessed it would need at least that long. But she awoke early on Sunday, unable to wait any longer, and started repeating the work she had done the day before.

She started by pacing off her dorm room again and was relieved to find it was the same to within her margin of error, but that was the last reassuring bit of information she would get. She had only first bothered to count the steps up from the Common Room to her dorm until last night. There didn’t seem to be any need before. But now, she counted them again going back down, and found that if she’d counted correctly (and when didn’t she?), the spiral staircase was two steps taller.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Hermione left through the portrait hole and began pacing off the east corridor, the one from Gryffindor Tower to Ravenclaw Tower. It was supposed to be one hundred seventy-two steps long. She had measured it three times yesterday; it was one hundred seventy-two steps long.

Today, it was one hundred sixty-six.

“Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Well, that did it. She as well and truly through the looking-glass. Hogwarts Castle not only changed shape and size from floor to floor, but also from day to day. No map of the castle would ever be more accurate than about ten percent, because it wouldn’t _stay put_ like any sensible building, and she had a sneaking suspicion that her dorm room would eventually change, too, when she wasn’t looking. She supposed she could try to measure the outer dimensions of the castle, but she doubted that would work any better.

The one good thing about it was that she wouldn’t have to _measure_ the place more accurately than ten percent either. She took a couple minutes to step off the corridor at her normal walking pace to figure out the conversion. That would easily be accurate enough, and it was about four times faster. Even so, it was with an exasperated sigh that she finally sat down in the Great Hall for breakfast.

It didn’t help that she had barely started eating when a pair of redheads sat down on either side of her.

“We commend you, Miss Granger,” they said in unison.

“Huh?” Hermione answered lamely.

“Your measurements of the castle,” the one on her left said.

“You were quite right.” the one on her right continued.

“The floors don’t line up at all.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” she said in annoyance.

“We didn’t think _anyone_ knew the castle better than us, did we, George?”

“No, indeed, Fred. Not even Filch. How ever did you do it, Miss Granger?”

“I just asked a question that nobody else bothered with,” Hermione said, hoping she could get rid of the two troublemakers quickly. “Everyone else said the castle kept changing, so they never tried—Unfortunately, they were right. The measurements were different this morning.”

The twins stared at each other to digest this information.

“Learn something new every day, don’t we?”

“It seems we do. So, if you don’t mind our asking, how do you intend to complete your map?”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to draw it approximately. I don’t have time to measure everything three times and take an average. It won’t be an architectural drawing, but I’ll at least be able to find my way around.”

Fred and George grinned to hear that she would be keeping up her exploration efforts. “Well, best of luck to you then,” Fred said.

“Please let us know if you make any more discoveries,” George added.

“And if you should find yourself in need of a favour—”

“Such as if a certain Slytherin git needs a good pranking—”

“We would be delighted to assist you.”

“Of course, we might do _that_ anyway.”

“Thanks, I’ll…keep that in mind,” she said nervously.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” they replied together. Unfortunately for her, they stayed right where they were and got back to eating, but thankfully their brother, Ron, showed up and got them into a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione just tuned them out. She had some Transfiguration to finish and a letter home to worry about. She also wanted to finish some sketches she had started. She wasn’t much of an artist, but geometrically defined architectural features she could handle. She decided she’d had enough of the exploring bit for one weekend.

Well, she did step off that east corridor on the seventh floor one more time that afternoon. Sure enough, it was about a foot and a half different. That meant that the corridors apparently changed smoothly over the course of the day rather than just overnight or at midnight or something. That was some good news. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about the floors suddenly shifting under her feet. In some ways, it seemed like the castle was _breathing_. It would just be nice if it could breathe in Euclidean spacetime.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Thank you so much for the sketches of your dorm room and common room. It looks like you have a very nice place to live. Be sure to send us some of the rest of the castle when you get the time. That sounds pretty strange about the castle having non-Euclidean geometry. Your father didn_ _’t think even magic could do that. He says to try not to fall into any obtuse angles._

_We_ _’re very glad you’ve found a good study group and got to know some of your classmates. We were worried your letters would wind up being all about classes. If you’ve found some people who are really willing to share the work like that, be sure to stick with them. Friends like that are hard to find. That Harry Potter boy sounds nice, too, and he was raised in our world, so you have something in common._

_About Professor Snape, it sounds like he_ _’s a pretty lousy teacher from what you wrote us. He shouldn’t be allowed to behave like that. In our world, he would be sacked if he was like that all the time, even if he had tenure. Unfortunately, we don’t think there’s much we can do to help. The magical world seems to be pretty self-contained. The best chance you have is to talk to Professor McGonagall, and if she won’t do anything, Professor Dumbledore. In the meantime, just keep trying your best. It sounds like you’re learning the subject better than the book taught it, at least, and doing well enough that he has to give you a good grade, so you should be okay for now._

_Keep up the good work, and stay out of trouble._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

* * *

She settled into her routine better in the second week. The classes were challenging in ways she had never imagined either school or magic could be, but she was doing well in them. She could find her way to all her classes now, too, though that in no way reduced her desire to map out the rest of the castle.

But she groaned when she saw the notice posted in the Gryffindor Common Room that night: Flying Lessons start on Thursday…with the Slytherins. Hermione was not athletic or even all that coordinated. She could calculate angles in her head faster than anyone, but that never seemed to translate into prowess with a tennis racket or a billiards cue. And doing anything athletic in the air would only make things worse. She was okay on a bicycle, but roller coasters always made her a bit queasy, and those even had seat belts.

She made a beeline for the library before curfew and found a book called _Quidditch Through the Ages_. She skimmed over the bulk of the material on Quidditch itself (not the best-designed game, she thought) and focused on a rather well-written section containing basic flying tips. With a few exceptions, most kids who were raised in the magical world had been on a broom at least a couple times, so Hermione had some catching up to do. On Thursday morning, she shared the tips she had learnt with Sally-Anne and Neville Longbottom, both of whom had also never been on a broom. Neville was even more frightened of flying than she was—unsurprisingly, given his unfortunate clumsiness. However, everyone else at the table seemed to be tuning her out.

Madam Hooch, Hermione saw as they lined up that afternoon, had yellow eyes like a hawk. That was not a normal human eye colour, and she wondered if Madam Hooch also had some non-human blood in her. Or maybe it was just magic.

She supposed it was a nice day for flying, but not knowing how to fly and having to learn with the Slytherins really put a damper on her spirits. The state of the brooms didn’t help, either. Hermione had seen photographs and illustrations of broomsticks in _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and looked at the school brooms with dismay. She had heard the Weasley Twins complain about how these brooms never flew straight, and she wasn’t surprised. The school brooms weren’t even standardised. There were forty-year-old Cleansweeps and Comets, Shooting Stars, and some that were clearly off-brands. They all had bent twigs and scratched handles, neither of which boded well for their performance, but she supposed they would be safe enough for the low-intensity lessons they would be having—almost like training wheels, she thought.

_“Stick out your right hand over your broom,” called Madam Hooch at the front, “and say “Up!’”_

_“UP!” everyone shouted._

Hermione’s broom twitched and rolled over. On her left, Neville’s hadn’t moved at all, but on her right, Harry Potter’s broom leapt directly into his hand, as had a couple of others, including Draco Malfoy’s. Evidently, most magical children didn’t learn that part of broom handling early.

Hermione was sure she could do better than that. This was like casting a spell, wasn’t it? Except the broom had a rather more limited repertoire than a wand. She focused on the feeling of flowing energy that she always felt with her wand and tried to reach out to the broom with it.

“UP!” she shouted again. The broom leapt off the ground, though she had to scramble to catch it. Most of the students got their brooms to rise after a few tries, but Neville had to pick his up by hand.

“Now,” said Madam Hooch, “hold your broom up on your right, like so, and put your right leg over it—near the back, right in front of the bristles. You’ll be able to feel the Cushioning Charm. Don’t sit any farther forward, or you’ll slide off the end.”

That made sense, Hermione thought. It was just like mounting a bicycle. The Cushioning Charm even felt like a bicycle seat. And she could tell at once that its position just in front of the bristles was at the broom’s centre of gravity—the only place one would be able to stay balanced on it.

“Good, good,” Madam Hooch continued. “Grip the middle of the handle, right hand in front, thumbs pointed down—no, Mr. Malfoy, thumbs pointed down.”

“Madam Hooch, I’ve been riding a broom for years—”

“Then you’ve been riding it wrong for years. Thumbs pointed _down_ ,” she repeated. Some of the others snickered at the arrogant boy.

Hermione twisted her wrists to point her thumbs toward the ground. Her first instinct had been to hold the broom with her thumbs on top of the handle, like Malfoy did, but she immediately realised that the correct grip gave her better control of where the broom was pointed and would help her to lean with it. It was little uncomfortable having to lean forward to hold it properly, but broomsticks at least didn’t seem like a completely unreasonable way to fly anymore.

_“Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard,” said Madam Hooch. “Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle—three—two—”_

And that’s where the sensible part of the lesson ended. Neville was far too jumpy and kicked off the ground before the whistle, shooting up in the air and then falling off his broom and falling to the ground with a horrific thud. Hermione sighed with relief when Madam Hooch said he only had a broken wrist. She was sure it would have been worse after seeing that fall. She had heard before of people falling from high buildings and bridges and walking away when they shouldn’t have—when they should have died, even—but they were the rare exception. Oddly, many of those people tended to be drunk. Perhaps it was that they couldn’t brace themselves properly in that state and just let their limbs absorb the impact. She also knew that witches and wizards were built a bit tougher than muggles, but even so, Neville was extremely lucky to walk away from that landing.

And then that awful git Malfoy and his goons had to go and make fun of him and take his gift from his grandmother. Honestly, what kind of people thought falling three stories and breaking a wrist was funny for anyone?

But that was just the start. Harry decided he didn’t like Malfoy’s behaviour either, which quickly escalated into an airborne dogfight between the two boys, not five minutes after Madam Hooch specifically told them all to stay on the ground, which ended with Harry very nearly crashing and possibly dying in order to catch Neville’s Remembrall, after which Professor McGonagall stormed out and dragged Harry into the castle.

Hermione stood frozen in terror when it was over, her hands trembling, unable to speak. Raised by muggles or not, that was still the famous Boy-Who-Lived who had just very nearly died and was now sure to be expelled from Hogwarts—and rather deserved it, for that matter. Just what kind of place _was_ the magical world after all? Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looked triumphant, smugly lording their victory over the Gryffindors. A couple of the Slytherins looked uneasy about this development, but most of them went along with the trio.

The Gryffindors got the last laugh, though, when Madam Hooch came back out, glaring at Malfoy. She benched him for the rest of the lesson, gave him a detention, and took ten points from Slytherin. Hermione was a little disappointed that he wasn’t out of Hogwarts faster than he could say “Quidditch,” as she had threatened, but it was still worth it to see the git wilt under those hawkish eyes.

“Now _that_ _’s_ settled, we still have some time for the lesson,” she told the rest of the class. When I blow my whistle, kick off from the ground, hard. Hover at a few feet, and then lean forward slightly to descend. Ready? Three—two—one—”

Madam Hooch blew her whistle, and Hermione kicked off the ground and rose into the air. She was wobbly, like when she’d first learnt to ride a bike, but she was hovering successfully. Some of the others laughed or whooped with joy to be in the air, but she was less enthusiastic. When she nervously tilted the handle forward, the broom gently settled back down to the ground.

Madam Hooch led them through the basics of manoeuvring: speed up, slow down, left, right, up, and down, all at very low speeds. Hermione was competent, despite the substandard broom, but she knew she would never be able to match the native skill Harry had shown. Indeed, most the class could fly circles around her. She would be happy if she could just share their joy at flying with the birds by the end of the term.

* * *

Hermione wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or angry when she saw Harry was still there at dinner, but when she learnt from the whispered rumours that he had been made Seeker on the house Quidditch team, she decided to go with angry. How could that boy break the rules so blatantly and be rewarded for it? A part of her wanted to blame his fame, but she’d seen well enough that Harry Potter didn’t really care about his fame, and, apparently, he really _was_ that good at flying.

And then, of course, Malfoy had to come around and get in a few more digs at him. Hermione honestly wasn’t sure who to be angrier with as she watched the pair from the corner of her eye over her dinner as Malfoy challenged Harry to an after-hours duel, and Ron accepted for him. Trust a Weasley to make things worse. Harry had barely got out of being expelled once today. Now he was going to try and break curfew, too?

She tried to talk Harry out of the whole thing after Malfoy left. Unfortunately, her argument that he would lose Gryffindor a bunch of points probably wasn’t her most persuasive one, but she couldn’t think of any better hold to use on the pair just now. A duel would be dangerous, of course, and she suspected Malfoy knew more curses than Ron and Harry put together—could probably _cast_ more curses than Hermione herself, if the rumours were true, but after seeing Harry risk his life on that broom, she didn’t think that would convince him any better. And it seemed he just couldn’t resist showing up Malfoy.

Well, there was more than one way to handle this, though. She loaded up on her homework that evening and stayed up late in the Common Room, resolving to work until midnight so she could stop those two before they caused any trouble. She strongly considered telling Percy, who seemed to be the lone responsible brother in the Weasley family, but going the tattle-tale route wouldn’t win her any favours, and she felt like she would be on thin ice with Fred and George if she stepped too far out of whatever passed for their line.

* * *

Well, _that_ hadn’t been her best idea.

Trying to stop Harry and Ron leaving had only served to get _herself_ locked out of the Tower with them. The Fat Lady must have gone visiting, which she would have admitted was completely within her rights since _no one was supposed to be out in the corridors at this hour_ , but at the moment, she was preoccupied with more pressing matters.

Like the fact that she was locked out of Gryffindor Tower.

After curfew!

With a couple of self-centred idiots!

(And Neville, who had forgotten the password.)

With Filch chasing them!

With no other recourse, she had followed the boys to the Trophy Room. After all, they were the closest thing she had to an alibi: the only reason _she_ was out after curfew was because she was trying to stop _them_. They had made there without incident, but Malfoy and Crabbe weren’t there yet—and didn’t show up by what Hermione was sure was well past midnight. Of course she realised, it was an obvious trap to get Harry in trouble (which she should have seen from the start), and that was when Filch had shown up.

From there, one thing led to another, running down one corridor and then another and then a hidden passage that let out onto an open air bridge that she hadn’t had cause to use before, then into the corridors of the West Wing into Peeves, the poltergeist, and then down yet another corridor—straight into a locked door.

Ron was sure this was the end. (Gee, where was that attitude earlier?) But Hermione wasn’t panicking _quite_ yet, though. She was pretty sure from the whispers of the older students that most of the locked doors in the castle would open with a simple Unlocking Charm like the one the _rest_ of the class would catch up with in the spring. At this point she’d take breaking another rule or two to keep out of Filch’s clutches. (God, what was happening to her?) But, no, she’d forgotten her wand in the tower! How could she get in now?

Wait a minute—Harry was coming here for a _duel_ , wasn’t he? Using someone else’s wand was tricky, but if she could put enough power through it—

_“Oh, move over,” Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry’s wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, “Alohomora!”_

_The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening._

But Hermione didn’t hear what was being said. She didn’t hear anything just now, since she saw movement in the corner of her eye, and when she turned to look, she promptly froze stiff.

She’d got turned around with all that running. (Oh, _why_ hadn’t she spent more time on her map?) But when she looked now, she instantly knew where they were, and why no one had been using the Stone Bridge on the third floor.

They were in the forbidden third floor corridor. The one that contained “a very painful death,” and Hermione knew now that Dumbledore hadn’t been exaggerating.

There was a dog in the corridor.

It was ten feet tall.

It had three heads.

_It had three heads!_

The sight of those three heads would haunt her dreams forever if she lived through this: _three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs._

The dog came to its senses upon seeing them in its corridor and started growling at them. They were all going to die, she thought. They were at the gates of the Underworld—it was right through that trap door under the feet of Cerberus, the dreaded hell-hound of Hades—and they were all going to die.

And then—thank Zeus or Jehovah or Merlin or whoever, she didn’t much care right now—she fell backwards.

Harry had opened the door.

They ran again, not even looking to see if Filch was chasing them. They ran and didn’t stop, even while climbing up four flights of stairs, until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and dove into the Gryffindor Common Room, where they lay on the couches and the floor a while until they could speak again.

_“What do they think they’re doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?” said Ron finally. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”_

Could he really be that thick? Hermione wondered. She’d sunk into a mythology-fuelled hysteria, and she’d still spotted it right away. _“You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you?” she snapped. “Didn’t you see what it was standing on.”_

_“The floor?” Harry suggested. “I wasn’t looking at its feet; I was too busy with its heads.”_

_“No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It’s obviously guarding something.”_

_She stood up, glaring at them._

_“I hope you’re pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to bed.”_

She trudged up the seven flights to her bedroom, not waiting around to see if any of the boys had any bright ideas about what the dog was guarding, or worse, going back to find out. While she could agree with Ron about the madness of keeping that monstrosity in a school, that was about the only intelligent thing that any of those three had said all night.

She was all the way into bed before it hit her: “Or worse, expelled?” she whispered. “Good Lord, I really am losing it!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Stir seven times clockwise for each JK Rowling added to the solution. Do not forget to include her copyright to Harry Potter.
> 
> I would like to remind the reader that nearly all of Professor Trelawney’s predictions in canon came true, but almost never in the way anyone expected. Take from that what you will. Yes, Hermione’s ruling planet really is Mercury, which is associated with intelligence and quick thinking, whether that matters in practice or not.

Hermione went down to breakfast the next morning tired and, if she were honest, more than a little cranky. How could she sleep after coming face to faces with that dog? The only good thing about the whole ordeal was the look on Draco Malfoy’s face when he saw that Harry and Ron were still there, and even that was tempered by the fact that those two now seemed to think it had been a great adventure.

Harry tried to tell Hermione about a little package that Hagrid had moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts and that he thought that’s what the dog was guarding, but she didn’t want to hear it. In fact, she picked up her plate and moved a few seats down. She was going to stay far away from those two nutters from now on, as they were sure to cause more trouble sooner or later.

At least Dean Thomas was more or less normal. He even liked normal sports, like football. They had Potions again this morning, and Hermione hoped she could still keep her head in that class after last night.

Today’s Potions “lesson” was to brew the simplest of the various kinds of Awakening Potions, something she could use some of herself to start with. She was a little distracted, and she knew it, which didn’t bode well either. She wanted to keep an eye on Neville and Seamus in case they blew something up again, and keep an eye on Harry and Ron in case _they_ tried something, all while doing a good job with her own potion.

“Awakening Potion, huh?” Dean said as Hermione started the burner. “I thought we already had that. It’s called coffee.” Fortunately, Snape either didn’t hear him, or chose to ignore it.

“Boil one small, greened potato for fifteen minutes,” Lavender read the first instruction. (Because the greened potato had sprouted _eyes_ , of course.) “ _Why_ are we cooking lunch here?”

“Because greened potatoes are poisonous, and the heat neutralises the poison,” Hermione explained, happy to see there were a few things muggles knew better than wizards about potioning.

Potions wasn’t all that difficult in practical terms, Hermione decided, but she was quickly finding that it was her most _conceptually_ challenging class, and the essays Snape assigned for homework bore that out. She had a pretty good idea of why each ingredient was included and some idea of the reasons for the order and the manner of preparation, but most of the stirring patterns still mystified her.

There were a few obvious reasons for the stirring patterns. In practical terms, stirring the potion more would result in more even heating of the liquid. Alternating clockwise and anticlockwise stirs would create turbulence and mix the ingredients faster, while keeping in the same direction would mix them slower. The _number_ of stirs was harder, although there were clear numerological elements to it: many of the instructions said to stir seven times, or for seven minutes, or a multiple of seven. She could even understand the general principle of clockwise versus anticlockwise. In the old days, anticlockwise—that is, anti-sun-wise—was considered “unlucky.” So it made sense that one usually needed to stir clockwise for “positive” effects and anticlockwise for “negative” effects.

But that didn’t explain all of the switching off between the two, like alternating three times clockwise with once anticlockwise. Or the straight back-and-forth stirs that they needed to do at one step. Or some of the more advanced potions in the book that required stirring in more complicated figure-eights or trefoils or star shapes. Hermione didn’t have a clue what the arithmantic foundations of those were, if they were arithmantic at all, though she wondered whether even fancier patterns like Lissajous curves and hypotrochoids would have any interesting effects.

Still, just following the instructions shouldn’t be that hard. They had just got done adding the sunflower petals (which, predictably, made the potion briefly glow the colour of sunlight) and moved on to the dwarf bamboo leaves when they started to notice their potion was a little off.

“Hold on, is that supposed to happen?” Hermione said after adding the leaves. The potion was much more faintly, but distinctly, glowing like sunlight.

Dean checked the book. “It doesn’t say anything about glowing at this step.”

“Then I wonder why—”

She was interrupted by a blinding flash followed by the sounds of people stumbling and a lot of cursing. She looked around for the source of the trouble, but she could only see spots in front of her eyes. When she could see again, she looked around to find Neville and Seamus, looking very embarrassed in front of a cauldron whose contents seemed to have caught fire.

“Imbeciles!” Snape snapped at them as he drew his wand and dispelled the flames. “The instructions clearly state to add two preparations of sunflower petals, not three. You could have blinded someone with a stunt like that. Two points from Gryffindor.”

“The sunflower petals!” Hermione whispered to Dean. “But we only added two preparations, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, just the two. What do you think happened?”

“I’m not sure. Just a moment…” Hermione pulled out _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ to look up the ingredients. She hummed to herself as she found the correct page. “There. Dwarf bamboo can grow in very low light and is extremely sensitive to sunlight. Of course, did you see how bright that flash was? The potion must be a lot more sensitive to the sunflower petals after adding the dwarf bamboo leaves. And that means…” She grabbed a scraper from the preparation kit and scraped it across the cutting board. Sure enough, when she pulled it away, there was a bit of yellow residue on the blade.

“Oh,” Dean made the connection. “The leaves were contaminated with residue from the sunflowers.”

“Exactly. We saw it doesn’t take much. We should have cleaned off the cutting board,” she said with annoyance. “Now, we’ll only get an E at best.”

“Is there any way to fix it?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. She was sure there would be—another dash of dwarf bamboo or an extra stir somewhere—but even the simplest modifications to potions were third year material, and most were higher than that. She wasn’t about to risk trying to guess it. “Not that we could do now. We’ll have to finish it as is and be more careful about cleaning everything next time.” And she wrote in her notes to do just that. They added the blueberries to seal the potion and turned in their sample along with the rest of the class.

* * *

The weekend passed quickly for Hermione. She started expanding her map, with her first priority being to pace off the whole non-forbidden part of the third floor so that she could be sure not to run into that awful dog again. She also took the time to pace off some of the classrooms and was annoyed, though unsurprised, to find that their combined length was slightly longer than the length of the corridor they ran alongside.

Between that, working on her homework, trying to avoid Harry Potter and all of the Weasleys, and venting her frustrations in a letter to her parents (mostly definitely _not_ mentioning that dog—she’d rather not deliberately keep it from them, but you couldn’t just go and say something like that), it took up most of her time that weekend, and before she knew it, she was back in her Monday classes—not that she minded, of course. She _was_ Hermione Granger, after all.

The following Thursday was her birthday, but she wasn’t expecting any special recognition, mostly because she hadn’t got around to telling anybody about it. It seemed like a terribly awkward thing to slip into a conversation if one wasn’t directly asked. It didn’t improve her mood when she saw a team of six owls drop a large, suspiciously-broomstick-shaped package in front of Harry Potter, but, of course, she was happy to see an owl head toward her that morning with a package from her parents.

“Oh, today’s your birthday?” Parvati said when she saw the colourfully-wrapped parcel. Hermione had been trying to stick close to Parvati and Lavender to avoid the boys, even though they rarely had much to talk about.

“Uh huh.”

“Hermione, why didn’t you tell us? Happy birthday!”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Thanks—It just never came up.” She unwrapped her package to find it was actually two presents. The first was a surprisingly large box of biscuits, and the second was a round, thick piece of plastic marked over with constellations. “Oh, wow, that’s a really nice planisphere,” she said.

“A what?” asked Lavender.

“A plainsphere. Muggle astronomers use it. It’s like a cross between an astrolabe and a star chart—for Astronomy Class,” Hermione answered. “You see, you set the time and date like this…and it shows you the right star chart.”

“Wow, that’s really cool. I didn’t know they’d come up with something like that.”

Hermione nodded and opened the attached letter:

 

_Happy Birthday Hermione,_

_We don_ _’t know if this will get to you on Monday or Thursday. We addressed it to be delivered on Thursday, but we don’t know if Hogwarts will hold packages like that. Either way, have a great birthday. We thought your classmates might like to try a sample of our muggle desserts, so we sent enough biscuits for you to share, and we know you were complaining about having to use astrolabes, so your father found a nice planisphere to help with your studies._

_We_ _’re sorry to hear some of your classmates are causing trouble. We’re a little surprised about that Harry Potter. You wrote before that he didn’t seem to let his fame go to his head. Anyway, it’s probably best if you avoid those two when you can. And we’re glad you didn’t get in trouble, but you need to be more careful about getting locked out of your dorm._

_We hope your study group and your roommates will make better friends, though. You haven_ _’t told us much about them. Can you tell us what they’re like? How they grew up? You probably know a lot more than we do about wizard families by now._

_Most everything_ _’s the same as always down here. We miss you, of course. Everyone asks us what you’re up to, and we have to get a little creative with the answers. But we’re so proud that you’re doing just as well at magic as in muggle classes. Keep up the good work._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

She put the letter down, a little ashamed that she _hadn_ _’t_ got to know the people around her better. Between schoolwork and trying to avoid certain people, she hadn’t put much effort into getting close to any others. Plus, small talk had never been her strong suit, and being raised in a different culture didn’t make things any easier. Although for that day, she learnt, sharing the muggle biscuits did help some.

* * *

The following Saturday, she went back to pacing off the West Wing, spending the morning heading down from the part she had explored before: third floor, second floor, first floor, ground floor. She paced off the Great Hall and the Entrance Hall before finding the door that lead down to the dungeons. And that’s when the trouble started.

The above-ground part of the castle was straightforward enough, if a bit peculiar, but the below-ground part was a labyrinth. Dark, old corridors cut through the cold stone seemingly at random, lined with storage rooms and unused classrooms and apartments and actual dungeon cells that probably hadn’t been occupied in centuries. The place seemed to be constantly lit as if it were late at night and carried such a heavy air of creepiness that she wondered if it might have been intended to scare off non-Slytherins.

She wasn’t too worried about the labyrinth itself. She _was_ making a map, after all. And if she did get lost, she could always brute force it by only turning right until she got back to where she came in. No, the corridors weren’t the problem. It was the people. She knew the dungeons were mostly the Slytherins’ domain. She had been hoping to not meet any more people on her explorations so that she wouldn’t have to explain what she was doing—again—but it was not to be. As she went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the school, she heard a voice call out behind her—quite possibly the voice she was least hoping to hear.

“Granger! What are you doing here?” It was Draco Malfoy. She kept pacing. “I know it’s you! I’d know that ridiculous bushy hair anywhere. Look at me when I’m talking to you, Granger.”

Hermione slowly turned around, clutching her sketchbook tight to her chest, trying to reach for her wand without being too conspicuous about it. She hadn’t forgotten the rumours about Malfoy being practised with a few choice curses. He was _not_ someone she wanted to meet in a dark corridor—which was exactly what she was doing.

“So _that_ _’s_ what you’re up to,” he said triumphantly. “Snooping around trying to find our Common Room?”

She tried to keep her voice even: “No, Malfoy, I was just—”

“Oh, I know what you _say_ you’re doing,” he sneered. “Everyone’s laughing about it. The little buck-toothed muggle-born girl thinks she’s going to make a map of the castle. As if anyone can do that.”

“I c-can,” she defended herself. “It’s not quite to scale, b-but—” Everyone was laughing about it?

Malfoy slowly stalked closer to her. She started backing away. “You’d better learn your place, Granger. Bad things happen to people who don’t.”

“P-please,” she stammered. “This is a p-public area. I’m just trying to learn m-my way around.”

He came right up to her, now. “Well, then, let’s see what you’ve been working on, if you’re not causing any trouble.” He grabbed the top of her notebook and tried to pry it from her grasp.

“No!” She pulled it back affording him only a glimpse of the map she was making of the dungeon. He grabbed it again.

“Give—it—here!” Malfoy spat. He yanked it out of her hands and inspected it. “A- _ha_!” he gloated. “I think I’ll just take care of this for you.” He ripped the map of the dungeon off the pad and started to crumple it up in one hand.

“No!” she yelled again, lunging to try to get it back. There was a flurry of swinging arms as Malfoy tried to smack her away and Hermione tried to block him. By accident, she happened to land a decent slap on his face, which distracted him long enough for her to grab both her notebook and the loose page and run away.

Unfortunately, Malfoy didn’t take kindly to that. “You’ll pay for that, mudblood!” he shouted. “ _Locomotor Wibbly_!”

At instant later, Hermione felt her legs collapse out from under her, and she went sprawling painfully on the floor.

Malfoy strolled up to her, smirking to himself, undoubtedly with his wand at the ready. Hermione Granger wasn’t a fighter. She’d dealt with a few bullies in her time, but it was mostly by ignoring them. She certainly wasn’t used to them hexing her in the back. She wasn’t one to break rules in general, much less get into an actual fight, but the sound of the boy standing over her, laughing almost leeringly at her prone form, awoke something new in her—a visceral anger mingled with a desperate need for escape. If this boy was going to start breaking the rules and hexing her in the corridor, then maybe it was time she fought back. She didn’t know many strong spells yet that she was certain she could cast just now, but she could at least shoot sparks at him. She got hold of her wand and clutched it tight in her hand. She’d only get one shot, but if she could hit him in the face…

“Hey! What’s going on down here?”

Hermione looked up to see an older boy heading toward them from around the corner ahead, and thanked God when she saw he wore yellow-trimmed robes and a prefect’s badge. Her thoughts of hexing Malfoy back were completely forgotten.

Malfoy stopped. “What are you doing here, Truman?” he said with unmasked annoyance.

“Hufflepuffs use this level, too,” the prefect said. “Now what’s going on here, Mr. Malfoy?”

The younger boy grumbled a bit and then answered, “Miss Granger tripped. I was just helping her.”

She staggered to her feet and spun around to face him. “You were not! You—” But she stopped when she saw the hatred in his eyes. And she remembered her mother’s advice: “Just ignore them, and they’ll move on.” She hung her head and turned around. “Thank you,” she muttered to the prefect.

“I’ll help you find your way out of here, Miss Granger,” Truman said. “Stay out of trouble, Mr. Malfoy.”

The prefect led her out by way of the corridors near the Hufflepuff dorms, eventually coming out at the below-ground part of the Grand Staircase. Even in her dejected state, Hermione kept count of her footsteps so that she could recreate this path on her map afterwards. She would consider whether to risk the dungeons again some other time. She wished things wouldn’t be so divisive around here, especially around lines of blood status, but she supposed there were prejudices and rivalries in every school.

The one thing that confused her in this, though, was what Malfoy had called her—“mudblood.” She’d heard people talking about purebloods and half-bloods, so it wasn’t hard to guess the meaning, but she’d never heard that word before. And somehow, it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to bring up just now with the prefect. She filed it away to look up in the library later. It was bad enough that Malfoy had just taken her down like that. She at least wanted to know how offended she should be.

* * *

To round out the morning (and to get her mind off the dungeons), she decided to start in on the other towers in the West Wing. She couldn’t get into Ravenclaw Tower, and the Grand Staircase would be a whole morning to try to navigate by itself, so she found herself climbing up higher and higher in the North Tower, wondering what was even up there if it wasn’t dorms, since most of the staff apartments were either in the main part of the West Wing or off the Grand Staircase.

She was glad she’d already mapped out the rest of the West Wing. Even in something as simple as a rectangle, all the hidden doors and moving staircases made it tricky to find her way to the North Tower, and the tower itself climbed all backwards-like, like Cirith Ungol, with no real rhyme or reason. And then a painting of a little knight who couldn’t swing a sword straight started shouting challenges at her until she explained that she was on a “quest” to explore the entire castle.

Finally, she came to a landing that from the count of the stairs was probably two floors below the top of the tower, and the staircase ended. At first, she thought there was nothing up here, but she happened to look at the ceiling. There was a circular trapdoor there with a brass plaque on it like the ones the rest of the professors had on their office doors. It read, “Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher.”

“This is an _office_?” Hermione mused. “I wonder how you get up there.”

The trapdoor swung open, and a silver ladder descended to the floor.

“You ask it. Of _course_ you do.” She shrugged her shoulders, tucked her sketchbook under her arm, and climbed up the ladder.

She arrived at the top and found not an office, but what had to be a classroom, though it looked more like an abandoned tea shop. It was stiflingly hot, the air was thick with perfume and incense, and the entire room was dim and lit with red. Twenty-three little tables were squeezed into the room with twice as many chintz armchairs and matching pouf ottomans, so that there was barely room to turn around.

“Oh my…hello, what are you doing up here,” said a soft, ethereal-sounding, thickly-accented voice. A tall, spindly woman climbed down another ladder from above. Hermione thought the woman looked and sounded like a stereotypical eastern European fortune teller—crossed with a dressed-up praying mantis. She had frizzy dirty-blond hair that stuck out everywhere even more than Hermione’s own. She wore a spangled shawl and excessive amounts of costume jewelry and glasses so thick that you could start a fire with them. She smelled distinctly of sherry under all the perfume.

“Um, I was just exploring the castle,” she said nervously. “Are—are you Professor Trelawney?”

“Yes, dear, I am. And who might you be?”

“I’m Hermione Granger…” She couldn’t resist. She’d heard some about this teacher from Alicia. “If you teach Divination, didn’t you see me coming?”

“I see many things,” Trelawney said, with an eerie wave of her hands, “but not all may be interpreted. But come in, now. Let me see…precocious and inquisitive of mind, a wanderer far from the common path—were you perhaps born under Mercury?”

“Erm, I don’t know, Professor. My birthday was on Thursday.”

“Yes, Virgo, a child of Mercury, indeed.” The off-kilter way Trelawney stared at her through those magnifying glasses made Hermione rather uncomfortable.

“Do—do you live up here, Professor?”

“But of course, my apartment is just upstairs. Like you, I find that descending into the crowds of the main school clouds the Inner Eye.”

“I’m…not sure I have the “Inner Eye’…” Hermione started.

“But you keep to yourself, and you are separate from all others,” Trelawney continued.

“Not really…” Hermione said self-consciously.

But the Divination teacher kept going: “Oh, I sense great changes coming for you, dear. You will find the prize you are seeking in November—”

“What? I’m not seeking a prize—”

“But in the spring, one of your number will be sacrificed—”

“What number? I don’t have a “number.” I…I think you must be mistaken, Professor.” She said nervously, backing toward the ladder.

“Oh, those who have the Sight will know it.” Trelawney said.

“Yeah, uh…I think I’ll stick with arithmantic projections, ma’am.”

“Numbers cannot convey the full experience of the Inner Eye, child.”

“Well…maybe not, but…um, at least we know what we’re talking about—Goodbye, professor, I have to go.” Hermione reached the trap door and scrambled down the silver ladder, her heart pounding, Had she really just talked back to a teacher like that? Yes, yes she had. Professor Trelawney did not seem like the kind of teacher she would get along with, and she didn’t need the Sight to see that. She barely noticed that she hadn’t had a chance to pace off the classroom. Then again, it was too crowded with furniture to do it, anyway.

Still, she was a bit troubled as she returned to the more travelled parts of the castle. The woman may have been little better than a muggle fortune teller, but her words, “you are separate from all others’ hit a little too close to home. It wasn’t just maths that set her apart around here. The culture gap alone put her in a small minority, and she was more of a natural loner than she really liked to admit. It was so hard to relate to most of the people in the castle.

She decided to call it a day after that and head back to the Common Room. She started wondering what she was going to write to her parents tomorrow. As much as it pained her, she felt like most of today’s events were once again things that were probably best left out of her letters. Getting hexed in the back by a rich, privileged bigot wouldn’t play too well with her parents, and Professor Trelawney was just too weird to bring up.

Her roommates’ advice—just stay away from the Slytherins—was decidedly unhelpful. It certainly didn’t address the root problem. But she had to admit she didn’t have anything better to work with at the moment.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The answer is 42. The question is, what do you get when you multiply six by JK Rowling?

The equation on the board read _x = a/b - (b-c)/b_.

“Now, given the rules of symbol manipulation, what is the simplest way to express the value of x?” Professor Vector asked. “Mr. Montague?”

The Slytherin boy thought for a moment. He was pretty bright, but like a majority of the the class, he had been mystified when the numbers vanished from the equations entirely. “A minus c divided by b?” he said uncertainly.

“No, Mr. Montague. Mr. Diggory?”

Cedric didn’t look much better off. He scratched a few symbols on his parchment and said, “A minus b minus c divided by b.”

“No, that’s not it either…Miss Granger!”

“Huh? Oh—a minus b plus c over b,” she said quickly, snapping out of her daze.

“Correct,” Vector said. “Miss Granger, I’m aware you had Astronomy last night, but I _do_ expect you to stay awake in my class.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said sheepishly. A few people snickered behind her, and even the other members of her study group looked torn between being amused at her embarrassment and amazed that she could correctly answer a question the rest of them could barely understand without missing a beat, even while she was half asleep.

Hermione had stopped bothering to raise her hand in Arithmancy class pretty quickly, at least when it came to the maths lessons. Sometimes, Professor Vector would call on her after a couple of her classmates had got a question wrong, and sometimes she would just work it out on the board. The trouble was that this wasn’t how Hermione was used to doing things, and on Thursdays, it could be difficult to stay awake if she wasn’t adequately engaged. The worst part, though, was it wasn’t just Thursdays anymore. While the weekly two o’clock jaunts for Astronomy Class affected her worst, she was having trouble sleeping in general, staying up much later than she ought to reading every other night. It had started as an effort to try to learn more about the magical world so she could relate better, but it was fast turning into just a plain old bad habit.

While she was all but lost in thought, Professor Vector worked through the steps of simplifying the equation on the board to demonstrate her answer and then called on Alicia: “Miss Spinnet, would you care to solve this equation for b?”

“Um…” Alicia quickly, but very carefully, scribbled out the steps on her parchment, muttering to herself. “Um, a plus c divided by x plus 1?”

“Correct.” Alicia looked quite pleased with herself, as did Hermione, seeing that that she had got the point across to at least one member of her study group. She had to stifle a laugh a moment later when someone asked if it was magic that made the numbers appear and disappear from the equations like that. It was odd the way some people thought about magic when they were raised with it.

* * *

It was a chilly, foggy autumn day, the kind of day that made one glad of the thick, woollen Hogwarts robes. Sitting out here in the Viaduct Courtyard, everything was quiet and still. Even the birds were eerily silent in the fog. The loudest sounds were the whisper of autumn leaves and the scratching of her mechanical pencil. Hermione gazed up at the exterior of the castle and carefully sketched what she saw. This would be her first sketch of the outside of the castle to send to her parents, and she could see a fair bit from here: the Entrance Hall, the Great Tower, the whole face of the West Wing, and several of the towers of the East Wing. But she paid particular attention to the Great Tower, the huge column that housed the Grand Staircase.

She had finished breakfast quickly that morning to get an early start exploring the space around largest and most complicated of Hogwarts’s one hundred forty-two staircases. She started from the lowest part she could get to, the dungeon level, and worked her way up. There was a large set of doors on the dungeon level that indicated the staircase went lower, but they were locked. She hesitated there, about to head back up, but something stopped her. It wasn’t like anyone else followed the rules around here. She approached the doors, checked to make sure no one was around, then discretely drew her wand and whispered, “ _Alohomora_.” The doors didn’t budge. Oh well, it was worth a try, though it _did_ make her wonder why the third-floor corridor wasn’t protected by something stronger. Maybe someone had to feed the dog? She shuddered at the thought.

With three large, interlocking squares of rises and landings, there were lots of different ways for the stairs to go, and some part or other of the Grand Staircase was always in constant motion. She had to stop at one point when the flight she was on changed to connect to the forbidden corridor on the third floor and wait for it to change back. That wasn’t a mistake she was going to make again.

She counted the steps going up, making note of each room around the staircase, but as soon as she hit the eighth floor, above the entrance to Dumbledore’s office, things started to turn strange. First, the complex interlocking and changing staircases shrank down to a single square. It was still twenty steps on a side, but it later narrowed to fifteen, then ten as she ascended. The rooms off the staircase were also smaller here, and most of them seemed to be unused, while the few that were seemed to be either storage for specialised items or contained unusual experiments, presumably of Dumbledore’s, unless any of the other professors worked on such oddities as inside-out clocks and upside-down fountains up here.

On the seventeenth floor, the portraits started to look off. They looked fuzzy and distorted, as if they were copies of copies. The figures no longer spoke to her, and they moved in strange, jerky ways. Around the same time, the neat, cut stones of the walls became more and more irregular until they were little more than a rubble of rocks held together by mortar. A few floors later, the square staircase changed into a tighter spiral staircase, but the steps were crooked, and from counting the steps, she was sure she ought to be about fifty feet above the top of the tower by now. She couldn’t see how much higher the stairs went because of how the tower tapered, but she kept seeing a floor or two above her, so she kept going.

There were still rooms up here, if one could call them that. They were all about eight feet wide and between eight and sixteen feet long. She made careful note of each one in her notebook, but she could barely describe them. They looked like random fragments of rooms from elsewhere in the castle: a classroom with only three desks in it, a bedroom with barely enough room for a single bed. Some rooms had copies of the odd experiments she had seen below, but they were broken copies. They might have gears that would jam or pipes that just circled and never attached to anything.

There were little windows, too, windows that appeared to look out from the correct height, well above the roof of the castle. But later, looking up at the tower from the courtyard, she saw something she had never noticed before—row upon row of little windows that grew ever smaller and closer together until she couldn’t see them from this distance. It looked as if no matter how strange the castle became, its topology stayed the same: a window on the inside always matched up with a window on the outside. There was something comforting in that thought. At least the castle obeyed _some_ rules.

Oh, but it _was_ strange. As Hermione had climbed even higher, things became even more twisted. The portraits soon looked like moving modern art, and many of them weren’t rectangular and were missing parts of their frames. Things started not to be made of the right materials: one stair step might be wood and another steel, and they were sometimes so crooked that she could barely climb them. A few were missing all together. The ever-lit torches that lit the stairs might be made of copper or clay instead of wood, but they still burned, at least the ones that didn’t have their heads embedded in the wall. She even passed a suit of armour made of porcelain that had four arms. And there were doors made of glass, doors installed sideways, and doors so oddly shaped that it would be almost impossible to crawl through them. She started avoiding the shadowy corners, since she more than once found them home to overgrown spiders and other bugs, and in one case, a very large bat that thankfully flew down and away.

The tower continued to narrow so that the rooms became only about four feet wide, and by now they were filled with things that made no sense. Here there would be half of a desk, balancing impossibly on two legs; there, a chair with its legs installed upside-down, making it unusable; there again, a whole bed, but made entirely of leather and attached sideways to the wall because it was the only way it would fit. All three might be in the same room if it was long enough, and she was sure that the rooms had taken to changing whenever she turned her back.

Eventually, everything just seemed to melt together. She could _feel_ the magic twisting around her. The stairs were still more or less usable, but everything else—wall, door, room, window, and furniture—all looked like a hodge podge, as if someone had taken bits of everything in the castle and thrown it all in a blender. To the extent that there _were_ rooms, they looked more like closets.

She tried one door that looked like the door to a kitchen cupboard and inside a little cubby-hole found a small window and what she realised was supposed to be a bed. The mattress was the right thickness, but it was the size of an ottoman and had sheets made of very thin layers of stone. In place of a headboard was a fragment of a chair, correctly made of wood, but with its two legs tied into knots. One of the legs ended in a working hot water tap from which the water fell upwards and the other supported a bit of disembodied gear-work that appeared to be cut from portrait canvas and had splashes of colour flickering across it.

From the view out the window, it looked like she was well over four hundred feet in the air, twice the height of the entire castle. There weren’t any torches at that height, thankfully. Who knew what would happen if they got thrown in the magical blender? The only light came from windows that cut past the “rooms” directly into the staircase

After looking at the odd bed-thing, she heard a noise up ahead, a high-pitched chirping like a bird song. She moved up toward the noise, but when she did, a mouse the size of an Irish terrier leapt out of one of the cubby-holes, took one look at her, squealed like a pig, and bolted up the stairs.

Hermione ran screaming all the way back down the tower. It was only by a miracle that she didn’t trip on any crooked or missing stairs. She was done. There was no top of the tower; she was sure about it now. It just kept climbing higher and higher and got smaller and smaller until it dissolved into atoms and pure magic, and she was sure she would be eaten by a giant cockroach long before then. She didn’t stop until she had run down the three hundred feet of steps back to the seventh floor—where she very nearly collided with Albus Dumbledore as he was exiting his office.

She hadn’t had cause to meet the headmaster in person, yet, and this was not the way she wanted to do it. This was the Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and Defeater of Grindelwald for Pete’s sake, and here she was, sweating, unkempt, scared out of her wits, and so out of breath that she found herself slumping against the wall to keep her feet.

But Albus Dumbledore only looked concerned at the state of his young student. “Miss Granger?” he asked. “What ever is the matter?”

“I—I was…up there…and there was a…” Hermione tried to articulate between breaths, pointing upward.

The Headmaster’s face became more worried. “Up in the tower? How high up did you go?”

“Way—way above the top—sir,” she stammered. “There was a…big mouse— _big mouse_!” She held her hands a couple of feet apart to indicate the size.

“Oh dear, that high? Miss Granger, I think you’d better go see Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught. And in the future, you should not venture any higher than the top of the tower _ought_ to be without the help of a professor.”

She nodded profusely. “Yes, sir.”

“However,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “it is rare to see such curiosity about the castle from the students.” His eyes twinkled a bit as he continued, “Five points to Gryffindor for your initiative.”

Hermione’s mouth hung open for a minute until she came to her senses and squeaked, “Thank you, Professor,” before dashing off toward the Hospital Wing.

That hadn’t exactly been the best way to start the day.

After Madam Pomfrey had given her a Calming Draught—and some lunch, given the time, she headed out to the relative safety of the outside of the castle for a nice, _normal_ afternoon alone sketching whatever she could see. That seemed to be the way things ended up on the weekends. Hermione wasn’t ashamed of liking her peace and quiet, but it did feel a bit isolating at times. No one was likely to be out here on a Saturday—out on the Training Grounds, maybe, but not here, overlooking the lake.

“Hermione?”

Her head snapped in the direction of the sound. “Dean? What are you doing out here?”

Dean Thomas was strolling toward her across the courtyard. “I was gonna draw some pictures of the castle for my folks,” he said.

“Really? That’s what I’m doing.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were an artist, too.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. “I just know enough geometry to manage with buildings.”

He sat down on the bench next to her. “Alright, then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

She slowly turned over her sketchbook to show him, nervous about having her work analysed by an actual artist.

“Hmm…it’s not bad,” Dean said. “Shading needs some work, and I don’t know if you were really going for the fine detail like the ivy and stuff.” He flipped back to the previous pages. “What’s this?”

Hermione snatched the sketchbook back defensively. “I was trying to map out the Grand Staircase,” she said. “It…didn’t go well.”

“Oh, sorry.”

The two of them sat mostly in silence as they sketched, neither one wanting to say much after that, although Dean gave her a few drawing tips. She felt uncomfortable about snapping at him, but she wasn’t ready to talk to _anyone_ about her little adventure just yet. When she thought she was more or less done, she gave him a somewhat awkward goodbye and headed back inside.

* * *

“Today, we will begin our first unit on _un_ transfiguration,” Professor McGonagall began. “Because transfiguration can be quite error-prone, it is vital to know how to reverse a transformation. This is a complex art in itself, which requires a mastery of a number of different spell tools, depending on whether the transfiguration is permanent or not, how much you know about the original form, and whether there are any other spells applied, especially form-locking spells.

“Now, for many temporary transfigurations, like most of what you’ve been doing so far, a simple _Finite Incantatem_ will suffice, but this will not work on stronger or more permanent transfigurations, and at the same time, it will cancel many other charms and spells that you may not want to. So we will begin with the most general untransfiguration spell for when the original form of the object is known, _Reparifarge_ , so that you will be able to reverse your own work if you make a mistake.”

Professor McGonagall looked pointedly at Hermione at the next part, as she often did when explaining the more esoteric points of her subject. “ _Reparifarge_ is approximately the arithmantic inverse of the general free transfiguration spell, which makes it effective at reversing a wide range of transfigurations, but not as powerful. And just as free transfiguration requires one to hold the target form clearly in mind, the inverse spell _, Reparifarge_ , requires one to hold the _original_ form clearly in mind.”

Hermione was surprised to find she didn’t know that bit. _Numerology and Grammatica_ spoke much more about charms and jinxes than about transfiguration, something she considered a bit of an oversight. She knew the principle, of course, even if she didn’t know the breakdown for that particular spell: take a reciprocal of the arithmantic elements and build the spell from the first few algebraic terms—probably just the first two terms. She suspected that a spell this low level would only be a first order approximation.

She eagerly wrote down in her notes Professor McGonagall’s explanation and a few of her own speculations and questions based on it. As usual, she was the first to get the new spell to work, successfully untransfiguring her oak leaf back into a quill. She tried to help Harry Potter with his spell, since she’d wound up sitting next to him, but she didn’t think he seemed too interested in her help.

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall called to her after class was over.

“Yes, Professor?”

“The Headmaster informed me about your little excursion in the Upper Levels.”

“Oh…” she said nervously.

“While I admire your perseverance in exploring the castle, I agree with him that you should be more careful. Magic can be unpredictable at times. If things start to turn strange…well, stranger than usual, it’s best to turn back sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said, slightly downcast, and left the room.

* * *

Hermione wandered the grounds for a while to find a good vantage point from which to sketch the back side of the West Wing. Heading out from the Clock Tower, past the little practice stone circle that the advanced students used once in a while, she headed down the path toward the groundskeeper’s hut. It was down at a lower elevation than she would have liked, but it would do.

She was nearly there when the huge groundskeeper himself stepped out from behind a pile of pumpkins that were somehow as super-sized as he was.

“Well, hello, there,” he called out jovially. “I weren’t expectin’ company today.”

“Hello, Mr. Hagrid,” Hermione replied timidly.

“Aw, yeh can jus’ call me Hagrid…”Fraid I don’t quite remember yer name, though,” he said.

“It’s Hermione, sir. Hermione Granger.”

“Well, good ter meet yeh, Hermione,” Hagrid said. “And what are yeh up ter out here today?”

“I’m…drawing a picture of the castle for my parents. This looked like a good place to do it, if that’s alright.”

“Well, o’ course it is. It’s got a nice view, don’ it? Come on, make yerself at home.”

“Thank you…Hagrid.” Hermione sat on the large front porch of the hut and took out her notebook.

“It’s nice havin’ company out here,” Hagrid mused. “I don’t see too many o’ the younger students. Of course, Harry Potter and his friend, Ron, come by every so often. Yeh know them?”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah…we’ve met,” she said. You couldn’t escape knowing all about Harry Potter, as much as the boy tried himself. It made her feel a little sorry for him, when she wasn’t busy being annoyed at him and Ron.

But Hagrid seemed to like them, like many people. “Good blokes, those two,” he rambled on. “Course, I had ter pick up Harry from his relatives this summer. Phew—nastiest bunch o’ muggles I ever met.”

“Really?” she squeaked. That was news to her.

“Oh, yeah. You shoulda heard what they were sayin’ about his parents and about Dumbledore. They hadn’t even told him what’d happened to his parents.”

Hermione quietly stopped sketching. That didn’t sound like the Harry Potter she knew—usually looking happy, doing okay in classes, nice enough most of the time, but annoyingly not afraid to get into trouble, especially around Malfoy, although it might explain why he never talked about his family, when Ron and everybody else did—even Hermione herself, if you asked her.

As if on cue, Hagrid said, “Mind yeh, most muggles are pretty decent folks. Yer parents are muggles, aren’t they?”

“Mm hmm, they’re dentists,” she said absently as she started drawing again.

“Dentists? What’s that?”

Did _nobody_ in the magical world know what a dentist was? “They’re like healers, except they only work on teeth.”

“Huh, funny how they do things out there.”

Hermione found it was strangely pleasant talking to someone who had no idea who she was, about nothing in particular. In every school she attended, her reputation as a maths whiz ran ahead of her within a few days, but Hagrid didn’t seem to be in the loop, or perhaps he just didn’t remember. That wouldn’t surprise her.

“So yeh’ve been spendin’ yer Saturdays explorin’ the castle on yer own?” Hagrid said as she explained what she’d been doing.

“More or less. It’s hard when some parts of the castle don’t make normal sense—at least by muggle standards. But I’ve been through most of the parts that students are allowed in by now.”

“Hmm…” he said, impressed. “Must get lonely, though, don’t it?”

Hermione froze up. The truth was that she _was_ getting lonely on these excursions. She hardly ever saw anyone out here—Dean once in a while, but they never had much to say to each other—which was a little odd, considering he was muggle-raised. And so much of the rest of the time, she was in schoolwork mode and didn’t really have much occasion to talk to people. She was starting to see the pattern, but this yet one more thing she wasn’t sure how to talk to anyone about, including her parents.

“It can be…” she admitted. “I see Dean Thomas out here drawing sometimes, but there’s not many people interested in this kind of thing. I think I’ve got most of the drawings I want done, though.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find some good friends in there. Always a pretty good lot, the students, most o’ them.”

“Yeah…sure…” She kept sketching, not letting Hagrid see her face.

As she was putting the finishing touches on her drawing, something struck her—something she couldn’t believe she’d never noticed before. “Hagrid?” she asked.

“Yeah?”

“What’s above the Great Hall?”

“What’s above where?”

“Look.” She pointed up at the castle. “Above the Great Hall, there’s three rows of windows and three small towers. I’m sure they’re not visible on the inside. They must be above the enchanted ceiling. Do you know what’s up there?”

Hagrid stroked his wild beard in thought. “Hmm…can’t say I do. Never paid much attention ter that before. Don’t think anyone ever goes up there.”

Was it just her, or were there a lot of things about Hogwarts that nobody ever paid attention to? Then again, the castle _was_ a thousand years old, and Hagrid _was_ only the groundskeeper. Maybe one of the professors would know.

* * *

Nope. Nobody really _did_ pay attention to what the castle looked like. Professor Vector said she’d never thought about what was above the Great Hall and had never heard of anyone using that space. Professor Binns was sadly useless, as usual, as was, more surprisingly, _Hogwarts, A History_. And she didn’t feel comfortable asking Professor McGonagall after the Grand Staircase fiasco—which was silly, she thought. It was a perfectly reasonable question. It was just the way everyone else seemed to ignore it that made her feel like it was taboo or something. And Professor McGonagall just didn’t seem to be the one to approach for that.

In a normal school, this wouldn’t have been a difficult question. But then again, in a normal school, a lot of things that had already happened to her this year wouldn’t have happened. And the students were no help, either. Of her study group, Cedric was the only one who had even _noticed_ the rows of little windows. She’d tried the prefects all the way up to seventh year, too, and none of them knew what was up there either, much less how to get there.

Hermione sighed softly. Perhaps it was time she took more drastic action. She’d rather not go there, but she had to admit it probably _would_ work—

“Hey, Hermione,” someone interrupted her thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, hi, Parvati,” she said, seeing her roommate sit beside her on the sofa in the Common Room.

“So I haven’t seen you much lately. Where do you go all the time?”

“The library, mostly…I like to get my homework done early…and then read for a while.”

“Well, I guess that’s good if you can. You should come and hang out with me and Lavender sometimes, though.”

“Oh, what do you do together?”

“You know, just talk. Or we could do your hair,” Parvati offered.

Hermione slumped back on the sofa and sighed loudly. She’d never had a single female friend who hadn’t offered to do that at least once. She didn’t particularly like her bushy hair, but she didn’t have time to get it under control every morning. Or, if she was brutally honest, she rarely wanted to take the time, like other girls did.

“Sorry. Just talk, then?” Parvati backed off.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been good at that either…what do normal girls talk about, anyway?”

“Mm…boys, Quidditch stars, family, other girls, whatever’s in _Witch Weekly_ , how much we hate our teachers—”

“I like most of my teachers,” Hermione protested. “Besides, we have all but one of the same ones.”

“Well, there’s other things. Listen, how about I loan you my copy of _Witch Weekly_? Then you’ll at least know what’s going on.”

“Uh, sure, thanks,” she said unenthusiastically.

“Great…”

She tried reading Parvati’s copy of _Witch Weekly_ that evening. She really did. But she gave up halfway through. She just couldn’t slog through all of those gossip columns. It didn’t help that she didn’t even know who Gwenog Jones _was_ , much less why she should care about her correspondence with Kirley Duke of the Weird Sisters. She didn’t care for that in the muggle world, and here was no different.

What did she talk about with her friends back at home—besides school, anyway? Books? Movies? Sure, there was a fair bit of that, but most people in the magical world didn’t even know who Tolkien was, let alone Arthur Clarke, and they’d certainly never seen a muggle film, any more than she’d seen a magical play. Relationships? Well, they were starting to in secondary school, but she’d been out of her element there, too.

Honestly, Hermione liked maths, science, science fiction, fantasy, chess, classical music, history—she could find other girls like that in the muggle world, but at Hogwarts—at best, she was in the wrong house for that. When it came down to it, she just had to admit that she had almost nothing in common with Lavender or Parvati. And Lily and Sally-Anne weren’t much better. They mostly just hung out with each other, and she rarely saw them outside of class since they were both even more morning people than she was. She was starting to wonder if the Sorting Hat had been right not to put her in Ravenclaw.

Meanwhile, her lingering problem of figuring out what was above the Great Hall was still tugging at her mind, and she was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she had only one useful resource left.

* * *

Well, this was it, she thought. This was her last, best hope for solving the mystery. It was risky, but if she was a Gryffindor, she might as well put it to _some_ use.

“Hello, Fred, George,” she said uneasily when she caught the Weasley Twins in the Common Room.

“Why, hello, Miss Granger. What can we do for you?” one of the red-haired boys said—probably Fred. She was starting to notice that Fred was the more outgoing of the two and more often the first to speak.

“Ah, you two know a lot about the castle, right?”

“Do we know a lot about the castle, Fred?” the second twin said, laughing.

“I’d say we know a fair bit, George. Trying to find a way to sneak out, are we?”

“No! I was just wondering if you could tell me what’s above the Great Hall.”

They stared at her in confusion. “Come again?” George said.

“There are three rows of little windows above the Great Hall. I was wondering what’s up there. Even Professor Vector didn’t know.”

Now the twins stared at each other. “I never noticed that,” George said.

“Me neither,” Fred replied. “I’ve never seen them mentioned…anywhere.”

“Do you think we should check with, uh…” George lowered his voice.

“Yes, I think we should. Miss Granger, could you give us a few minutes while we check our…sources?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Come on, George, let’s go.” They dashed up the staircase to their dorm room.

Hermione wondered what that was all about. If she found out those two had had a map this whole time, she would…well, she wasn’t sure what she would do yet, but she’d at least reconsider her stance of not antagonising them.

Up in their room, Fred and George quickly made sure there was no one inside, shut the door, and took out their most prized possession: the Marauder’s Map.

The Marauder’s Map was one of the most impressive bits of charms work they had ever seen. They’d filched it from Filch in their first year—from his “Confiscated and Highly Dangerous’ file, no less. At first, they’d thought it was just a piece of parchment charmed to make snarky comments at people, but, apparently sensing the presence of a couple of pranksters, it had led them on until they’d discovered the pass phrase: “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

They spoke the pass phrase now, and the map came to life, drawing in the names of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, those great unknown patrons of magical mischief-makers.

It was a complicated piece of work. The map unfolded to about three feet wide, and even then, the little dots that represented the occupants of the castle were barely bigger than periods. At meal times, the Great Hall was just a jumbled mess of names in between long rows of dots.

But it was surprisingly easy to use. The map was laid out like a book, with the West Wing on the left-hand page and the East Wing on the right-hand page. The front cover showed the title and a stylised representation of the grounds. The first spread was the dungeons, with some cutaways for the storage rooms under the dungeons. The next was the ground floor, then the first floor, and so on, up to the seventh floor. Finally, the tenth spread and the back cover were covered in dozens of little circles—cross sections of all the towers all the way up to the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Finding a person in all those pages could be difficult, but finding a _place_ should have been easy. Yet even though they checked all the levels just to be sure, they found their memories were accurate: the building that housed the Great Hall was only drawn on the spread for the ground floor.

“Huh, that _is_ odd,” Fred said. “I know I’ve seen those windows, but they’re not on the map.”

“I know…” said George. “Maybe the Marauders never went up there.”

“Blasphemy!” his twin exclaimed. “Burn the blasphemer!”

“It _would_ make sense, though,” George laughed. “Not much reason to go there if no one ever uses it. And if even some of the professors don’t know—”

“—they really might not have thought about it. Wow…”

“I think that girl’s really going places.”

“Oh, yes, brother. Merlin help us all if she ever turns that mind of hers to pranking. Any ideas how to get up there, now?”

“Well, there must be a door off the Great Hall or the Entrance Hall somewhere, but I wouldn’t know where to look. You?”

“Haven’t the foggiest…but I know someone who might.”

Both twins broke into wicked grins. “Mischief managed.”

Hermione was waiting in the chair where they’d left her when the Weasley Twins ran back down the stairs.

“You have us at a loss, Miss Granger,” one of them said.

“Even _we_ do not know what is above the Great Hall—”

“—something we thought was impossible.”

“Oh, alright then,” Hermione said, disappointed.

“You seem to have quite the knack for finding out things, though,” the second twin said. She gave an equivocal nod. _She_ thought that was far more down to everyone else’s lack of curiosity.

“If you should discover what _is_ up there—”

“—We do hope you’ll let us know.”

“It’s a rare treat to meet anyone who can compete with us on this sort of thing.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’ll, uh, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She was glad when they left her alone after that. She could appreciate the compliment, but she still didn’t want their reputations rubbing off on her.

As for searching for a way into the unknown space, she could try checking for doors in that part of the castle that led up, but it wouldn’t be easy. She had the rest of the castle pretty well mapped out now and had been in all the other towers that weren’t off limits, but that was mostly from asking the older students how to get places. There were so many hidden doors and doors that were really “walls just pretending” in Hogwarts that it would be hard to find a new place that nobody knew about. And in the meantime, with her mapping efforts, she hadn’t kept up with her calculus studies as well as she’d intended, not to mention trying to get to know her fellow students. Maybe it was time that she took a break from her exploring, she thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling to the power of Harry Potter is somewhere on the order of one billion galleons.
> 
> If anyone thinks Hermione seems out of character in this chapter, I can personally attest that prolonged stress and sleep deprivation can do that to a person. This will come to a head in the next chapter.
> 
> Many thanks to Pahan for providing great feedback and encouraging and challenging me to be bolder in writing this and upcoming chapters, which I think has made them much better than my original version.

Hermione was on edge from the minute the Potions class started, when she and Dean found themselves at a table adjacent to Draco Malfoy and his crony, Goyle. Just what she needed, she thought. It was hard enough just dealing with Professor Snape every week. Malfoy had more or less left her alone since their confrontation in the dungeons, but he had been in an increasingly bad mood in the last two Potions classes.

“Padma heard from Mandy Brocklehurst who heard from Daphne Greengrass that Malfoy’s been complaining because a muggle-born is getting better grades than he is,” was Parvati’s breathless explanation, and Hermione had to conclude that it was depressingly plausible, from what she had heard about pureblood politics. Hermione just continued to ignore him. After all, there had been people around who were jealous of her intelligence since she was five. She had no intention of letting anything the little git said interfere with her studies.

But Malfoy didn’t say anything to her. He only sneered at her a few times. Actually, he sneered at her fairly often, as he kept glancing suspiciously in her direction, but she didn’t think much of it. It was only when she and Dean were both bent over the Potions book, checking the next step, and Snape was at the far corner of the room making waspish comments at Harry and Ron, that Malfoy made his move.

Hermione saw the movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up just in time to see Malfoy toss a handful of _something_ into her cauldron. She didn’t quite get a good look at it, but she didn’t need to, as the potion’s reaction made it obvious, almost instantly boiling over in exactly the same way that Neville and Seamus had botched their potion last week.

It was only by reflexes faster than Hermione knew she had that catastrophe was averted. She reached under the cauldron and flipped the burner off before the now-explosive liquid touched it—the blast last week had been enough to send Seamus to the Hospital Wing. As it was, she got a scalded hand for her efforts, but that was the least of her problems, and Snape had turned toward the shouts and was approaching with a wicked grin.

“Tut tut,” he said, casually vanishing the spilt potion with his wand. “Pine nuts again. Thought you’d try to experiment without permission, Granger? Or did you actually manage to read the wrong page?”

“N-neither, Professor,” she stammered. “Malfoy threw them in.”

“I did not,” Malfoy said indignantly. “I can’t help it if you don’t know how to brew a simple potion.”

“But I saw you throw them!”

“Prove it!”

Hermione turned a hair paler and looked at Dean pleadingly, but he shook his head slightly. He hadn’t been looking that direction, and, Gryffindor though he was, he wasn’t about to lie to Snape.

“Well, I’d say this work rates a Poor,” Snape said. Hermione’s eyes grew to the size of saucers in horror. “No use trying to salvage what’s here, and I’m afraid you won’t have time to start over.” He vanished the contents of their cauldron without another word.

“Professor,” she tried again, “We don’t even have any pine nuts set out here. The potion doesn’t call for them. We didn’t put them in.”

“I still see no proof,” Snape said viciously. “You should not make unfounded accusations, Miss Granger.”

“But I—”

“And five points from Gryffindor for talking back.”

Hermione let out a small squeak and clenched her fists tightly under the table. She wanted very much to walk out right now, but she knew that would just make things worse. Lavender and Parvati gave her a sympathetic look.

“I’m sorry about that,” Dean whispered when Snape moved on. “I wasn’t paying attention, and—”

“Just forget it,” Hermione said. She turned away from him and sat down and read the textbook for the rest of the period.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t even get off that easily. As she left the classroom, not looking up from her feet, she’d only made it a short way down the corridor when she heard a voice call out, “Running off crying to McGonagall, are you, Granger?”

She whirled around. “I am _not_ crying!” she shouted, which was quite true. She was far too angry. “Can’t we just stay out of each other’s ways, Malfoy?”

“Like I’m going to do what _you_ say, mudblood. _Somebody_ needs to show you your place.”

“I’m only trying to do well in my classes—”

Malfoy just talked over her. “Your sort don’t _really_ belong here in the first place. I don’t know how you pulled one over on Professor Vector—”

“I didn’t—!”

“—but I think you can see Professor Snape knows how to handle people like you properly.”

Malfoy drew his wand and, almost faster than she could follow, cast, “ _Tsimpima_!”

She tried to dodge, but the spell hit her left shoulder, and she could attest then that the Stinging Jinx lived up to its name.

“Ouch! Please, I don’t want any trouble.” Hermione raised her own wand defensively and backed away.

All three of them took a step toward her, grinning evilly. “No prefects around to save you now,” Malfoy said. She yelped as he hit her with another Stinging Jinx, evidently unafraid of retaliation.

She needed to get away from them, and fast. She needed to keep them from following and hexing her, which meant she needed a way to slow them down reliably without using too much power. One of the very few jinxes they’d learnt so far in Defence Class was the obvious solution. She raised her wand, still vaguely horrified at the blatant rule-breaking of it, and uttered, “ _Colloshoo_.”

Crabbe, who was nearest to her, toppled forward, his shoes stuck firmly to the floor. She turned her wand on a surprised Malfoy, but before she could cast again, she heard a gruff voice say, “ _Vermillious_ , and she got a face full of red sparks from Goyle. Then, as she blinked them away, Malfoy yelled, “ _Mordeodigiti_!”

The Toe-Biting Jinx hit her in the stomach, but that didn’t matter. She felt her trainers constrict painfully around her toes, so much that she stumbled and collapsed onto her bum, struggling to scoot away from them. Crabbe unstuck himself, and the three boys started advancing on her again. She raised her wand to defend herself, desperately trying to think of a spell that could even the odds. With a cry of “ _Verdimillious_!” she created a cloud of green sparks large enough to cover all three of them, but even as she uttered the spell, the boys were _lowering_ their wands.

“Magic in the halls? I’m sure you know _that_ ’s against the rules, Granger.” Out of nowhere, Professor Snape was looming over her.

She managed to scramble to her feet, though she still couldn’t feel her toes. “But, Professor, they—”

“Ten more points from Gryffindor, and be thankful it’s not more. Now, get a move on!” he snapped. The boys smirked at her silently.

Hermione stood stock still for an instant, every muscle on a hair trigger, and then spun on her heel and ran down the corridor—not so much because she was upset, though she was, but because she knew instinctively that if she opened her mouth again, she would say something she would regret. It was a pure fight-or-flight response, she thought afterwards, and that was definitely not a fight she could win. She spent most of that afternoon in her dorm room. After losing fifteen points in one morning—all of them completely unfair—she could be forgiven for not wanting to face her house-mates any more than necessary. She never thought she’d be so glad to see the weekend.

* * *

Hermione sat in the library on Sunday, trying to fight off one of those afternoon attacks of sleepiness that seemed to be hitting her more and more often. It was her own fault, of course, for staying up past midnight so often. She almost felt like she’d been bewitched, it was so hard to break the habit.

She’d spent the weekend, like the last couple, off by herself, reading—the time she didn’t need for homework, anyway. She felt vaguely like she ought to be hanging out with her roommates or something, but anymore, it felt like by the time she got to the weekend, she needed the time alone to rest up mentally. Besides, she enjoyed taking some time out to read what she wanted to, whether it was about the Second Derivative Test or _Animal Ghosts of Britain_ or just taking a closer look at _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ —when she could stay awake, anyway.

She might well have dozed off for a few minutes, her head hanging low over the table. At a sharp sound, she snapped awake—it was only an older Ravenclaw slamming a book shut, but at least she was reasonably alert again. She reread the page she was on so she could actually remember it and kept going.

With a start, she soon noticed the light through the windows was fading. She checked her watch and started fuming. She was late for dinner! This was happening far too often lately; she couldn’t understand where the hours went. She would barely have time after dinner to scribble out a letter to her parents and send it before curfew, and while her homework for tomorrow was done, she still had a Charms essay that she’d somehow managed to put off for the whole weekend. Again.

Hermione Granger never thought she would have trouble getting her homework done. And no, she certainly hadn’t missed an assignment, nor had her marks fallen. But it felt like it was getting harder to keep up, even though the work objectively wasn’t any harder, and that worried her to no end.

Hermione was by no means incompetent at managing her own studies. The obvious thing to do in a situation like this was to draw up a homework schedule, which she did. Unfortunately, and uncharacteristically, she couldn’t seem to predict how long her homework would take anymore. She was having a harder time focusing than she used to. Not that she was slacking off by any means—if she thought about it, she was reading more voraciously than she ever had in her life, since she was usually more engrossed in numbers. Even she had a hard time believing how fast she was getting through books, but there was no useful order to it. She just grabbed whatever book caught her eye off the library shelves—there were so many of them—and most of them were of little practical import to her classes. Even a detailed history of Grindelwald’s War, for example, contained little to nothing in the way of magical instruction, wizarding culture, or even duelling tactics, which were likely to be useful in day-to-day life. But Merlin, it was fascinating—wow, she really was starting to talk like them.

Anyway, she wasn’t used to being this easily distracted, and it disturbed her not knowing where it was coming from. It disturbed even more her that she was barely motivated enough to finish her homework on time, and she really didn’t know where to turn. It would be hard enough to tell her parents in person, let alone in a letter, and this just wasn’t the sort of thing she could tell a teacher. Not with her reputation. And there was nothing academically wrong with her—well, besides Snape—so why bring it up?

Hermione ate dinner quickly, paying little attention to what was on her plate and speaking only a few curt words to anyone who spoke to her. She felt exhausted, and the day wasn’t over yet—plus, she still didn’t really feel like dealing with people right now. When she was done eating, she then trudged up to the owlery. It was actually starting to feel like a chore writing these letters home every Sunday, which was probably another bad sign. She didn’t dislike it—in fact, she would have liked to spend more time on it, but the problem was that time was something she never seemed to have enough of, even when she thought she ought to. And, more to the point, she never really knew what to say anymore.

But her mum and dad were expecting her to write, so she went up and hesitatingly wrote out a short note, just putting down whatever came to mind. Oddly, most of the unpleasant things that had been going on literally _didn_ _’t_ come to mind, not until she was sitting up in the Common Room wondering why not, and if she really would have written them anyway.

She tried to get started on her Charms essay and managed to write about a foot—that she would probably have to rewrite tomorrow, since she kept dozing off in her chair, rendering it far more disjointed than her usual work. In an unusually clear moment of self-awareness, she decided that she must be even more sleep-deprived than she thought. Normally, if she was behind on her work (and this _was_ behind for her), she would stay up late to finish it, but that wasn’t working anymore, since she just couldn’t stay awake to do it. She’d have to finish the essay up tomorrow. She wearily climbed the seven flights to her bedroom and, like Sally-Anne had their first night, fell asleep on her bed without even changing out of her robes.

* * *

Daniel and Emma Granger waited in the kitchen at breakfast on the Monday before Halloween for her daughter’s weekly letter to arrive. Sure enough, right on time, a short-eared owl flew up to house and tapped on the window with its beak. Emma opened the window, took the letter from the bird, and fed it a piece of bacon. It hooted happily and flew up into the tree, where it would wait for them to write a reply. The Grangers were still amazed at how intelligent the post owls were.

Emma opened the envelope and sighed. Hermione’s letters had been getting progressively darker over the past few weeks. It wasn’t anything major. It just seemed like the mentions of her classmates were growing fewer, or when she did mention them, it was more often to complain about them. And while she was doing well in her classes, it was becoming clear that History, Defence, and Potions all frustrated her endlessly. The letters had grown a bit shorter and sparser, too. She could tell her daughter wasn’t sure what to write anymore. It was hard for any parent  to see their child begin to grow up and grow apart from them, but a it was lot harder when she was living in an entirely different world and apparently not adjusting well.

So Emma was more than a little concerned when her daughter’s latest letter came out a good deal less neatly written than usual.

“Oh, dear, it looks Hermione’s really got trouble now,” she said sadly.

“Oh, what happened?” Dan said.

Emma read the letter aloud.

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I just don_ _’t know what to do anymore! Professor Snape gave Dean and me a Poor on our potion on Friday. A Poor! And he_ _ knew _ _that we were doing just fine until that git Draco Malfoy sabotaged us. He managed to slip pine nuts into our cauldron, and it boiled over. (Pine cones are opened by fire, so they have a strong reaction to the heat—it_ _’s not important.) We tried to tell Professor Snape, but we couldn’t prove Malfoy did it._

_I asked Professor McGonagall if there was anything we could do, but she just said to file a complaint, and I asked around, and people say Professor Snape has complaints filed against him all the time, and no one ever does anything because he has friends on the Board of Governors! Including Malfoy_ _’s father! I filed a complaint against him and Malfoy, but there’s not much she can do because Professor Snape is in charge of the Potions grades._

_Parvati said she thought Malfoy was mad because I_ _’m getting higher grades than he is, and he’s one of those purebloods who think they’re better than everybody else. And then Harry Potter and Ron Weasley said to just let it go. Actually so did Lavender and Parvati. And Neville Longbottom said he thinks Snape and Dumbledore worked together during that civil war or something, and that’s why Dumbledore never does anything about him. It’s like everyone just accepts how awful Professor Snape is because they can’t do anything about it, and the worst part is I can’t think of anything to do either._

_Arithmancy this week was weather forecasting. I don_ _’t think it’s up to muggle standards, though. In fact, I’m not even convinced it’s really magic like before when we used numerology for probability manipulation, but it seems to work well enough for wizards. I’m really excited for Charms this week, though. Professor Flitwick says we’re finally going to learn levitation._

_Love from Hermione_

 

“I can’t believe they let that man get away with that,” Dan groused.

“Well, we know the magical world is behind the times,” Emma said dejectedly. “I just wish we could do more for her. It’s like Year 3 in primary school all over again, except we’re not there to hold her when she cries.”

“God, I was hoping I could wait a couple more years before seeing our little girl have her heart broken,” Dan said. “I don’t know what we can do, though. They’re going to make her go to a magical school somewhere, and it’s really only going to be Hogwarts or that one in France.”

“Just keep encouraging her, Dan. That’s all we _can_ do.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_That sounds pretty awful about Professor Snape. He shouldn_ _’t be allowed to behave like that, no matter whose friend he is. Out here, if something like that happened, someone would write a letter to the paper and complain, but I don’t know if you can get away with that there, especially while you’re still in his class. Are there some older students or former students who aren’t taking Potions anymore who could do something? We wish we could do more for you, but the magical world is so isolated from the “muggle” world that we don’t have much access to anything, really._

_We do hope your year isn_ _’t going too badly for you. You were so excited to start learning magic this summer, but now it sounds like a lot of your classes are causing trouble. And you don’t seem to be all that close with your classmates. We’re sure it’s hard adjusting to what’s basically a completely different culture, but we do worry about you. We want you to do your best, yes, but we also want you to enjoy yourself. If you have any kind of problems, please try to at least find a teacher you can talk to. We know you haven’t had much luck with Professor McGonagall, but Professor Vector and Professor Flitwick both sound pretty helpful._

_Please try to stick it out, at least for this year. If you really think it would help, we can look into having you transfer somewhere else, but, honestly, there aren_ _’t that many options. Just remember that we love you and support you here at home._

_Love from Mum and Dad_

Hermione read over the letter with a frown when she took it from the owl the next day. She was all too aware that she wasn’t that close to her classmates, and her classes certainly weren’t all she had hoped they would be. But transfer? She hadn’t even considered that, and she hadn’t even told her parents the worst. She wasn’t the first person Malfoy had sabotaged in class, not to mention the hexing incidents. But leaving Hogwarts would feel like failing—like giving up. There had to be some way to make things better here, if only she could understand how things worked in the magical world. If only she could understand why _she_ was having so much trouble independent of everything else. She felt like she was on the verge of failing a test that could have passed with flying colours if she’d tried…if she only knew where to even start.

Well, her parents _had_ given her one idea. And she happened to be sitting right by one person who might be able to help.

“Percy,” she said, turning to the red-haired prefect on her left.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Isn’t there anything anyone can do about Professor Snape?”

Percy glanced up at the High Table, where Snape was grimly reading the morning paper and taking a sip of tea. He leaned a bit closer to Hermione. “What do you mean? What did he do?”

“Well, he gave Dean Thomas and me a Poor on our potion when we were sabotaged by Draco Malfoy, and he…took he took fifteen points from me for things Malfoy started.” She sniffled slightly. “And he’s a really unfair teacher in general.”

“Oh, sorry, that’s too bad.” Percy said sympathetically. “Draco Malfoy’s been a bigger troublemaker than most of the Slytherins all year.”

“Malfoy, you say?” She turned to see Fred and George sitting a couple of seats down between Alicia and another Quidditch player, Angelina Johnson. “If you’re having trouble with Malfoy,” one of them said—George, she thought, “you might appreciate what’s going to happen to him this morning.”

“Alright, what did you two do?” Percy asked warningly.

“We will not confirm or deny any involvement,” George replied.

“You’ve got nothing on us,” Fred confirmed. “Why, maybe it was Lee who did it.”

“But it should be pretty entertaining, right Fred?”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, guys,” Hermione said nervously. “What if he tries to get you back?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Malfoy’s smart enough not to try anything in the Hall.”

“Besides, we’ve got two years’ experience on him and those two lumps he calls his friends.”

“It’s not you I’m wor—”

“Oww! Augh! Let go! Get this—stupid thing—off of me!” Hermione was cut off by a very nasally-sounding Draco Malfoy leaping from the Slytherin Table and shouting loudly. He pulled something that looked like a teacup off his face and smashed it against the wall. With half the school laughing at his now unusually-red nose, he glared across the Hall at the Weasley Twins, who were laughing the most hysterically of all. Most of the Professors looked quite displeased by the incident, and Snape had swooped down to make a show of taking care of things at the Slytherin Table, but Malfoy had already sat down, since he really couldn’t try anything with so many eyes on him, and started muttering angrily to Crabbe and Goyle.

“A nose-biting teacup!” Percy exploded. “And in the middle of the Great Hall! Really?”

“Brilliantly simple!” George exclaimed.

“I didn’t think it would work,” said Fred.

“Professor McGonagall will hear about this,” Percy grumbled.

“Ah ah ah, brother, you still have no proof we did anything,” Fred countered.

“Especially since Malfoy smashed the thing.”

Percy pinched the bridge of his nose. “One of these days, these pranks are going to come back to bite you two,” he said.

“Bite you! Ha!” George said.

“Maybe he _does_ have a sense of humour.”

“He _does_ have a point,” Hermione suggested. “If nothing else, Professor Snape can find an excuse to take points from you in class.”

“Yeah, but he does that anyway,” said George.

She and Percy both rolled their eyes. “Percy, I know a lot of the sixth and seventh year students don’t take Potions anymore,” she said. “Couldn’t they write letters to the _Daily Prophet_ or something about Professor Snape?”

“Well, they _could_ ,” Percy said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, it probably wouldn’t help all that much. There actually was a letter-writing campaign a few years ago, when my brother, Bill, was starting here. A lot of people complained about him, but Professor Dumbledore didn’t want to fire him, and Lucius Malfoy convinced the Board of Governors to let him off with what amounted to a slap on the wrist. But you shouldn’t worry too much. Snape usually won’t give you too much trouble if you keep your head down and are respectful to him.”

Hermione sighed and wearily went back to her breakfast. Apparently, there was no getting rid of Professor Snape. For supposedly being the best school of magic in the world, Hogwarts had some serious issues. A Potions teacher who hated children, and yet nobody could seem to get rid of him was only part of it. History? Binns had seniority on everybody, including Dumbledore. Defence? Supposedly cursed, and, given the small size of the wizarding world, they were lucky to get anyone to teach it at all. And bullying? For Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, apparently, the number one rule at Hogwarts was, “Don’t get caught.”

She left breakfast wishing she could go back to bed, and not just because she hadn’t got enough sleep. But no, she had Charms this morning. Percy went on ahead to…wherever he went all the time—he seemed to just appear and disappear at random, juggling his twelve classes. So she followed Alicia, with half the Quidditch team close beside, when she heard a voice call out, “Alright, Weasels, I know it was you!”

She looked over her shoulder to see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle storming toward them, wands already drawn.

“Why, Mr. Malfoy, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George said, obviously holding back a laugh, since Malfoy’s nose was still bright red.

“You think almost taking my nose off is funny, do you?” Malfoy fumed. “Did you put them up to this, Granger? I didn’t think you had the guts to go out for revenge.”

“No!” she cried in horror as Crabbe moved toward her. “I didn’t—”

“I _know_ Miss Granger wasn’t involved,” Fred said, stepping in front of her. “She’s far too much of a killjoy for following the rules.”

“You should not make unfounded accusations, Mr. Malfoy,” George added, mimicking Snape’s voice. “After all, can you _prove_ that _any_ of us was involved?”

“And besides,” George continued, “if, hypothetically, we _were_ in some way involved with planting that little teacup on your table…”

“We wouldn’t need an excuse,” they said in unison.

By now, Alicia and Angelina had backed away behind Hermione. Hermione had started backing away, too, but not fast enough because Malfoy and his friends and Fred and George all started casting spells.

Several things happened very fast. First, spells started flying—she didn’t even know who cast what, but she distinctly heard “ _Tarantellegra_ ,” “ _Furnunculus_ ,” and “ _Vermillious_.” Then, there was a loud bang as the spells collided and interacted unpredictably, and a whirlwind of red sparks exploded through the corridor. Hermione was thrown to the floor, and she felt a painful heat on her skin as the sparks danced dizzyingly around her eyes. When she came to her senses, she smelt something smoldering. She looked and saw the letter her parents sent her, which, being written on paper rather than less flammable parchment, had been set on fire by those overpowered sparks.

“My letter!” she screamed. She scrambled over and quickly beat the little flames out with the sleeve of her robes, but the damage was done. The letter was barely still in one piece and barely readable.

“My father will hear about this!” She looked over and saw the primary participants in the battle all had boils on their faces and were wobbling on dancing legs. From the blistering sensation on her face, she was sure she had a few boils herself. The hem of Goyle’s robe was on fire. Malfoy looked apoplectic, but he didn’t try anything else and instead staggered away, presumably to the Hospital Wing.

Fred and George quelled their dancing feet with a simple _Finite Incantatem_ and helped Hermione to her feet.

“Phew, things _can_ get a little crazy if you mix too many spells,” George said. “If you don’t still have that Boil-Curing Cream from your first week, we have extra. You don’t really need the Hospital Wing for it.”

“We _are_ sorry about that,” Fred told her. “We didn’t think he’d try to start something.”

“Well, not with anyone but us, anyway,” George corrected.

“See, _we_ _’ve_ been told on plenty of times before, and—”

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered as she pushed past them, averting her eyes.

“Are you okay?” Alicia asked as she ran past.

“I’m fine,” she lied. Right now, she just wanted to get away where they wouldn’t see her crying, but she could probably compose herself in time for class. The way she figured it, she had just enough time to run back up to her dorm—Thank God she actually _had_ saved some of that Boil-Curing Cream to show her parents. And thank God Snape had actually let her when she asked. (He claimed he appreciated people “showing some actual interest.”) It was about the one sensible thing he’d done in his class.

“Well, I feel kind of sorry for her, now,” Fred mused as he watched Hermione go. “That _was_ mostly our fault.”

“She seems to be having a hard enough time,” George agreed. “And I’ve seen that same look she has on Percy. She’s _obviously_ working too hard.”

“Mm-hmm. I wish we could do something to get her to come out of her shell a bit,” Fred replied with a grin.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Alicia Spinnet came back and scolded them. “She’s got enough problems without you two messing things up for her.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t do anything _bad_ to her. Just a bit of fun,” he replied.

“Like maybe prank her slide rule to crack a few jokes,” George suggested. “Do you know where she keeps it?”

“Prank her slide rule?” Alicia said incredulously. “She’s Hermione Granger. She doesn’t _use_ a slide rule.”

“Well, we just thought it would help if she could laugh at herself a little,” Fred told her. “Besides, it might convince Malfoy she didn’t have anything to do with his little incident.”

“You two just lay off her, will you? She’s having a hard enough time adjusting to the magical world as a muggle-born. She never had any magical friends before, and she’s been having a hard time opening up to people here.”

“It can’t be that bad. You guys are her friends, aren’t you?” asked George. “And we’ve seen her hanging around with some others in her year.”

“You know what,” Fred interrupted, “if you feel that strongly about it, we won’t prank her. She’s probably too smart for us, anyway.”

George snapped his head to look at his twin in surprise.

“Thank you,” Alicia said. “It’s good to see you have a sympathetic side.” She walked off.

“Why did you do that?” George whispered.

“Because I just had an idea.”

“I thought that was my job.”

“Not today, brother. Besides we can’t have Alicia tipping little Hermione off. She’s too smart to just slip something by her, like Malfoy.”

“But you just said—”

“I said we wouldn’t prank _Hermione Granger_. Have you noticed where she usually sits at mealtimes?”

“Ohh…” He remembered quite well, now.

“Exactly. Now all we need is some kind of light-hearted area-effect prank to nail the both of them at once.”

“Well, now that you’ve brought _him_ up, I _did_ have an idea for combining a Comb-a-Chameleon with a Springloaded Switching Siphon.”

“Oh? Do tell…”

* * *

“So an exponent…means…” Cedric Diggory checked his notes. “Multiplying a number by itself over and over.”

“That’s right,” Hermione said. “It’s a lot like how multiplying is _adding_ a number to itself over and over.”

The Wednesday afternoon study group was probably the high point of Hermione’s week so far, although she was looking forward to Halloween, too. But what with the mess with Snape and Malfoy, plus little annoyances like Ron Weasley being in an even worse mood than normal for no apparent reason, the study group was a definite improvement. It was also some refreshing intellectual stimulation coming off of History.

“Okay, so, like, ten times ten is a hundred,” Cedric continued. “Ten times ten times ten is a thousand…ten to the fourth power is ten thousand?”

“That’s right.”

“Wow, those are going to be some big numbers pretty fast,” Alicia said. “That means ten to the tenth power is…”

“Ten billion,” Hermione said idly.

Alicia laughed. “Just as fast with those, huh? What eight to the seventh power, then?”

“2,097,152.”

“How about seven to the eighth power?” Roger challenged her.

“5,764,801, but I memorised them up to ten to the tenth, just like the multiplication tables,” she said, staving off any further queries. “I doubt we’ll do much in class beyond the fourth power this year, and usually only squares.”

“I don’t know,” said Roger. “I think spellcrafting might use higher powers.”

“Huh…well, that might get complicated, then. Hmm…I wonder…Can you hold on a minute? I want to take a quick look at the library’s copy of _Principles of Analytic Spellcrafting_.”

“Um…sure.” Alicia said.

Hermione eagerly rose to head off to the library’s textbook reserves.

The older girl giggled after she left: “She’s so cute.”

“Never stops, that one,” Roger added with a chuckle.

“I know. I love how she just runs all over the place like that.”

“Okay, she’s not a cat, Alicia,” Cedric said.

“I don’t know,” Roger joked. “I’m not completely convinced she’s human.”

“Alright, cool it, you two. She’s a first year girl who just happens to be better at Arithmancy than…anyone Professor Vector has ever seen.”

“Yeah, but that’s the thing. Think what she’ll be capable of by her seventh year. She’ll probably be the youngest duelling champion ever or something.”

“Hey, maybe she can finally get rid of Snape,” Alicia added. All three of them laughed.

“Yeah, like _anyone_ could get rid of Snape,” Cedric finally joined in. “Maybe if McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout all chased him out an upstairs window, he’d go away.”

Hermione stood very still by the reserve stacks. It must be something about the acoustics of the library, she thought. They must not realise she could still hear them. She tried to shake it off. After all, it was just good-natured ribbing. But still, as nice as her Arithmancy classmates were, she couldn’t entirely shake the feeling that they really did think of her as their little pet firstie—or else something exotic to be put on display—like she didn’t quite fit with them.

And getting rid of Snape? If only.

As for the book, well, she only needed to flip through a few pages to find her answer: she should have known that spellcrafting would involve taking a lot of seventh powers and seventh roots. She even saw things as high as twenty-first powers in some places. She put the book back and returned to the study table, trying her best to smile as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. After all, why should she let it worry her? If the others noticed anything amiss, they didn’t say it.

* * *

It happened at dinner that night. Hermione ate in her usual spot, mostly in silence aside from an occasional comment to Percy Weasley beside her. Between the main course and dessert, an impressionable second-year Gryffindor named Katie Bell came up to Percy from his other side and spoke to him.

“Excuse me, Percy,” she said, holding up a small box. “Could you take a look at this please?” She stepped to the side slightly, so that she could see both Percy and Hermione.

“What is it?” he asked, taking the box.

“I’m not really sure,” she said. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Well, let’s just take a look, then,” he said importantly. He opened the box, and, suddenly, _something_ sprung out of it in a cloud of colourful smoke, hitting both Percy and Hermione square in the face. Hermione was momentarily blinded by the smoke and felt something like cobwebs brushing through her hair, which she tried to swat away, coughing.

When the smoke cleared, she immediately noticed two things. First, everyone around her, including Katie Bell, was laughing and pointing at her and Percy—but mostly at her. Second, Percy’s normally red hair was now light brown.

“Percy—your hair—” she started.

But when Percy turned to her, his eyes went wide. “Miss Granger…” he said, pointing at her own head.

Hermione quickly pulled a handful of her hair in front of her face. “Eek!” she squealed in protest upon seeing that her frizzy brown hair had taken on the colour of Percy’s usual flaming orange.

“Fred! George! What did you do?” Percy shouted rising to his feet and rushing over to where the twins were sitting. Hermione followed him.

“We’re sorry, do we know you?” one of them said.

“The face looks familiar, but I just _can_ _’t_ match it with that hair,” the other added.

“Alright, you two, cut it out. What did you do to our hair?”

“They switched the colours, Percy,” Hermione whined.

“Oh, look, Fred, it’s our long-lost sister.”

“Kind of creepy how much she looks like Mum.”

“Ooh, she’s even got the death glare down,” George said upon seeing her face.

“Does anyone have a mirror?” Percy demanded, looking around at the girls at the table. One of the older girls pulled one out of her robes whilst smirking loudly. He took a look. “Oh, come on! Change it back right now!”

“Lighten up, Perce, it’ll change back on its own in a few hours,” said George.

“Yeah, a few hours—overnight, tops.”

Hermione looked in the mirror after Percy put it down. She wasn’t exactly fashion-savvy, but she could tell that that was _not_ her colour.

“But why’d you have to involve _me_ in this?” she complained.

“Well, you’re the one who decided to sit next to our brother.”

“That’s a _dangerous_ endeavour, that.”

“And, besides, we thought you could afford to lighten up a bit, too, Miss Granger.”

“Augh! I’m plenty enlightened already, thank you very much.” She spun on her heel and stalked away, though she was secretly relieved that she wouldn’t have to explain to her parents how she became a redhead.

That evening was not particularly pleasant, however. She had to take quite a bit of ribbing from her roommates, and she didn’t dare go down to the Common Room. Tomorrow was Halloween, after all, and the jokes were coming fast and furious, on top of the obvious “Weasley sister” jokes. She also didn’t get any sleep before midnight, again, when she had to go out to Astronomy class. At least it was too dark to see her hair properly there. Good God, why couldn’t the magical world be more…normal?

But she was glad to see that her hair was, indeed, back to normal by morning. Having flaming orange hair for Halloween would have just been too much.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was the only thing that would go right that entire day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tsimpima: based on the Greek for “sting.”  
> Mordeodigiti: based on the Latin for “bite toes.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter minus JK Rowling is undefined.

“What happened to all my socks?”

Hermione Granger awoke on Halloween morning after a short and fitful night’s sleep with her hair as unmanageable as ever, but brown again. She had slept late and missed breakfast, but plenty of people did that the morning after Astronomy class. But now, she was going to be late to Charms if she couldn’t get dressed soon.

“What happened?” said a bleary-eyed Lavender Brown as she pulled herself out of bed.

“I can’t find a single pair of socks that match! Where did they all go?”

“I don’t know. Wendelin must have taken them.”

Their roommate, Lily Moon’s, deranged calico cat, Wendelin, was nowhere to be seen. And of course, Lily and Sally-Anne would have cheerfully got up and headed down to breakfast two hours ago.

“Mmm…try under Lily’s bed,” Parvati said with a yawn.

“Hmph.” Hermione knelt down beside Lily’s bed and lifted the sheets. Two yellow eyes peered out at her. As her eyes adjusted, she saw the outline of feline form sitting atop a bed of socks.

“Wendelin, give those back!” She reached under the bed to grab a handful of them, but suddenly, there was a loud hiss, as a multicoloured ball of fur flew out from under the bed and across the room.

“Oww! My hand!” she shouted, holding her arm up. A bright red scratch was visible across the back of her wand hand.

Parvati looked a bit squeamish at the sight of blood, and Lavender winced. “Ooh…” she said, “well, don’t worry. Madam Pomfrey can fix that up in a jiffy.”

“Lily really needs to do something about that cat,” Hermione complained. She wrapped her hand with some tissues while she finished getting dressed, and then ran over to the hospital wing to get her hand healed. Madam Pomfrey was sympathetic, but she barely heard anything the mediwitch said because she was more worried about getting to Charms on time, and with that detour, she barely made it.

“Ah, good morning, Miss Granger,” Professor Flitwick pleasantly said from atop his stack of books as she rushed in and took the only open seat. “And good morning class. Now that we’re all here, I do believe that you are ready to begin making objects fly today.” There were some excited murmurs from the class. “Levitation is one of a wizard’s most rudimentary skills, _but_ it is also one of the first serious challenges you will learn in this class. The Levitiation Charm requires a good deal more control that a simple _Lumos_ or Fire-Lighting Spell that only releases energy, and it also requires more control than simple charms like the Softening Charm that are simply cast once and are done. The Levitation Charm requires _continuous_ control for as long as the object you are levitating is in the air and can often take quite a bit of practice to produce any results.”

Hermione hadn’t really thought of that part. She was pretty far ahead in studying the _Standard Book of Spells_ , and there were the spells they used in Arithmancy, but she hadn’t tried anything yet in either that required continuous control.

Professor Flitwick spent quite a bit longer than usual, more than half the class, explaining just how the Levitation Charm worked and how to cast it, having them practice the wand movements at several points. At eight syllables, _Wingardium Leviosa_ was one of the longest incantations they had learnt, and lining it up with the swish and flick motion was tricky. But by the time they moved on to the practicals, Hermione was pretty confident in her ability to cast the spell.

“We’ll do this in pairs, so that one of you can act as a spotter,” Flitwick said as he began to levitate feathers to the students’ desks. “This charm can be temperamental to those who are first learning it. Now, then, Mr. Potter and Mr. Finnigan, I think.”

Hermione looked to where the boys were sitting. Harry Potter looked relieved and Neville Longbottom, who had been looking in his direction, looked dismayed.

“And Mr. Longbottom with Mr. Thomas.”

She wouldn’t be paired with Dean? Her eyes swept over where everyone was sitting and made the connection. _Oh no!_

“And Mr. Weasley with Miss Granger.”

Ron groaned loudly, and Hermione nearly did herself. This was just _not_ her week.

Ron scooted his seat nearer to hers as Professor placed a feather on their desk.

“Um…hey…” he said.

“Hey,” she replied wearily.

“Your, uh, your hair’s back to normal, now,” Ron told her.

“Thanks for noticing,” Hermione grumbled.

“Hey, I know Fred and George can be annoying, but they never do anything _really_ bad to anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

She rolled her eyes at the boy. “Yeah, that’s _so_ reassuring.”

“Now remember to put all the parts together,” squeaked Professor Flitwick. “Be sure to use that nice wrist movement to let the magic flow freely—swish and flick, swish and flick. And saying the incantation correctly is just as important. Remember, the incantation triggers the specific action of the magic, and things can go very wrong if you don’t say it just right. Don’t forget the story of Juan Carlos Baruffio, who scored a knockout on himself in the 1957 World Duelling Championships when he said ‘s’ instead of ‘f’ and dropped a buffalo on his own chest.”

The class giggled and shuddered in equal amounts at one of Professor Flitwick’s many humorous stories from his days on the duelling circuit. If that were really true, that had to say _something_ bizarre about how magic worked, Hermione thought. After all, why would a slip of the tongue produce a spell so powerful that most wizards probably couldn’t do it deliberately, even if it _was_ very rare? It was something to investigate in Arithmancy later.

She watched around the room as people began trying to cast the Levitation Charm, without much success. At the next desk, Harry and Seamus both swished and flicked, but their feather didn’t even twitch.

Hermione suppressed a yawn. “Why don’t you go first,” she said wearily.

“Sure, uh, thanks.”

Ron tried to swish and flick, but he didn’t produce any results either. She let him go on a few times, just watching to make sure he didn’t do anything “temperamental.” She wondered how she had got to this point. She’d barely spoken to the boy since the dog incident—or his friend, Harry, for that matter—and largely by choice. Percy was pretty good, and the Twins at least tried to be helpful in the own bizarre and, frankly, troublesome way, but she hadn’t seen anything to improve her opinion of Ron all year.

But then again, she was starting to feel a little conflicted about thinking that. After all, she’d barely talked to Ron and Harry _before_ that night, let alone after it. Sure, they were dumb and reckless—scratch that, they were _boys_. She mentally rolled her eyes. But those two objectively didn’t get in anywhere near as much trouble as Fred and George, and their troublemaking was what had really rubbed her the wrong way in the first place…well, that, and Ron _was_ pretty short with her when she’d tried to talk to him before. Still, she wasn’t sure if the duo had got in _any_ trouble since then. None that she’d heard about, anyway, and from the sounds of things, Harry was too busy with Quidditch practice for that.

No, her problem lately was that she didn’t feel like dealing with people. Exactly why was hard to articulate—they were an extra element of uncertainty in her precariously balanced life. She thought back to the half-burnt letter her parents had sent her on Tuesday. They had sounded so concerned about her, even though she hadn’t told them half of what was going on. She supposed they were right—it was so hard to find anyone to talk to—but she was worried about very different things, like getting her course work done.

And at the moment, she also had to worry about Ron, who was still waving his wand in a very unsteady pattern that certainly wouldn’t get the spell to work.

“It’s more of J-shape on the swish,” Hermione said offhandedly.

Ron gave an annoyed-sounding grunt and started swinging his arm in a very wide arc.

“Y-you know…I guess that prank _was_ kind of funny,” she tried to make small talk. “I was just worried I was going to have to explain it to my parents.”

“Uh huh,” he said. She didn’t think he was listening to her, not that it much mattered. He kept swinging his arm in a wide arc.

“You really shouldn’t swing your arm that far. It’s more of a wrist movement.”

They were interrupted by a shout from Harry’s and Seamus’s desk. Seamus had hit their feather with his wand and set it on fire. Harry quickly put it out with his hat.

Ron turned back to his own feather.

“Wingar- _di_ -um Leviso- _sa_!” He shouted it this time and flailed his long arms, nearly hitting Hermione in the face.

She forced his arm down by the wrist. “Ron! You’re saying it wrong!” she snapped. “And you’re going to put someone’s eye out.” _Like mine_. “It’s Wing- _gar_ -dium Levi- _o_ -sa. You need to swish from your wrist, and make the ‘gar’ nice and long while you’re doing it.”

Ron turned to her and positively snarled, “If you’re so clever, do it yourself, then.”

“Fine.” She rolled up her sleeve and held her wand aloft. Carefully feeling the magic flow through it, she swished it in front of her in a backwards-J shape and then quickly flicked it toward the feather. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” she pronounced.

The feather slowly rose off their desk, picking up speed as it went higher and finally coming to rest fluttering freely about four feet over her head.

Professor Flitwick clapped his hands. “Excellent, excellent!” he squeak. “Everyone see here, Miss Granger’s got it working. That’s it; now focus on holding it steady…”

Hermione smiled weakly at the praise, but Ron was still scowling.

“See, it’s not that hard,” she told him curtly. “Just be careful to follow the steps closely.”

Ron just scoffed at her, but between her and Professor Flitwick, and later Harry, who was watching both of them closely and soon got the charm working himself, they got Ron through all the steps by the end of the class. But he still only made the feather hop and flip over, and Professor Flitwick recommended some more practise to get it just right.

Predictably, Ron was in a very bad mood by the time they left class to head down to lunch. Granted, Hermione wasn’t in a very good mood, either, but at least she was quieter about it. As the two boys pushed their way into the crowded corridor, she started to follow in the gap behind them with the rest of the class. Ron was still going at it.

“‘Make the “gar” nice and long…” _Completely_ mental, I’m telling you. I don’t get how anyone can stand her.”

 _Well, you_ _’re not so friendly yourself_ , she thought. She pushed her way passed the pair in annoyance, nearly tripping over Harry’s feet on the way.

Harry might have misread her a bit because he said, “I think she heard you.”

“So?” Ron replied. “It’s obvious she likes being alone all the time.”

She very nearly whirled around with an indignant protest, but the words died on her lips in the very act of thinking them. Could she really deny it at this point? Could she, with as many times as she’d thought to herself that she didn’t want to deal with people right now in the past few weeks?

And then, suddenly forced to confront things she had buried so deep, Hermione felt something crack. Something that had building up inside her all month—maybe all year—broke free, and her tears started flowing freely before she even knew what had happened. She didn’t understand how it had come upon her so suddenly, but she felt like she’d just taken a hard blow to her chest, and she had to get someplace more private right now.

She started walking faster and then broke into a run. She could barely see to find the nearest girls’ bathroom, but she remembered the layout of the castle pretty well by now. She found the door and dashed inside and back to the last stall. Safely away from the eyes of the world, she slumped against the wall and sank down to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and sobbing uncontrollably.

She didn’t know how long she was in that state—just crying it out. She couldn’t stop it—couldn’t even think coherently for quite a while. She only knew that by the time she could breathe again and take stock of her surroundings, she was already exhausted from the tears and wanted nothing more than to go back to bed and not get up until Monday, but she couldn’t even think about dragging herself all the way up to her dorm right now, and please, God, what was _wrong_ with her?

It was quiet now, aside from her continued sniffling. There had been a couple of older girls she didn’t recognise in the bathroom when she had run in, but they seemed to have left without questioning her, for which she was mostly relieved.

She stared up at the high ceiling, wondering what time it was. In her haste that morning, she had forgotten to wear her watch. She was surely missing lunch, but she didn’t care right now. She wasn’t hungry. She felt the tears coming on again as she finally thought back on what Ron had said, on her whole stupid week, on her whole year so far, really. Where had it all gone wrong?

What was wrong with her?

She couldn’t do this anymore.

She lowered her head and covered her face with her arms. Maybe she should just stay here a while longer.

* * *

Septima Vector looked out over her third year class and saw, to her surprise, that her top pupil was not there. As far as she knew, Hermione Granger had never missed _any_ class before, and she was pretty sure she would have heard of it if she had. It could be for any number of reasons, of course, but it did give her cause for concern.

“Miss Spinnet, where is Miss Granger?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Professor,” Alicia said, looking uncomfortable. “Um…Fred told me at lunch he thought his little brother said something that upset her, but I don’t know where she went.”

“Hmm…” she sighed. Children could be so cruel sometimes. She could tell the girl had been having difficulties already. Still, there was nothing she could do right now. “Well, the next time you see her, please tell her to come and see me so that she can pick up her assignments.”

“Yes, Professor.”

* * *

Hermione had barely moved from her spot slumped against the back wall of the loo. She’d sat atop the toilet lid, laid flat on the floor, and leaned with her forehead against the wall at times, shifting whenever her legs got too stiff. She ventured out of the stall only once, to wash her face, but she was discouraged by how dishevelled and puffy-eyed she looked in the mirror and quickly ducked back inside, alone with her thoughts.

_“I’d know that ridiculous bushy hair anywhere.”_

_“You’ll pay for that, mudblood!”_

_“Somebody needs to show you your place.”_

She couldn’t do this anymore.

She’d been called names before. Not outright slurs, but there were always a few people who would make fun of her unmanageable hair or her over-sized teeth, or, more recently, about how “plain” she was, and worse than that, too. Back in Year 3 of primary, a few of the boys started calling her a “freak” because she was getting maths tutoring and doing things like long division and multiplying large numbers. She’d broken down several times and barely made it through that year with a lot of support from her parents. It was the only time before now that they’d considered switching her to a different school, but the next year was when she skipped to Year 5, and everything was fine again, and she’d learnt to develop a thicker skin since then.

She ought to be able to handle bullies by now, even of Malfoy’s calibre, and if that were the only problem, she easily could have done.

_The hell-hound on the third floor._

_Malfoy jinxing her in the corridors._

_Anything involving the Weasley Twins._

She couldn’t do this anymore.

Her parents had always been there for her, and they still gave her all the support they could, of course, but she felt like she couldn’t fall back on them anymore. Not like before. It was more than just that she was away from home. She hadn’t told them half of what was going on around here. There were so many things that she felt like she couldn’t—that they wouldn’t understand. She didn’t understand herself. It was maybe for the same reasons that she wasn’t completely comfortable talking to any of the professors, not to mention that parts of it could get her in trouble. But after week after week of this, it just felt so isolating, and she was having enough trouble with that as it was.

_“You keep to yourself, and you are separate from all others.”_

_“I_ do _expect you to stay awake in my class._ _”_

_“Must get lonely, though, don’t it?”_

_“What do normal girls talk about, anyway?”_

_Chronic sleep deprivation._

_“You don’t seem to be all that close with your classmates.”_

_Barely being able to keep up with her homework._

_“I don’t know, I’m not completely convinced she’s human.”_

_Not really even wanting to talk to anyone about it anyway._

She couldn’t do this anymore.

It wasn’t what Ron had said that had sent her over the edge. She’d been called a lot worse before.

No, what really got to her was how much of it was true, and what really ate her up inside was how much she had brought this on herself.

She’d promised her parents that she’d make some friends here. Sure, she was naturally shy, sometimes painfully so, but it wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before. She’d always managed to make a couple of friends, even through the worst of it. But how had she fared at Hogwarts in these past two months? Her roommates were kind of her friends, even though they had nothing in common. There was her Arithmancy study group—the same class she was missing right now! She almost leapt up and ran to the classroom right then, but she didn’t. She couldn’t bear the shame of walking in there like this—of facing Alicia, Cedric, and Roger dazed, red-eyed, and tearful—of facing _Professor Vector_ like that. She shuddered and curled up tighter in the corner.

Still, objectively, she could reasonably call her study group her friends. Of course, she didn’t have a lot else in common with them, either. Alicia, Cedric, and Roger were all Quidditch fiends, and she had little to no interest in sports of any kind. They were also two grades ahead of her. They were taking different classes, they could go to Hogsmeade, they were starting to think about dating, and, most of all, they had all been raised in the wizarding culture. As nice as they were, she felt like there was a gap she just couldn’t cross. (Not to mention how Roger kept calling her the “human slide-rule.”)

But why was she pushing them away so much lately? She’d got off to a good start and made some friends, and then everything fell apart. She closed herself off in her own little world that she loved and hated at the same time. She stopped talking to people, drowned her sorrows in books, and all but stopped sleeping. She was acutely aware that it wasn’t academically or psychologically sustainable, but she’d gone so deep into it that she didn’t know how to get out anymore.

She felt like she could barely say she had friends now, and it was her own stupid fault.

What was _wrong_ with her?

She couldn’t _do_ this anymore.

She couldn’t do this _to herself_ anymore, and she had no idea how to fix it.

She kept sitting against the back wall, crying off and on.

* * *

“Hey, Brown, Patil,” Alicia Spinnet said on her way back from checking the library. “You two are Hermione’s roommates. Have you seen her lately?”

Lavender and Parvati turned around. “Not since Charms. Is something wrong?” Lavender said.

“I don’t know. She wasn’t in Arithmancy, and that’s not like her. I didn’t think she’d miss that class for anything.”

“She missed Arithmancy?” Lavender said, surprised. “Wow, I know Ron was being a real git to her after Charms, but I didn’t think she’d take it that bad.”

“I don’t know,” Parvati countered. “She’s been really distant lately. Maybe it’s something else.”

“Well, either way, if you see her, tell her Professor Vector wants to talk to her—and…just make sure she’s alright,” Alicia said, sounding concerned. “I’ve been getting worried about her, too.”

“Sure thing. We’ll keep an eye out.”

* * *

It was by pure luck that Parvati noticed anything out of the ordinary when she wandered into the first floor girls’ loo in the East Wing. It wasn’t much—just a soft sound of sniffling coming from the back. She approached the last stall and saw someone sitting on the floor behind the door. Someone wearing trainers. Only a handful of girls in the school wore shoes like that.

“Hermione, is that you?”

A small, tortured squeak came from behind the door. “Go away!” a familiar voice whimpered.

“Hermione, it’s me, Parvati.” There was no response. “Are you okay? Alicia Spinnet said you missed class.”

“Leave me alone!”

“Have you been here all afternoon? Is this about what Ron said? You shouldn’t worry about him. You know he can be a right bloody git sometimes.”

“Please, Parvati, I just need some time alone to think,” Hermione said, her voice hitching with tears.

Parvati frowned. There didn’t seem to be much more she could do from here. “Well, okay, Hermione. Just remember to come down for dinner. And if you want to talk to us girls—about anything—you can. We do worry about you. Oh, and Professor Vector wants to see you when you have a chance.”

Hermione sniffed loudly. “Thanks, Parvati,” she whined halfheartedly.

Parvati left the bathroom, feeling defeated.

* * *

As Professor Vector looked out over the Halloween Feast, she was one of the few people who was not celebrating. She scanned the Gryffindor table from end to end. That bushy brown hair was easy to spot, and she was certain Hermione Granger was not at the table. She _did_ see the other first year Gryffindor girls talking to Alicia Spinnet in hushed tones. Perhaps someone had seen her, at least. Vector even looked at the other tables, but the girl was not to be seen in Cedric Diggory’s circle of friends, nor in Roger Davies’s.

“Everything alright, Professor?” Hagrid leaned over to ask her as the feast began.

“Oh, just worried about one of my students,” she said. “I think—”

But she was cut off as Quirrell, of all people, burst through the doors of the Great Hall—she hadn’t even noticed he was missing—and ran up to the High Table in front of the Headmaster, screaming, “Trooollllll in the dungeons! Troll in the dungeons! East Wing! Headed this way…” Then he gave a high-pitched squeak and muttered, “Thought you ought to know.”

Quirrell toppled forwards and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. So much for _this_ year’s Defence Professor, Vector thought.

The Great Hall was pandemonium. Many students leapt to their feet and started running around like headless chickens, trying to escape, but mostly colliding with each other. Dumbledore rose from his chair and, quick as lightning, fired off a loud purple firecracker from his wand. The Hall calmed somewhat, but only when the Headmaster fired off three more firecrackers did he obtain silence.

Albus Dumbledore was rarely seen angry. It was a terrifying sight.

“Prefects, lead your Houses back to your dormitories immediately!” he thundered in a magically amplified voice. “Teachers, proceed with me to the East Wing to contain the troll.”

Many students were still panicking, running around the wrong way as the prefects desperately tried to round them up. About half of the teachers left the Hall at once, headed toward the bridges into the East Wing to prevent the troll from getting to the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dorms in the West Wing dungeons. The other half were slowed down helping to corral the students. Snape seemed to be running off in a different direction entirely—Dumbledore’s little side project, Vector remembered, the one he had asked her to help set up. The troll would be a perfect distraction.

But Vector was already in motion as she took all of this in. She knew for a fact that there was one student in the school who was not in the Great Hall to hear Quirrell’s warning.

She rushed over to the Gryffindor first years as Percy Weasley confidently led them up the Grand Staircase. Perhaps sensing the danger, the staircase had frozen in place for once to let them pass quickly. She caught two of the girls and asked, “Quickly, do any of you know where Miss Granger is?”

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown blanched. “Oh, Merlin! Professor, she’s been in the bathroom all afternoon!” Parvati exclaimed.

“Which one?”

“Uh, first floor, by the Charms Classroom.”

“Stay with your prefects. I’ll go find her.” Vector rushed off toward the East Wing, hoping the troll was still in the dungeons. She hadn’t noticed that two first year boys had already gone on ahead of her.

* * *

Hermione still sat against the back wall of the bathroom, her tears mostly spent, but still contemplating her situation bleakly. She thought she had dozed off for a little while, laying on the floor, but she couldn’t even be sure of that, which she was sure was a bad sign. She’d probably missed Flying Class by now, at a guess. Was it dinnertime yet? She didn’t know anymore and couldn’t quite bring herself to care.

She kept sitting there and considered her options. _Why_ had her mum and dad brought up transferring? She hadn’t even told them everything that was going on here, and _she_ hadn’t been thinking about it at all, but now she couldn’t get it out of her mind. French was the only other language she spoke well enough to get by in school, and Beauxbatons was the only other school she could go to without needing her whole family to move out of the country. If she were a pureblood, she could probably hire private tutors, but that wasn’t an option in a muggle home. But all of that was moot, really. Her problem wasn’t the school. It was her.

She remembered how her parents used to talk about her getting cranky when she didn’t get enough sleep. It was a perfectly normal thing. It was always said half-jokingly, but she wasn’t laughing now. She could see how much it was hurting her. Having nothing else to do all afternoon but stew in her own troubles, she was starting to realise how much her chronic sleep deprivation was causing it. She was always too _tired_ to deal with things, whether it was people or homework or anything that happened that was unexpected. And the worst part was that her body was mis-adjusting to it. On the occasional night when she went to bed early, she would wake up early and couldn’t get to sleep again. She might actually have to work at it to change it back.

The other problem, the one that she was aware of already, but far more acutely now, was that she had no one to confide in. Usually, she didn’t want to, lately, but even someone as reserved as she was needed to actually talk to people, and she’d barely even been trying.

She couldn’t get that thought out of her head. She’d barely been trying to maintain her friendships. She’d barely been trying (by her standards) to do her homework. She _hadn_ _’t_ been trying to get a good night’s sleep in weeks. And all that had to change. The problem was that she couldn’t even _think_ about that right now.

She felt spent in more ways than one. For all that she was beating herself up for not trying, she _felt_ like she’d poured out everything she had, and there was just nothing left in her. Like she was just limping along, barely keeping pace where she was and not able to spare the mental energy for anything more—not because it was too hard—far from it—but because she’d already wasted too much of it to keep going.

She couldn’t do this anymore.

She was jolted from her thoughts by a heavy shuffling sound followed by a door slamming, and then, a very, very foul odour filled Hermione’s nostrils. It smelled, well, a lot like a toilet, actually, but one that had clogged and hadn’t been cleaned all week. Thinking the only thing that came to mind—that someone had had a very unfortunate accident—she wearily opened the stall door and staggered out to see if she could help.

She stopped when she found herself face to face with a hulking wall of flesh. The creature stretched up taller than Hagrid and seemed to be all lumpy torso and big, swinging arms that dragged a wooden club as large as a man behind it. It had thick folds of granite grey skin like a rhinoceros that turned horny and knobby on its huge feet. High above, a small, bald, disturbingly ape-like head sat atop its lumbering body, betraying its tiny brains. The disgusting smell that was emanating from it told her it must have abominable hygiene for anything capable of wearing trousers.

Hermione recognised the creature at once from _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.

It was a mountain troll.

It was an extremely dangerous Class Four-X creature that required specialised knowledge to handle—or, in other words, to not get flattened by its giant club.

And it was coming toward her.

She screamed.

She was sure she screamed louder than she ever had in her life, and she flattened herself against the back wall, her mind a complete blank as to what to do, its proverbial gears skipping and skidding. There was nowhere to run, precious little to hide, and no weapons at hand of any kind…

Wait a minute; she was a witch, wasn’t she? She whipped out her wand from her robes, forced as much magic as she could through it, and, hardly thinking about it, shouted, “ _Colloshoo_!”

The Shoe-Sticking Jinx hit the troll in the knees, but it whether it was because the troll wasn’t wearing shoes, or because it was just too big, it has no discernible effect.

“ _Tsimpima_!” Hermione yelled. “ _Tarantallegra! Locomotor Wibbly!_ HELP!” Nothing worked. She just didn’t have enough power; the troll was thirty times her size. It didn’t react to any of her spells except to growl and advance on the source of the shouting.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the the troll advanced on her. It groaned and raised its club in anger at the noise, smashing the sinks off the walls and spraying water all over the bathroom as it approached her, step by shambling step.

This was it, she thought. There was no escape this time, no door that she could fall backwards through and run away. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t even accidental magic herself out because you couldn’t apparate inside Hogwarts. She was completely cornered, and there was a Class Four-X creature coming to squash her flat.

With the hell-hound, she had turned hysterical. It wasn’t really that hard to get out, and there had been no time to see her life flash before her eyes. Not so now. Her wonderful memory reminded her of everything—everything, that is, except for _anything_ that would get her out of this alive.

She was going to die.

_She was going to die!_

She was going to die alone and as good as friendless in a bathroom, hundreds of miles from home, at the end of the worst week—maybe of her entire life. Her parents’ last memory of her would be a letter telling them that after all of two months in the magical world, she just couldn’t take it, and when they found out what had happened today— _if_ they found out what had happened today—they would learn she was even more right that they thought—that it had actually killed her.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

For someone who couldn’t stand to get a B on a test (or an Acceptable here at Hogwarts), there were no words to describe the feeling of facing certain death at age twelve and knowing in that moment that she had utterly failed at life. Actually, there were just no words to describe the feeling of facing certain death at age twelve in the first place. She was sure she was about to faint and was almost glad for it. It would be less painful that way—

“Hermione!”

Hermione was sure her brain had given out on her completely when she saw two people—two _boys_ —run into the bathroom behind the troll—the last two people she ever expected to see: Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

“Distract it!” Harry yelled. He started grabbing bits of debris from the destroyed sinks and throwing them as hard as he could at the troll’s head. Ron followed suit, but the beast barely even noticed. It slowed down and looked about as if confused, then shambled forward again.

“Oy, pea brain, over here!” Ron shouted as he managed to bean the troll in the head with a broken tap. That actually did get its attention. It lumbered around, staring at Ron, making the connection in its tiny mind. Then it raised its club at him.

“Ron, watch out!” Harry yelled. Ron ducked under the club as it came down, tearing through the wooden walls of the nearest stall and knocking him to the ground under the debris.

Hermione held her breath and only let it out when she saw Ron starting to crawl out from under the debris. But that was the only coherent thought she could form before the gears of her mind jammed completely. The troll had moved away from her? What? How? How could she have been saved from imminent death by the two boys who least cared about her right now? (Well, besides Malfoy, if she had been in her right mind.)

But the troll raised its club again and—

“Ron, move!”

The troll’s swing went wide as it was distracted by Harry’s shouting. Harry ducked just in time to avoid having his ribcage bashed in, and the club went through what was left of the row of sinks.

“Hey!” Ron was throwing things again, standing by the stalls and desperately trying to get it away from Harry. It swung bulk around again, and Ron dove as it brought the entire row of stalls down on top of him.

But Harry used his small size to slip by behind it. “Come on, run, run!”

Hermione barely registered Harry yelling at her. Run? Run where? There was still a troll between the two of them and the door. She stayed flat against the wall and shouted an incoherent protest.

All three of them shouting at once seemed to drive the troll mad. It roared, something like a cross between a braying donkey and a howler monkey, and started swinging its club wildly—up, down, and all around it, demolishing the entire room in seconds. Splinters of wood and fragments of porcelain were hurled everywhere. Hermione’s hands flew to her face to protect it. The troll lunged toward her again, and its club pounded a deep dent in the wall just over her head. Then, Ron was struggling to get out of the pile of wood chips, screaming as loud as she was as the troll made for him as if to step on him.

She was frozen in horror. She had to do something, but what? She couldn’t just stand there and watch Ron die. That this was all his fault in the first place was the furthest thing from her mind right now. But her brain still wouldn’t engage. Even she didn’t know any spells to handle a creature that big.

Harry looked equally scared for his friend, she could see, but he did do something about it. Something incredibly stupid. He ran towards it. He took a running jump and started climbing up the troll’s crudely-cut leather clothes. He was surprisingly good at climbing, but _what in God_ _’s name was he doing!_ He grabbed it around the neck from behind, but it didn’t even seem to notice. It lifted its foot over Ron’s prone form.

Except the troll definitely _did_ notice when its stomping about swung Harry around, and he accidentally jammed his wand up its nose. The massive foot missed Ron by inches.

There was a deafening roar as the troll howled in pain and spun around, flailing its arms. Hermione saw Harry clinging to its neck for dear life, but even more pressing was the fact that the beast was swinging its club wildly again. The bathroom was already nothing but rubble, but that didn’t stop it from pounding it into even more rubble and bashing chunks off of the walls. It might catch any one of the three of them in a blink with that thing. Hermione squeezed herself back into the corner, praying it would just go away. Harry fell off its back, miraculously (and disgustingly) pulling his wand along with him. Then, she saw Ron free himself and stagger to his feet by the door. For a moment, she thought he would make a run for it—and she wouldn’t blame him if he did—but instead, to her disbelief, he whirled around and drew his wand, even though he obviously had no idea what to do with it. He stood shaking, as if preparing to shout out the first spell that popped into his head, which would probably be completely useless. The troll lifted its club over its head again, preparing to pound the boy flat.

Then, Ron did the last thing she expected. He yelled out, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” And to Hermione’s amazement, the troll’s brutal swing seemed to bounce clumsily and went about a foot over the boy’s head.

For just a moment, Hermione felt like she had some kind of dissociative episode. It was as if her right brain was registering shock that Ron managed to cast the Levitation Charm correctly at all, let along on something that big, and at the same time, her left brain made about three logical leaps in half a second.

Then, time started again. As the troll staggered from its unbalanced swing, Hermione jumped to her feet and yelled, “Quick! Everyone cast the spell at once—one—two—three!”

Harry and Ron didn’t have a clue what Hermione was driving at, but at least someone had an idea. Three voices yelled out “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” with as much power as they could muster.

But mingled with those three voices was a fourth. For in a flash of burgundy robes, all of Hermione’s prayers were answered. Professor Vector charged into the bathroom, and, in a single, smooth motion, spun toward the troll, pointed her wand at it, and shouted, “ _Immobulus_!”

The troll froze instantly just as it held its club above its head, and, under the combined force of three adrenaline-fuelled Levitation Charms, the club actually levitated out of its hand.

Of course, all three of them were so surprised by Professor Vector showing up out of nowhere and freezing the troll that they broke their concentration. The troll’s club dropped down onto its own head with a sickening crack and clattered to the floor. Harry had to roll out of the way to avoid it. Ron later told Harry and Hermione how the troll’s beady eyes had glazed over and then rolled back in its head.

“Everyone out, quickly!” Vector ordered.

Hermione’s deeply ingrained habit of following teachers’ instructions kicked in. She found her feet at last and leapt over the rubble as fast as her legs would carry her until she was hiding safely behind her professor’s robes. Harry and Ron dashed around behind her. Then, Vector released her freezing charm, and the troll fell forward with a massive thud, unconscious.

A single roll of toilet paper rolled up to Harry’s feet. He picked it up and used it to wipe the disgusting grey mucus off his wand.

Vector sighed with relief. “Are all three of you alright?”

“Y-y-yes, Professor,” Hermione said. Truthfully, she still felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest, but at least she was in one piece. Harry and Ron just nodded.

“Well, you’re very lucky, all of you. I don’t think I have to tell you at this point how dangerous mountain trolls can be,” she said, surveying the destroyed lavatory. Water was still spraying everywhere, and there was barely one board or pipe standing upon another anymore. “I don’t know how you pulled off that spell, but that’s not a good way to stop a troll, if you can help it.”

That much was obvious. They could all tell they were equally lucky that Vector had shown up when she did. They might have been able to aim the club if they’d tried, but not with the troll moving around. Harry and Ron grimaced at her words, suddenly aware that they could get in serious trouble for this, but Hermione spoke up sadly: “P-please don’t punish them, Professor. They were only looking for me.”

“I know, Miss Granger. I’m well aware of the situation—”

“Septima! What on earth happened here?”

In the chaos of their escape, they hadn’t even noticed the bathroom door slam open a second time. The other professors had clearly heard the noise of battle all the way down in the dungeons. Professors McGonagall and Snape rushed into the room, wands drawn, only to stop in disbelief when they saw the troll out cold on the floor. Professor Quirrell stumbled in behind them, but with one look at the troll, he clutched at his chest and slumped down against the wall.

Professor McGonagall was angrier than Hermione had ever seen her—even angrier than after Harry’s broomstick incident. Her lips were pressed until they turned white and she looked like she was could set something on fire with her eyes. Hermione was sure she was about to eviscerate all three of them, but Professor Vector stepped in front of them.

“Minerva, it appears that Miss Granger was indisposed and was not able to make it to the feast,” she said calmly. “Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley came looking for her when the troll stumbled upon them.”

“Oh, dear…” McGonagall seemed to deflate before her eyes.

“From what I could tell, Miss Granger came up with the idea to use coordinated Levitation Charms, coincidentally at the same moment that I froze the troll, resulting in it being knocked out by its own club.”

McGonagall’s look changed to one of shock. Snape was eyeing Harry suspiciously. The boys wisely didn’t say anything about the rest of the fight.

Vector turned back to the children, who all seemed to be standing in a daze. “That was very brave of you to come to the aid of your fellow student…Ten points to each of you for helping to bring down that brute.”

Ron’s jaw dropped open. They were getting _points_ for this mess?

But Hermione was on the verge of tears again. “Please, Professor, I don’t deserve any points,” she said. “It was my fault we got caught in here.”

Harry’s jaw dropped open alongside Ron’s. Hermione Granger was _turning down_ points?

“But you had no way of knowing a troll was on the loose, Miss Granger. _And_ you came up with a successful way to stop it—even if, I must stress, it was ill-advised, as you would know if you’d ever seen anyone handle trolls before. That was an amazingly resourceful use of your as-yet-limited magical repertoire and power.” Vector placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder and turned back to the other teachers. “Minerva, if you and Severus don’t mind cleaning up here—” She didn’t bother mentioning Quirrell. “—I’ll see these three up to their Common Room.”

McGonagall seemed to need a few moments to find her voice herself. “Ah, of course, Septima. And thank you so much for looking out for my students.”

“My pleasure. Come along, you three.”

The four of them started back toward the West Wing, with none of them really looking at each other. “Miss Granger, do please come see me tomorrow morning before classes,” Vector said as they walked. “You can turn in your homework then and pick up the next assignment.” She should have sounded cross, Hermione thought, but she didn’t. In fact, her professor seemed surprisingly tender and understanding.

“Y-yes, ma’am—thank you.” A normal person might have been angry at her for bringing up homework at a time like this, but for Hermione, it was comforting, like a return to normalcy, something she needed desperately, as her head was still spinning. She’d nearly been killed by a mountain troll, and she was saved by two boys whom she’d barely spoken to all year—whom she thought actively _disliked_ her. She’d skipped class, and she didn’t get in trouble. And Professor Vector knew she’d been in there crying all afternoon and hadn’t embarrassed her by mentioning it.

And through all this, she couldn’t get one image out of her mind: Professor Vector storming into the bathroom like some legendary heroine and stopping the monster with a single spell. The three of them had barely squeaked through that fight with their lives, and yet she made it look easy. And then, a minute later, she was just a teacher again. Hermione didn’t really have a word to describe the transformation except that it was, well, like magic. But she knew at once that she wanted to be able to do that someday.

Then, just when she thought nothing else could surprise her, Ron spoke up. She couldn’t have known, but Ron was looking even more uncomfortable than he had all afternoon. “Um…sorry, Professor Vector, is it? Listen, I don’t really deserve any points, either. It was my fault Hermione was in there in the first place.”

“I know that quite well, Mr. Weasley,” Vector said, to the boy’s surprise. She gave him an approving look. “Yet you also came back to help her.”

“Well, yeah…but only “cause Harry made me.”

“Mr. Weasley,” Vector said firmly, “a moment ago, I saw an eleven-year-old boy stand his ground and raise his wand to a fully-grown mountain troll to save his friends, even when he had an easy escape route. You are truly a credit to your house.”

“Well, I couldn’t just let Hermione and Harry get flattened like that,” Ron said, looking as if he wasn’t sure whether to turn red or green. “Look, I’m…really sorry…” He glanced at Hermione apologetically, but he mostly kept looking at the floor. “I shouldn’t have said those things. I know you were just trying to help.”

And her brain jammed again. Risking his life for her and now actually _apologising_ to her? “It…it wasn’t about that, really…” she started, shaking her head. “And I could have been nicer, too—”

“No, really, you weren’t that bad,” Ron insisted. “I couldn’t’ve cast that charm right if you hadn’t helped me. And I know there’s plenty of people who like you here.”

“Well…” Hermione bit her lip, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t know that Ron had been hearing her friends loudly tell him just that all afternoon. But that was only half of her problem.

“And _that_ , Mr. Weasley, is exactly why you _do_ deserve those points,” Vector saved her. “Not just anyone could have faced a mountain troll, and sadly not everyone can own up to their mistakes like that…Well, here we are—” She stopped in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. “Try to stay out of trouble the rest of the evening.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ron said.

“What happened to—” the Fat Lady began.

“Pig snout,” Harry cut her off. The portrait swung open, and the two boys climbed inside.

Hermione turned back to Vector. “Thank you, Professor,” she said.

“My pleasure, Miss Granger. I wouldn’t want to lose my best student. You know if there is anything you need, you can come speak to me anytime. Now, off you go. I’m sure you’re hungry—the feast’s been moved into the Common Rooms.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hermione said, realising for the first time that she hadn’t eaten anything all day, and she was, in fact, starving. She climbed in through the portrait hole.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter = (-b+/-SQRT(b^2-4*JK Rowling))/(2a).
> 
> The past two chapters together with this one have been by far the hardest stretch of fanfic I’ve written. Ironically, I can relate to my version Hermione especially well here because her trials of the past few chapters are partly based on personal experience, but that made it that much harder to get it just right to fit her character, and I hope I’ve succeeded with that. Mainly, though, it’s just a great relief to finally get this section done and published.
> 
> I would also like to note that I’ve yet to see a satisfactory on-stage depiction of “But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend,” and this is my humble attempt. If anyone knows any good stories that do show it, I’d like to hear about them.

The Common Room was crowded and noisy. The Halloween feast had been set up on a buffet table in the middle of the room, and the couches and chairs were overflowing, with many people eating whilst sitting on the floor.

Hermione noticed a number of people staring in her direction, probably at Harry and Ron, who were looking pretty dishevelled themselves. But once her bushy head of hair ducked inside, covered in dust and tangled with little bits of rubble, _everyone_ was staring. The clamour of the fight with the troll had probably been heard clear throughout the castle, and it was easy to see now who had been involved. Before she could speak a word, Hermione found herself mobbed by three hysterical witches.

“Ohmygod Hermione are you okay?!” Hermione’s mind went blank as Alicia caught her in a bone-crushing hug. Meanwhile, Lavender and Parvati both got in her face, talking nonstop so she could only catch every other word.

“Everyone was so scared of the troll—”

“We didn’t even think—”

“And then Professor Vector—”

“And we were like, “Oh, Merlin!”—”

“What happened—”

“We thought it ate you—”

“Did you get hurt—”

“Girls! Girls! I’m fine!” Hermione stammered, pushing them away to give herself some space. That probably would have been more convincing if her hands weren’t still shaking. No, she’d just been through a near-death experience. She wasn’t fine and probably wouldn’t be for a while, but she was unhurt, anyway.

By now, Sally-Anne and Lily and Alicia’s friends, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell, were crowding around to see what had happened to their fellow Gryffindor. Across the room, she could see Harry and Ron being interrogated by the boys as they loaded up her plates. She really just wanted to get to dinner, but she was surrounded now.

“Hermione we were so worried—what happened?” Lavender said. She started trying to comb the debris out of Hermione’s hair with her fingers, which Hermione found oddly comforting. She collected herself and started talking.

“The—the troll came in the bathroom—” Several of the girls squeaked in fright. “It came after me and smashed up the sinks. None of my spells were strong enough to do anything. But then, Harry and Ron came and saved me—”

“ _Ron_ saved you?” Alicia said. Lavender and Parvati looked equally shocked.

“Well, not very well,” she admitted. “Then Professor Vector came in and saved all three of us…” And she explained about Harry’s and Ron’s incompetent rescue attempt, her lucky break with the Levitation Charms, and how Professor Vector had run in and stopped the troll in three seconds flat, and how she had defended them to the other professors.

“I can’t believe you did that!” Alicia said.

“I can’t believe Harry and Ron did that!” Parvati said.

“I can’t believe you got thirty points!” Katie Bell added.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get detention!” said Angelina Johnson.

“I can’t believe nobody got eaten!” Lavender exclaimed.

The other first years stared at her. “Eaten?” Hermione asked nervously.

“Uh-huh, I heard a mountain troll can take your leg off with one bite.” The others all grimaced.

Alicia quickly changed the subject. “Look, Hermione, about what Ron said—he’s all wrong. You know we’re you friends, right? Me and Cedric and Roger?”

“I…”

“And so are we,” Parvati said. The other first years nodded in agreement.

“And us, too.” She jumped as Fred and George Weasley were now standing over her shoulder. Those two _still_ weren’t her first choice, but she guessed that was nice of them.

“I…yeah,” she said, breaking into a smile. She was starting to feel misty-eyed again. It was good to know she really did have that many friends, but she still didn’t feel like she’d been a very good one herself. “And don’t…don’t be too hard on Ron,” she said. They all gave her surprised looks. “Well, he already apologised—and, really, I just needed to work through some things on my own—well, a lot of things, actually.” And still did, she thought, but she could worry about that when she wasn’t about to faint from hunger.

“Excuse me…please…I haven’t had anything to eat all day,” she said timidly, hopefully deferring any further questions until later. The crowd parted for her, and she made her way to the buffet table. A great feast was laid out, like the Welcome Feast, making her mouth water. She quickly loaded up a plate with enough food to give Ron a run for his money, then looked around for a place to sit.

She saw Harry and Ron sitting on the floor in one of the emptier parts of the circular room, near the fire. She thought about how upside-down this day had been and decided it was well past time to reevaluate those two. She walked over and, still a little uneasily, sat down next to them with her plate in her lap.

“Hi…” she said. “Uh, thanks for saving me.”

Harry smiled kindly. “Anytime,” he said.

“You helped, too,” Ron observed. “What _was_ that?”

“Well, I saw when you cast that spell, I saw the troll’s club kind of bounce, so I just figured, with three of us, we might be able to lift it.”

“Wow—well, I’m sure glad that worked.”

Hermione nodded and hesitantly took a few bites as she tried to put her thoughts into words. “I still can’t believe you came for me,” she said. “I mean, I’ve barely even spoken to you since school started.”

“Well, somebody had to do it. We couldn’t just leave you alone like that,” Harry said. “Besides, we, uh, did kinda lock it in there with you.”

“What!”

“We were gonna try and find you, but then we saw the troll go into the room and decided to trap it. We didn’t realise you were in there until we heard you scream.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, we didn’t even know what room it was,” Ron said—or at least she thought that’s what he said, since he still insisted on talking with his mouth full. It figured these two would make things worse before they made them better.

“You really _should_ pay more attention,” she said in spite of herself.

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

“I was kinda more worried about not getting hit with that club,” Ron protested. “That thing was horrible!”

“You’re telling me,” Hermione squeaked. Her knife slipped and scratched loudly on her plate as she tried to steady her hands. “I thought…I was sure I was about to die before you came in.”

“Yeah, and it’s a good thing Professor Vector came looking for you, too. I _still_ don’t know what I was trying to do casting that spell. Mind, the crazy part is it actually worked.”

“I couldn’t think of _any_ spells,” Harry commented, remembering how his best idea was to climb up the troll’s back. “But that was amazing how Professor Vector froze it like that.”

“I know,” she exclaimed. “I’ve read about things like that, but I’ve never seen anything like it. I’ve _got_ to learn how to do that spell.”

“Me too,” Ron added. “My brother, Bill, he had to be really good at arithmancy and stuff to become a curse-breaker, but I thought _that_ kind of stuff was all in Defence.”

“Your brother’s a curse-breaker?” she said interestedly.

“Uh huh. He works for Gringotts in Egypt getting the curses off all the old tombs and stuff.”

Hermione was duly impressed. She’d heard Ron talk about his brothers before, but never paid it much mind. But Professor Vector said curse-breaking was some of the most difficult magic there was. It would take someone really good to do it for a living.

“Hey, Hermione, that reminds me. Did I tell you about that package Hagrid got from Gringotts?” said Harry.

She shook her head. “I think I was trying not to listen.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Go ahead and tell me about it.”

“Well, when Hagrid took me to Diagon Alley, we got some money from my vault in Gringotts, and then we went to this other vault that was really high security, but there was only one little thing in there. It was wrapped in brown paper, and it was about this big.” Harry indicated something that was small enough to fit in his hand. “And Hagrid took it out, and he said it was very secret Hogwarts business, and he wouldn’t tell me what it was. But I read in the newspaper that someone tried to rob a vault that had just been emptied later that _same day_.”

“So you think the dog is guarding whatever was in the vault?”

“Yeah. Hagrid said Gringotts is the safest place to keep something _except Hogwarts_.”

“You—you haven’t gone back in there, have you?” Hermione asked nervously.

“No. Of course not. I mean, if Hogwarts is really that safe, it’s not like it’s in any danger, right?”

“I wonder what Snape was doing, though,” Ron mused.

“Snape?” said Hermione.

“We saw him headed towards he third floor when we came to find you,” said Harry.

“Huh. That’s odd. I don’t know what someone would be doing _there_ at a time like that. I wonder what’s so valuable that they’d have to keep it here like that.”

“Or so dangerous,” Ron suggested.

“Or that. It’s probably some kind of jewel or talisman or something if it’s that small. Maybe we could research it and narrow it down.”

“What, more homework? I’ll pass,” Ron protested. “I don’t get how _you_ do it. You’ve already got an extra class.”

“Arithmancy’s not that hard…” Hermione protested. Of course, she realised, she’d been telling her muggle friends that about maths for years and still hadn’t convinced them.

“Maybe for you. How you get so good at Arithmancy, anyway?”

“Just practice…and a little luck, I guess. I’ve always been able to do maths well, as long as I can remember. Anyway, I think we should try to find it out. It could be important.”

“Then why don’t you do it. It doesn’t really matter, does it? Whatever the thing is, it’s safe, right?”

“Well, I just thought…” She stopped and sighed. “Sorry. I know I can be a bossy know-it-all sometimes.”

“You’re not that bad, really,” Harry said. “Though you _can_ go a little overboard—I was pretty mad when you kept interfering that day with the duel and stuff, but that was “cause I really hate Malfoy. You _were_ just trying to keep us out of trouble. And you _were_ right about Malfoy’s trick.”

“Oh, yeah, Malfoy,” Hermione grumbled.

“Now _there_ _’s_ somebody I wouldn’t mind seeing attacked by a troll,” Ron said, and Hermione had a hard time disagreeing. Harry laughed a little.

“Yeah, he’s been really awful all year,” Harry said. “To you, too, Hermione. I saw him sabotage your potion last week.”

“Uh huh,” she agreed. “He’s even worse than that, though. He actually hexed me in the back once.”

“What!” Harry yelled. “When did he do that?” Ron choked on his steak.

“Do you remember when I was making my map of the castle?”

Ron scrunched up his face, trying to remember. “Uh, yeah, I think Fred and George said something about it…How’d that go, anyway?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, I think I got most of the school that students are allowed in, but the measurements keep changing, so it’s not exact.”

“You mean the castle changes shape?” Harry said in surprise.

“Of course it does, mate. It’s magic,” Ron said, as if it were obvious. “So what happened with Malfoy, then?”

“Well, I was mapping out the dungeons when he saw me and accused me of spying on Slytherin. And then he used a Jelly-Legs Jinx on me.”

“Aw, man, what’d you do?”

“Nothing,” she said in embarrassment. “A Hufflepuff prefect saved me.”

“That little git! You want us to hex him for you?” Ron asked.

“No! That’ll just make it worse. He already jinxed me and got me in more trouble after Potions last week. And he accused me of setting Fred and George on him on Tuesday. I just want him to leave me alone. I don’t get what his problem is.”

“It’s his whole family,” Ron said. “Dad says Malfoy’s family’s been really anti-muggle pretty much forever.”

“His family should have just stayed in France, then,” Hermione complained.

“Maybe the French kicked them out,” Ron joked. “You know, they said, _“Ne jamais faire confiance à un mec dont le nom signifie mauvaise foi.”_ ’

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “ _Tu parles fran_ _ç_ _ais_?”

“ _Oui_ ,” he shrugged.

“Uh, sorry. I don’t,” Harry said.

“He said, “Never trust a bloke whose name means bad faith,’” Hermione explained. Harry smirked. “When did you learn French?”

“Mum made us all learn when we were little,” Ron replied. He sounded annoyed about it. “I guess Mum and Dad were thinking about moving to France during the war, and they still wanted all us kids to learn it, “just in case.” A little German, too, though I don’t know why. The Weasleys would never be caught dead at Durmstrang.”

“You speak three languages?”

Ron shook his head. “Mostly just the two, but I guess I know enough German and Spanish in case I got lost there or something.”

“ _¿Oh, has estado en España_?”

“ _Um, no, no, uh, viajan mucho_ —? Sorry—we don’t travel much.”

“ _Viajamos_ ,” Hermione corrected absently.

“Uh, right. Mum and Dad go to visit Bill or Charlie once in a while, but they can’t…we can’t really…” Ron started turning red as the conversation drifted a little too close to home— Hermione could tell he got a lot of his things secondhand. “So how’d _you_ learn so many languages?” he asked her.

“My, uh, my parents like to travel.” She felt like she should leave it at that. “I’m probably not that much better at Spanish than you are, though.”

“I have enough trouble with just English,” Harry said uneasily.

“Well, French isn’t that hard,” Ron said, surprising Hermione, who didn’t expect him to describe anything that way.

“So…What were you making that map for, anyway?” asked Harry.

“Just to find my way around—and to show my parents what the castle is like. It’s so confusing here with all the hidden doors and moving staircases. It seemed silly that they couldn’t give us maps to at least show us where everything is.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Harry said.

“We almost got busted by Filch our first day because we got lost by the third floor corridor,” Ron added.

“Me too! They need to put up a sign or something. Anyway, after we met that dog, I memorised as much of the castle as I could so it wouldn’t happen again.”

“The whole castle?”

“Everything on my map,” she confirmed. “There are some parts I still don’t know anything about.”

“Like the third floor,” Harry said.

“That’s one of them. And some of the towers are always locked. And…um, have you ever looked at the Great Hall from outside?”

Harry and Ron looked at each other. “Yeah, I guess,” Harry replied.

“Have you seen the little windows on top?”

Both boys shook their heads.

“Well, they’re there. I’m sure they’re above the enchanted ceiling, but no one seems to know how to get up there or even _what_ _’s_ up there. Even Fred and George didn’t know.”

Ron looked suitably surprised. “They didn’t? I thought they knew everything.”

“So did I, but they couldn’t find out anything about them. I was gonna try and find a way up there myself, but I…haven’t got around to it yet.”

“We could help you out,” Harry suggested.

“Really?” Hermione’s eyes went a little wider.

“Sure—when we can, anyway. I’ve got a lot of Quidditch practice for the match next week."

“Oh, right, Alicia’s been going on about it…”

Harry was obviously very excited about the first Quidditch match, as was most of Gryffindor, since it had been so long since they’d been able to field a competitive team. Hermione politely sat through Harry’s and Ron’s detailed description of exactly how Quidditch worked. She still thought the part with the snitch was more than a bit silly—it almost seemed as if it were designed to be deliberately frustrating—but she held her tongue out of respect for the boys’ obvious enthusiasm.

They talked for a long time about nothing in particular. They tried to talk about their families—what they could, anyway. Ron was from a wizarding family, so neither Harry nor Hermione understood the finer points of that; only Harry knew what a dentist was or understood much else that Hermione had to say about her parents; and Harry didn’t want to talk about his relatives, who, from what Hermione could gather, didn’t sound very nice.

Still they kept at it, moving on to books and films and plays, although they didn’t have a lot they could share there either. Ron didn’t seem to be much of a reader, even of wizarding books, and Harry had apparently led an extremely sheltered childhood. Objectively, she really didn’t have much more in common with these two than she did with Parvati and Lavender…except that they _did_ just face a mountain troll together. That definitely counted for something, so she didn’t mind so much, now. Honestly, she felt like she didn’t mind all that much about the girls at the moment, either. Maybe it _was_ just a matter of perspective.

The plates were taken away after a while, and a while after that, people started heading up to bed, but the three of them kept talking, oblivious. They went on for a while about classes and what a greasy git Snape was, and Hermione told them about Professor Vector and the basics (very basics) of Arithmancy, and there was another round of speculation about how the troll got into the castle and just what was hidden on the third floor and whether it could possibly be related (which they dismissed as ridiculous), and a lot of other, less important things that none of the three would remember anything about in the morning.

And as they sat and talked, the pieces of Hermione’s life slowly seemed to fall back into place, and she felt the tension slowly drain out of her limbs for what felt like the first time in weeks. She was utterly exhausted, but that wasn’t what did it. Indeed, it was when the darkness closed in late at night, and she couldn’t fight back sleep anymore whether she wanted to or not, that she agonised most over everything. But tonight, even though she was dead tired, she kept talking because tomorrow—tomorrow, she would worry about getting enough sleep, and fixing everything else, too. And she would need to worry about it, she knew, but for tonight, she was just going to not worry about any of it and just celebrate still being alive. And, she found, she was actually having fun with it.

Parvati and Lavender had said good night and gone up to bed an hour ago. They clearly wanted to talk some more, but they gave her her space for the time being. The Common Room was nearly empty by now, and a tired-looking Alicia came up and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Hermione, I’m going to bed. Are you doing okay?” she asked.

Hermione’s brain derailed for a moment. “Yes…” she said instinctively. “No…I don’t know—I’m sorry, I just need some time. It’s been a hard week.”

“Okay, well, we can talk tomorrow if you want,” Alicia assured her. “And don’t stay up too late. You don’t want to miss any more class—that goes the same for you, too,” she told Harry. “We don’t need you getting in any trouble before the match.”

“Oh, bloody hell, that’s right, we have Potions tomorrow,” exclaimed Ron. Harry looked genuinely frightened at the thought. Professor Snape _did_ seem to be harder on Harry than everyone else.

“We’d better get to bed,” Harry agreed. He stood up slowly and leaned against a sofa. “What do you think we’ll be brewing?”

“Probably a Dizziness Draught, based on how Professor Snape’s been following the book,” Hermione suggested, standing up herself and leaning on a chair.

“Aw, man, I didn’t even look at that one,” Ron whined.

“Me either,” Harry said nervously.

“I have,” Hermione said. “Hey, do you want to, um, switch partners in class tomorrow? I don’t think Dean will mind, and we’re both getting pretty good.”

“Really?” Ron said hopefully.

“Are you sure?” Harry added. “I mean, you said you’ve been having a hard week.”

“It’s nothing, really. It’s not that hard to follow the instructions.”

“Wow…sure, thanks.”

“Yeah, that’s real nice of you, after…” Ron started. “I’m sorry—again.”

“Well, you _did_ save me.”

“Yeah, but it was my fault in the first place.”

She sat down and curled up defensively in the chair, and she shook her head dismissively. “It wasn’t _just_ that. Actually, it mostly wasn’t that at all. I’ve just been having a really awful week—there was Snape, and Malfoy, and the pranks, and my study group was—well, that’s not important. And I’ve been sleeping very poorly. I’ve been losing track of time, losing focus—”

“But you’re still getting the best marks in our year,” Ron protested.

“I know, but it’s got harder and harder for me to keep up. I think I just need to back off the late night reading and get more sleep, but the stress has really been getting to me. It makes everything that much harder. And that’s not all. There’s so many things I can’t tell my parents or the teachers, or even other students, some of it—like about the third floor. You two and Neville are the only ones who know about it. It’s hard not having anyone I can talk to.” She kept looking at Ron and fought to keep her hands from shaking. “That’s the thing, Ron, I really snapped at you in class because I was already under so much stress from everything else. And then when you…said that about me…”

“I’m sorry—” Ron blurted out.

“I know, it’s just…when you said that…it hurt so much because you were right.” She clutched at the arms of the chair, fighting back tears. She couldn’t believe she was saying this out loud, much less to these two, but it felt so good to get this weight off her shoulders. “I’ve been spending all my time alone, and I just couldn’t take it anymore…And I think my real problem was I was being a lot harder on myself than you were…Anyway, I’m sure Alicia and the others will set me straight if I actually let them…It’s good to know I do have friends to help out here.”

“I’ll say you do,” Ron half-complained. “They’ve been setting _me_ straight all day…Mind, I _was_ being pretty stupid,” he admitted, sitting back down again. “I knew the Twins liked you and stuff…I guess I was just really mad “cause I couldn’t do that spell. It’s hard, you know? Having five older brothers. Bill was head boy, and Charlie was Quidditch captain. And Percy’s a prefect, and even Fred and George get really good marks when they try. Everyone expects me to be like them—including the teachers—but even if I do get good marks, it’s no big deal because they did it first. So when you beat me at doing that spell in class…” He trailed off, turning an unnaturally bright red in the firelight.

“You were jealous?” Harry suggested.

“Yeah, I guess. I was mad, anyway. Mum’s always yelling at me about it and saying how I need to apply myself more if I want to do as well as them…She’s gonna go spare when she hears about this.”

Hermione thought Ron’s mother had a point, but she kept that to herself. Still, that was unusually deep for the redheaded boy, undoubtedly brought on by being told just how big a git he was all day, by the sounds of it.

“Well…my cousin’s a lot worse,” Harry said uneasily as he tried to cheer Ron up. “He always said I was cheating if I got a better grade than him, and my aunt and uncle would take his side. I got really good at getting by with a D-plus.”

Ron smirked a little, evidently have heard about Harry’s family.

“Harry, no offence, but your relatives really do sound awful,” said Hermione.

“Yeah, but it’s alright. They can’t bother me here, and they don’t like magic, so they don’t care what grades I get.”

Hermione thought that sounded like one of the most dysfunctional families she’d ever heard of, but Harry didn’t seem too keen to say anymore. When she tried, he turned it into a joke and changed the subject. Still, he didn’t _look_ that troubled about it. Maybe being away from them really was enough for him. Ron could open up a little more, but with Harry’s unique situation and Hermione being an only child, they didn’t have much to reply to him.

But then Ron asked about the Dizziness Draught, and one thing led to another, and, somehow, they managed to stay up and talk for another hour. On any other night, Hermione would have been having a fit over losing track of the time yet again, but tonight, she was okay with it. It was her choice, for once, and that, it seemed, made all the difference. She was a little surprised that she’d told the boys so much. But at the same time, she was a little surprised they’d been so open with her—maybe it was the late hour messing with all three of them, she thought. Still, it felt nice being able to talk to someone for a change and not having to keep secrets.

Actually, she felt very strange: giddy and tired and turned on her head all at the same time. Even though not much had objectively changed, something made her look at things differently—like all those friends who had crowded around her when she came into the Common Room. Now that she could finally look at things in a better way, she felt much lighter. And yes, she _did_ need get more sleep, and she needed to talk to people and socialise more, too, but, surprisingly, even that fact was a comfort now that she understood it properly. Now that she knew what was really the matter, she was sure she could fix it.

And then there were Harry and Ron—the boys who were Gryffindor enough to save her from a mountain troll when she was barely speaking to them—she still had to wonder about the Sorting Hat’s judgement when her main contribution had been to be Ravenclaw enough to come up with a half-decent plan to get them out of it. In any case, if she thought about it, she could relate to them no worse than her roommates, and they got in less trouble than the Twins. She had to conclude they really weren’t that bad at all.

The Common Room clock chimed twelve, and Harry and Ron finally stood back up, again looking a little worried about finishing so late on a Potions night.

“I guess we really _had_ better get to bed,” Harry said.

“Yeah, mate,” Ron agreed. “Snape’s bad enough when I’ve got enough sleep.”

“Yeah, we should,” Hermione said.

There was an awkward pause.

“So…friends?” Harry said, looking at both of them—but mostly at her.

She froze. Harry smiled disarmingly. She looked to Ron, who had been more put off by her know-it-all-ness. The boy nodded slightly at Harry, then looked at her.

Hermione smiled. “Yes,” she agreed. “Friends.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: For every Harry Potter there exists a JK Rowling such that JK Rowling is the owner of Harry Potter.
> 
> Yes, I’m sure I butchered the Middle English. The spelling is phonetic, not historical. That was about the best I could do quickly from what I could find about the Great Vowel Shift.

“Does someone want to explain how a mountain troll got into the castle?” Septima Vector demanded as soon as she came into the emergency staff meeting the next morning, and she wasn’t the only one. Minerva had even more right to be angry than Septima, since it was three of her students who had been endangered. And Hermione Granger was the favourite of many of the teachers, with the exception of Severus.

No one bothered asking why the Defence Professor had fainted at the sight of a troll. _That_ was almost to be expected these days.

“I think we would _all_ like to know that, Septima,” Minerva said acidly, glaring at Quirrell. Once again, if any sort of disaster happened, it was the Defence Professor who was usually the first suspect.

But now, the Headmaster approached the table. “I inspected the wards myself last night,” he said grimly. “The troll entered the castle from the ravine through the drainage tunnels in the sub-basement. From there, it began climbing, eventually reaching the first floor washrooms.

“But why didn’t the wards alert us when it entered the grounds, much less the castle?” Minerva protested.

“The wards had been specifically opened to permit trolls to pass through without report,” the Headmaster said, to the surprise of most of the table. “Quirinus, do you have anything to say about that?”

Quirrell turned even paler than usual and started stammering fearfully: “I-I-I opened the w-w-wards to b-bring in a…t-t-troll—” his voice squeaked loudly “—for the p-p-protections on the Stone…I m-m-m-must n-not have c-closed them p-properly,” he whimpered.

About half the staff groaned and raised their hands to their foreheads. Severus glared at Quirrell suspiciously. The Defence Professor had taught Muggle Studies for years, but taking a year off and switching positions was a quick way to get turned into an outsider. After all, with the apparent curse on the position, they already knew he probably wouldn’t be around next year. Septima felt a bit sorry for him at times, but not anymore. Actually, she had to wonder how a troll would be that big of an obstacle in the first place, but if it were charmed magic-resistant, it might be.

“Your ‘mistake’ nearly got three of my first-year students killed, Quirinus,” Minerva hissed, slipping deeper into her Scottish brogue. “Frankly, you’re lucky we don’t have anyone to replace you at the moment, or you’d be out of here by the end of the day.”

“As it is, that is not possible,” Albus said gently. “I resealed the anti-troll wards last night and checked all the other wards for good measure. The castle is once again secure.”

“Secure against anything but more incompetence,” Bathsheda Babbling commented.

“There is another issue to be addressed,” Septima said harshly. “I move that we review our emergency procedures. In the chaos last night, only I and two of Miss Granger’s classmates remembered that she was not at the feast. It is unacceptable that we would lose track of a student like that. Miss Granger’s extraordinary arithmancy skills might well have saved her life, since it seems no one else remembered to look for her.” Minerva turned noticeably pink at that. “The prefects should be required to do a head count in such a situation and report anyone who is missing.”

Filius and Pomona instantly agreed to that, and the motion carried quickly, with the three of them drafted to make the review.

“Very good,” Albus concluded. “Now, Severus, I believe you had an additional security concern?”

“Yes,” the Potions Master said. “Letting the troll into the castle would have been the perfect distraction for someone to try to steal the Stone. Perhaps a mission of opportunity, or perhaps not.” He glared at Quirrell again.

“Y-yes, I had the same c-concern and w-w-went up there as well,” Quirrell said nervously.

“I approached the third floor immediately after the warning and again once the troll was dealt with,” Severus continued. “I could find no sign of a breach, but Hagrid’s dog made it impossible to search thoroughly.”

“Hey, now, Fluffy was jus’ doin’ his job,” Hagrid protested.

“How is your leg, Severus,” Minerva asked.

“I will be fine,” Severus growled. He glared back and forth between Quirrell and Hagrid. “Let us just hope that we have no more similar incidents in the future.”

“Are you sure it’s even the best idea to keep that thing here in the first place?” Septima asked.

The Headmaster nodded firmly. “As I have said, it is vital that we keep the Stone secure. You know that I would not allow it to be kept within the walls of Hogwarts if the students could not be kept safe, and if it would not be even more dangerous to the wizarding world to keep it elsewhere. Unless I can convince Nicolas and Perenelle to dispose of it, it must stay here.”

A majority of the staff grumbled at that, but they knew the stakes just as well as he did. And the protections were sound. Everyone involved agreed that no one person besides Dumbledore himself could get through them. Certainly, Septima was sure no one could get through her part. They would conclude that they had to accept the arrangement, just as they had when he had first proposed it.

“Now, then, to the repair work. Argus, what is your assessment of the damage?” Albus asked.

Argus Filch looked even more disgruntled than usual today. He wasn’t exactly the type for dealing with catastrophes like this, and not only because he was a squib, but as Caretaker, it _was_ technically his job to organise repairs to the castle when it was damaged. “There’s about nothing left in there,” he wheezed angrily. “It’ll take you lot all weekend just to clear out the debris. _I_ don’t have the tools for that. We’ll have to knock out parts of the walls and rebuild them if we want to do it right, reinstall all the fixtures from scratch. Why’d you have to go and make such a mess of things, Quirrell?”

“M-m-my apologies…”

“Thank you, Argus,” Albus replied. “I myself will oversee the repairs. The ancient magic within the walls of Hogwarts is a rather tricky medium to work in. Once the walls are repaired, it should be simple to install new plumbing fixtures. We should be able to reopen the bathroom in a very few weeks.”

* * *

Hermione was correct that they were to brew the Dizziness Draught in Potions class. Dean had no objection to working with Harry, so she helped Ron muddle through. It was a little trying on her patience, especially as Ron had not got into the habit of keeping his workspace clean, but she did it, and they produced a draught that she thought would be worth an E grade.

Surprisingly, Professor Snape didn’t say anything about their new partner arrangement. In fact, the class was unusually pleasant today. Not because of Snape’s temperament—indeed, he was a good deal more acerbic than normal—but because he never once rose from his desk, and that meant he couldn’t wander the room making his usual caustic comments to the Gryffindors and gratuitous compliments to Draco Malfoy.

“Seems kind of suspicious, don’t you think?” Harry said at lunch.

“What do you mean?” Hermione was sitting with Harry and Ron for the second meal that day, something her other friends had noticed well after how Ron had treated her yesterday, but aside from being interrogated by Parvati and Lavender at breakfast—among the many people who wanted to hear what it was like facing a troll (she mostly let the boys answer that) none of them had said anything about it.

“Why Snape didn’t leave his desk.” Harry said. “He missed plenty of chances to insult us.”

“Maybe he felt like being nicer for a change—”

“Yeah, right!” Ron guffawed.

“—or maybe he’s tired from cleaning up after last night. I doubt he meant anything by it.”

Harry looked sceptical, but he didn’t say anything more.

“Why, hello, Hermione,” a voice sounded in stereo behind her. She looked up and braced herself for whatever the Weasley Twins had cooked up today. But they were looking friendly at the moment. And wait, she was Hermione to them, now? She supposed that was nice of them.

“We hope you’re feeling better today.” She was pretty sure it was George who said it. Fred, on her other side, was idly picking over the food on the table.

“Much better, thank you.”

“All made up with your little friends, now?” Fred said in a babyish tone.

“Cool it, Fred,” said Ron.

“That _was_ pretty brave of you running in there like that, Ron,” George said. “Mum’d be proud…except she’s gonna kill you first.” Ron’s ears turned red enough to match his hair.

“Well, I’m doing alright, now,” Hermione assured them. “I was really just being too hard on myself. I…I think you were kind of right. I did need to lighten up a bit.”

“Oh, we’re so glad to hear that,” George said with a mischievous grin. “Because hanging around with Percy was bad enough. Hanging around with two of our brothers—that’s double trouble.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“Brave words, Hermione. We’ll see if you can live up to them.” The Twins walked away, chuckling.

“Are they _always_ like that?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “but don’t worry. They’d never hurt their friends—just annoy them.”

Ron lifted the cover on one of the dishes in front of him. The moment he did, a swarm of large gypsy moths flew out and started fluttering densely around all three of their heads. Hermione screwed up her face and did her best to swat them away.

“FRED!” Ron roared, jumping out of his seat.

Down the table, Fred and George high-fived.

* * *

“So, yeah, I know Ron was being a git, but he figured that out on his own pretty quickly. And I only really let it get to me because he’d hit so close to the truth.”

After lunch and classes were over for the day, the other Gryffindor girls had all but picked Hermione up and carried her back to the Common Room, insisting on getting the full story out of her without any more delay. Now that she had accepted it for herself, or had started to, Hermione managed to get through the story with only a few tears—in fact, between them, the girls around her were showing more tears than she was. And they were all very impressed—more than she thought she deserved—at how she had devised a plan to knock out the troll on the spot. (There were sure to be all sorts of crazy rumours about it by Monday.)

Lavender and Parvati sat on either side of her, each wrapping an arm around her as she related the trials of the past few weeks. It was an eye-opening experience for a lot of the girls that she had been suffering so much so silently, and several of them started commiserating about their own hidden problems by the end of it.

“Oh Morgana, Hermione, how could you go through so much like that without flunking out or something?” Lavender said. “I never could have made it going through what you have.”

“That’s just how I was raised,” Hermione said softly. “My parents made sure that no matter what happened, I would never let it interfere with my schoolwork…and they helped me a lot along the way when I needed it. I just kept doing what I’ve always done.”

“It just sounds so awful,” Parvati said. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

Hermione smiled slightly. “Well, honestly, I think if you could just remind me of when to go to bed, it would be a big help.”

“Of course,” Parvati and Lavender said at once. Hermione wasn’t sure she liked how eagerly they accepted the job.

“Thanks, girls,” she said, once again feeling much better than she expected.

True to their word, her roommates made sure she got up to bed at a reasonable hour that night, and, thankfully, they weren’t too pushy about it. She laid down to sleep feeling as every bit as good as she had the night before, and to her surprise and great relief, she managed to stay asleep until it was time to head down to breakfast. Her resultant good mood was enough to carry her through the whole day.

Hermione had already come up with a response to Fred and George by dinnertime last night, but it took her until morning to work up the nerve to use it. As everyone was getting ready to go to breakfast, she spotted them in the Common Room. Surprisingly, they weren’t dressed alike today. Dressed in casual clothes for the weekend, one of them was wearing a red shirt, and the other was wearing a blue one.

“Hi there, Fred and George,” she said with a smile.

“Good morning,” they replied amiably.

“Listen, you asked me to tell you if I learnt anything new about the castle.”

“That we did,” George replied.

“How touching that you remembered,” added Fred.

“Did you find out what’s above the Great Hall?”

“No, not yet, but there was something else that I should have told you a while ago.”

The Twins were all ears.

“Have you two ever been to the top of the Grand Staircase?”

They glanced at each other. “Why, no,” George said. “Did you see something interesting up there?”

“I saw a lot of interesting things when I explored the Great Tower a few weeks ago,” she said precisely.

“Such as?” Fred asked.

“Well…it’s hard to explain. You really have to see it to believe it.”

They grinned at each other. “Very interesting. We’ll have to check that out after breakfast.”

“Thanks for the tip,” George said.

“Sure, no problem,” she replied innocently.

Hermione indulged herself in an mischievous smile after the pair left the Common Room. That had been too easy and entirely too much fun.

With her plan set in motion, she went down to the Great Hall for breakfast with a spring in her step, then came back up to the Common Room and curled up on one of the sofas with her Calculus book. She laughed out loud when she remembered that the next lesson was about limits at infinity.

She was still getting funny looks from people when she did this. Most people, muggle and magical alike, balked at seeing those kinds of equations, but for Hermione Granger, this was her idea of a relaxing morning. She was at it for a little while when she heard someone call her name. Harry and Ron had come down to the Common Room, bringing some of their course books, which surprised her for a Saturday morning.

“What are you working on?” Harry asked.

“Calculus.”

“What’s that?” Ron said.

“My maths independent study. Arithmancy’s nice, but the maths is way too easy.”

Ron looked over her shoulder at the unfamiliar symbols on the page with a disbelieving look, but he held his tongue. It had taken him only a few minutes to learn not to question Hermione about her attitude towards maths. “So you really can do crazy maths stuff in your head?” he finally said as he sat down.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it crazy.”

“Right, but, like, you can figure out what’s a hundred and ninety five times seven forty-eight?”

“A hundred and forty-five thousand…eight hundred and sixty,” she said casually.

“Bloody hell! I thought Fred and George were joking when they said you could do that,” Ron said while Harry’s eyebrows disappeared under his messy fringe.

Hermione shot Ron a dirty look for his language, but she answered, “No, it’s not that hard if you want to learn it, but this stuff is completely different.” She indicated her book.

“What is it, then?” Ron asked.

“Well, this in particular is limits at infinity. It’s like…” She tried to think of how to explain limits to someone who didn’t even know algebra yet. “Say you have a bunch of numbers, and they’re one half, one third, one fourth, one fifth, and so on. What number would you get if they kept going on forever?”

Ron looked perplexed, but Harry tentatively said, “I guess zero.”

“Right. It’s like that, but…a lot fancier.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.

“What are you working on, then?” she asked them.

Harry sighed. “Transfiguration. I don’t know how I’m gonna get all this stuff done with all the extra Quidditch practises Wood’s scheduled. Do you…do you think you could give us a hand.”

Hermione closed her book. “Sure—as long as you don’t expect me to do it for you. Let me see…”

With her help, both boys got through quite a bit of their Transfiguration homework that morning. They barely noticed her frequent glances toward the Common Room door. But her vigilance paid off when, nearly at lunchtime, two dishevelled and disturbed redheads ran into the Common Room. Both of them were wearing shirts that were half red and half blue, divided along a randomly zigzagging edge.

“Hermione Granger!” they yelled as stumbled over and knelt on either side of her chair.

“Whoa, what happened to you?” Ron said.

“We were in the—”

“—Grand Staircase and—”

“—way, _way_ above the top—”

“—and there were—”

Both of them were out of breath and incoherent, and Harry and Ron were baffled, but Hermione just smiled smugly and said, “So, how high did you get?” to her friends’ amazement.

“Big, _huge_ moths—” Fred held his hands a couple of feet apart.

“Crawling everywhere!” George added.

“We got swarmed.”

“We tried to repel them with our wands.”

“The magic didn’t like that.”

“Our shirts…”

“Wow. That sounds like it’s about as high as I got. It’s a good thing I didn’t try to cast any spells.”

“Wait, _you_ did this to them?” Ron exclaimed.

“I only suggested that they try to explore the Grand Staircase,” Hermione said, still smiling.

“You told us to climb to the top,” Fred complained.

“No, I believe I only asked if you’d been.”

Fred and George stared at each other again, wondering how they’d been had so easily, while Harry and Ron were staring at Hermione in utter confusion.

“I’m pretty sure the Grand Staircase just goes on forever,” she explained. “But it all has to fit in the tower, so it keeps getting smaller, and the bugs and mice and stuff look huge when you get high enough. And there’s so much magic that it mixes everything up, like their shirts.”

“And you knew all along! Did you put those moths up there, too?” George demanded.

“No, of course not. _I_ _’m_ not going back up there. That was just luck.”

“I told you, brother,” Fred said. “Merlin help us if Hermione starts using those brains of hers for pranking. Now, we’re all in trouble.” Hermione giggled slightly.

“Indeed,” George replied.

“You are a worthy opponent, Miss Granger,” they said in unison, tipping imaginary hats. They stood and backed up the boys’ staircase, as if not wanting to take their eyes off her.

“Wicked, you actually managed to prank Fred and George?” Ron said. “Oh, I’ve gotta write Ginny about this. I didn’t think you’d be one to break the rules, though.”

“Well, plenty of other people do,” she groused. “Besides, I don’t think that was _technically_ against the rules…just not advisable.”

“Well, it’s nice to see you have a Gryffindor side after all. You know they’re going to try and get you back, though, right?”

“Yes,” she sighed, “but at least they know I’m not an easy target, now. That should keep me a little safer.” They started to pack up their things for lunch. “Oh, by the way, Harry, I still have _Quidditch Through the Ages_ on loan from the library. Do you want to read it?”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

Hermione wanted to try exploring the Great Hall again, but with Harry’s Quidditch practice and reading the book plus Ron being behind on homework, they didn’t have all that much time. They went around the Great Hall once after lunch trying everything that looked like it might be a door, but plenty of doors in the castle were too well hidden for that. Afterwards, they told her she could keep going without them, but she didn’t feel like it. She needed to finish her own homework—and address something that had been a growing concern in the back of her mind for the past two days.

What was she going to tell her parents?

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I want to start off by telling you that I_ _’m fine, and even though some really bad things have been happening, they’re over now, and I got through them alright. I hardly even know where to start, but I suppose I should get the worst out of the way first. On Halloween, a mountain troll got into the castle and attacked me…_

And then they would be too hysterical the read the rest. Hermione crumpled up the parchment, threw it in the bin, and started again.

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I_ _’m sorry I’ve been so distant, lately. The truth is that I’d got myself into a bad habit of not getting enough sleep, which I’m just starting to get out of. Honestly, things are quite a bit better here than I think I’ve let on…_

And that was a blatant lie. There was no reasonable way she could objectively say that except that she just felt that way. Try again.

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I think things are finally looking up here at Hogwarts_ _…_

This was ridiculous. Was she really going to keep it from them? Why should she? But why shouldn’t she? They’d have her out of Hogwarts before she could say “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ”if they knew the truth.

But she just couldn’t take the secrecy anymore. They deserved to know, didn’t they? She would just tell them she was old enough to make her own decisions…even if they involved extremely dangerous creatures…it was hopeless, wasn’t it?

 

_Dear Mum and Dad_ _…_

Hermione threw her quill down in disgust and slumped back in her seat. On a whim, she pulled out her wand and decided to try out a new charm she’d read about in the library: “ _Lacarnum Inflamari_.”

A little blue flame shot out from the tip of her wand and landed on the parchment. It spread, and the parchment began to smolder. It felt rather satisfying to see the attempted letter go up in flames. From what she had read, the Bluebell Flame Charm was supposed to consume very flammable things like parchment and cloth, but it didn’t actually need fuel, and it was supposed to be cool enough to handle if one was careful. She reached out tentatively and brought her hand up to the flames. The fire felt like hot water as it licked her fingers, maybe uncomfortably hot, but not scalding. She laughed and scooped the flames into a spare jar from her potions kit before they started to scorch her wooden nightstand. The flames in the jar would make a nice little portable lamp and heater.

Anyway, there was no way she was going to figure this out on her own. Maybe her new friends (or her old ones) could help.

* * *

“Tell your parents? Are you mental?” Ron Weasley yelled. “They won’t understand. My Mum completely freaked out when Percy told her, and she’s a witch. They’ll withdraw you, and the Ministry’ll snap your wand and erase your memory!” Harry looked positively horrified at the suggestion.

“Ron, they don’t do that to people who withdraw,” Hermione corrected. “They’d only make me transfer to another school, like Beauxbatons.” Harry sighed with relief.

“But you can’t want to leave Hogwarts, can you?” Ron said.

“Of course not! But I can’t keep keeping secrets from my parents. I need to be able to talk to them honestly.”

“Well, I don’t know. You can try if you want, but I’m telling you, no good’ll come of it.”

Hermione sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of. Harry, are you going to tell your relatives?”

“No, they’d probably just be mad that I didn’t die on them.”

“Harry…”

“It’s fine, really. I’m sorry; I really wouldn’t know what to do either.”

“Well, thanks anyway…I think I need to think about it some more.”

* * *

The other students all had similar responses, either rejecting the idea of telling her parents about the troll out of hand, or not really being able to come to an opinion. Her fellow muggle-born, Sally-Anne, was among the latter group and was one of several who suggested that she ask a teacher for advice.

More than one person had suggested that she go to Professor McGonagall, but Hermione was reluctant to do so. She still didn’t consider her head of house to be the most supportive teacher, though her house-mates had few problems with her. And more to the point, she was a little worried about the consequences of any stories other than the glossed-over version she’d told reaching the ears of the Deputy Headmistress.

It took her longer than it ought to have, well into Sunday afternoon, before she remembered that there was one adult in the castle who did know the full story, or more of it than the others, anyway. Of course, it was Sunday, and no one held office hours on Sunday (if she deluded herself into thinking she’d get the letter done today at all), so Hermione screwed up her Gryffindor courage and took a different tack.

Few students besides the Weasley Twins ever thought about where the teachers slept at night. Professor Trelawney, of course, stayed cooped up in her tower, and Professor Dumbledore’s apartment was known to be above his office. Married staff often commuted, at least on the weekends, but most of the teachers weren’t married. They were never really seen going in and out of their residences, as they usually stayed out until curfew themselves. It was only by paying careful attention while she was mapping the school that she figured out that the staff apartments were located in the Great Tower and the body of the West Wing.

Her main clue had been the cluster of unusually notable portraits in that area. Her attention was first drawn there by a portrait that she was amazed that she could recognise as John Flamsteed, the first Astronomer Royal, who had been appointed before the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. The rest she could only identify as notable thanks to her overzealous reading habits. The Irish Druidess Cliodna, a known animagus and one of the greatest transfiguration mistresses of the medieval period appeared on one stretch of the corridor. Charms mistress Hedwig of Vienna graced the corridor nearby. On the floor below was the preeminent Renaissance potioneer, Zygmunt Budge.

But what had really tipped her off was when she studied John Flamsteed’s portrait for so long that he asked her what she wanted and informed her for no apparent reason that Professor Sinistra was in her office. From that, it all became clear soon enough. Each portrait was a leading historical figure in his or her field, and each guarded the door to a professor’s apartment, just like the Fat Lady guarded Gryffindor Tower. Once she looked up all the portraits, it was easy to piece together who lived where. (She had decided not to tell Fred and George that little tidbit, although it wouldn’t surprise her if they already knew it.)

And so it was that Hermione followed her map to the portrait of Bridget Wenlock, the founder of modern arithmancy.

Bridget Wenlock wore purple and had wild black hair and half-moon glasses. She didn’t particularly look like she came from the thirteenth century. Unfortunately, she rather sounded like it. Even more unfortunately, Bridget Wenlock was known for both paranoia and absent-mindedness.

“Excuse me, Madam Wenlock?” Hermione said tentatively.

“ _Forsoath! Tawht purpoase hast tho, cheeld_?” the portrait said, or at least that’s what Hermione thought she said.

“Um, I was just wondering if Professor Vector was in,” she replied, doing her best to interpret the Middle English.

“ _And ho mah thot bay_?”

“Professor Vector? The Arithmancy Professor?”

“ _Arithmahnsay_!” the portrait shouted. “ _Eek am thay Arithmahnsay Professor haireh! Has this Vector stolen me thayores_?”

“What? No!”

“ _Eek will not have hit_!”

“Madam Wenlock, you’re a painting,” Hermione pleaded. “You haven’t been the Arithmancy Professor for seven hundred years. I was hoping I could speak with Professor Vector. This is her apartment, isn’t it? I…I could come to her office tomorrow is she’s not in.”

“ _Stoadents areh not toe bay given occess_ —” Wenlock started, but then the portrait frame swung open, and Professor Vector was standing in the doorway, smiling.

“Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise,” she said.

“Hello, Professor,” Hermione said nervously. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

“Of course, of course. Please come in.”

Vector led her into a small parlour with a tea table and a couple of chairs and a desk in the corner. The room was furnished in the same general style as the Gryffindor Common Room, but with green accents. A kitchenette was visible through one door and a short hallway extended from one side of the room. Hermione decided it was a fairly nice apartment for one.

“Have a seat.” Vector said, indicating the chairs. “And don’t worry about Bridget. She gave me that for a year after I started teaching here. I take it you figured out the clues from the portraits?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m not surprised, with someone like you. Would you like some tea?”

“Um…sure, thank you, ma’am.”

The professor produced two cups of tea and sat down across the table from Hermione. The first-year sipped thoughtfully.

“I was hoping you would come to see me, Miss Granger,” Vector said. She was being about the friendliest Hermione had ever seen her. “I could tell you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, even before Thursday. All of your teachers say that your course work remains exemplary—even Professor Snape, when one corrects for his usual bias—but there is more to life. I wouldn’t want to see you burned out so early. If there is any way that I can help, you need only ask.”

“Th-thank you, Professor…It’s…it’s complicated. You see, I’m afraid I’ve let myself get into some very bad habits…” She gave a brief summary of the disaster that the past few weeks had been as Vector listened with concern. “I am doing better now,” she assured her. “I probably need some time to really get back on my feet, but I’m feeling a lot better getting a full night’s sleep, and I’m working faster, too.” Vector smiled a little. “But what I really wanted to talk to you about is…well, I usually right my parents every Sunday night.”

“Ohh…” Vector said with an understanding nod.

“I just don’t know what to tell them!” The words came spilling out. “I’ve been keeping so many things from them. I don’t like keeping secrets, and they deserve to know what’s happening. I’m tired of not being able to talk to them. But I’m so afraid that if I tell them what happened, they pull me out and transfer me to Beauxbatons or something, and I don’t want to leave Hogwarts, even with the bad stuff that’s been going on. I really like it here, and I like my friends, and all my classmates say I shouldn’t tell them, and they’d be so scared with me being away from them, and—”

“Miss Granger…” Vector cut her off. “Hermione…” She gave her a sad smile and lightly patted her hands. “I know this can’t be an easy decision for you, but ultimately it is one that you’ll have to make for yourself. You’re the one who knows your parents best.”

“I just don’t know know what to do,” Hermione whined with tears staining her cheeks.

“Well, I’m glad you feel comfortable coming to me for advice, but I’m afraid I don’t have much experience with this kind of situation. We only get about one muggle-born in Slytherin every five years or so, and about half of them wind up transferring at some point. I think you’ve already seen the unfortunate prejudice shared by most of my former house. And I’ve certainly never seen anyone attacked by a troll before—I promise you anything like that is quite a rare occurrence at Hogwarts. But I have seen difficult situations along similar lines, so I’ll tell you what I have seen, and you can hopefully decide for yourself.

“Muggle-born students almost invariably wind up living in the magical world,” Vector explained. “After all, even after the short time you’ve been here, can you ever imagine going back to the life you had before? Their friends are all magical, and they usually marry magicals, because of the Statute of Secrecy, and unless they work very hard, like you are, they rarely have the educational credentials to get a good job in the muggle world. Meanwhile, your parents are still living in the muggle world, they have limited access to the magical one, and you’re not allowed to do any magic at home.

“Now, it can be hard enough to relate to one another across that gap under normal circumstances…But I’m sure you know by now that about ten years ago, there was a very bloody civil war in the magical world while things were perfectly fine in the muggle one. It was very dangerous for everyone back then, but especially for muggle-borns. You friend Harry Potter’s mother was a muggle-born—and one of my best students, too. Dirk Cresswell, the year after her, he was another one. They came from homes where you’d hear about the occasional murder or assault somewhere, but it was a one-in-a-million chance. But at school, every month they’d hear about more and more attacks on muggle-borns. They started getting in fights with rising Death Eaters in Slytherin—I suspected some of them were _marked_ Death Eaters. When they graduated, Lily Potter, at least, actively fought against them.

“Growing up in that world, they had an even more serious decision to make than you have, and to my knowledge, neither of them ever told their families—never told them how much danger they were in. Whether they didn’t want their parents to worry, or they didn’t want to create a rift in their families over it, or they wanted to stand and fight for justice, or some combination of the three, I don’t know. Whatever their reasons, they kept it up—they never told them…but it hurt them deeply. They hid it, of course, but you learn to recognise it as a teacher—you could see in their eyes how much it tore them up inside. Living through that does things to a person…and as far as I know, they both became completely estranged from their families, stopped contacting them altogether. Now, I’m not saying that will happen to you. Your situation is different, and your parents are different. I just thought you should know how I’ve seen things go before.”

Hermione was doing her level best not to start sobbing over the table. She would have been mortified to be seen like this around a teacher in public, but here in her parlour, it wasn’t so bad. She was so grateful for Professor Vector being so frank with her, no matter how painful her words.

“Professor, I…” she squeaked. “I have to tell them. I can’t let that happen—I can’t…”

“I understand, Hermione. If you like, you can tell me when you send your letter, and I can send one of my own to help explain the situation. If you are concerned about their reaction, a professional view might help.”

“That’s…that’s very generous of you, ma’am, thank you.”

“My pleasure. I’m glad I could help.”

Hermione finished her tea and slowly composed herself, but her mind was already racing thinking about what needed to go into her letter. It was fast looking like it would wind up being longer than most of her homework essays. She was certain she wouldn’t be able to send it tonight, and she could only hope her parents wouldn’t be too worried about that. Finally, she felt ready to get up to leave.

“Thank you again, Professor,” she said.

“No trouble at all, Hermione. Please come see me anytime if you need help.”

Hermione nodded and stood up, but then she remembered something.

“Professor?”

“Yes?”

“There was one other thing I was wondering about. How _did_ you stop that troll so easily?”

Professor Vector smiled. “That? It was actually quite simple. The Freezing Charm is a simple second-year Defence charm. I just put a lot of power into it—although even then, if you hadn’t knocked it out, it only would have held long enough to get you out.”

“Really? That’s all it was?”

“Yes. A crude method, I admit, but trolls aren’t very bright, so it’s all you need. There is a time, even in combat, to be really clever. This is especially true if you have less power than your opponent, as you yourself learnt. But there is also a time when something fast and simple is best. The power you need to cast a Freezing Charm that strong will come with age and practice.”

Hermione wondered at how such a simple spell could have such amazing results, but she was glad to hear it wouldn’t be too hard to learn down the road. She left the apartment and started back toward Gryffindor Tower.

Professor Vector sighed as she left. That girl really was one of a kind, more than even she herself knew.

Hermione wanted to get started on her letter right away, but she knew there was one more thing she needed to do first, uncomfortable though it was. She found her new friend in the Common Room and sat next to him.

“Harry…can I ask you something?” Hermione said nervously.

“Sure.”

“It’s…it’s okay if you don’t want to answer.”

Now Harry looked a little confused. “What is it?”

“Harry, did your aunt know—know what was going on with your parents? The war and everything?”

Harry stopped and thought. It was something that hadn’t really occurred to him. Aunt Petunia had said his parents had got “blown up,” but from what he’d heard, that wasn’t exactly true. He had to wonder how much she really knew, the way she talked about her sister. It might even be something worth the risk to ask her next summer.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “I know she didn’t know about my dad’s money, or she would have taken it. And she never talked about any of it except when Hagrid came. She knew my parents had been killed, but I don’t think she ever really knew there was a war on.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Professor Vector—you could talk to her if you wanted—she said your mum was one of her students. But she didn’t think she ever told her parents about the war, and eventually she just stopped talking to them.”

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “my aunt thought she was a “freak” from the beginning, so…”

“She did? Why would she do that to her own sister?”

“I don’t know. I guess some people are just like that. Kinda like Malfoy.”

Harry didn’t have any more to say after that. Hermione pondered his words as she climbed up to her dorm room. She started writing. But it was going to take a while.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Integral JK Rowling dt = 11 books, 8 movies, and a whole lot of money, none of it mine.

“You _actually_ managed to prank Fred and George Weasley?” Alicia Spinnet said. The Arithmancy study group was laughing as loudly as Madam Pince would let them get away with as Hermione recounted the story.

“Uh huh. It worked even better than I expected,” she said happily. “It was pure luck that they got swarmed by gypsy moths up there.”

“Hermione, I take back everything I said about mapping the castle being a silly idea,” Roger said. “That is awesome.”

“I know,” Alicia added. “Most of us have been dreaming of pulling one over on them for the past two years.”

“I bet a lot of the teachers have been thinking it, too, even if they won’t admit it,” Roger added.

Hermione smirked at that. She _was_ reasonably sure Professor McGonagall secretly wanted to give them a taste of their own medicine, but that wouldn’t fit her stern teacher image. “Thanks. I just thought I needed to assert myself a little more. Now they know I can get them back.”

“Well, it’s good to have our Hermione back,” Roger said. “We, uh, might not have shown it that well, but we were all starting to worry about you, even before…you know, Halloween. You seemed pretty out of it last week.”

That certainly surprised Hermione. Roger had always seemed like the most distant of the three of them. She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt, too. She still felt like most of her problems were self-inflicted, but she tried to force the feeling down.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t think to look for you. I guess I got distracted with the feast and all.” said Cedric. Alicia and Roger quickly registered their agreement. “I would’ve thought the prefects would have kept track of everyone,” he added.

Alicia let out a low whistle. “They should’ve. Percy Weasley got a real hiding from McGonagall for not noticing that three of his first years were missing.”

Hermione remembered that. It was the first time she’d heard Professor McGonagall shouting. Percy had been depressed all weekend and had since become so uptight that even she thought he was annoying.

“Is it true that you beat the troll with a Levitation Charm?” Cedric asked.

“Well, sort of. It took all three of us to lift its club and drop it, and I don’t know if it would have worked if Professor Vector hadn’t frozen it.”

“Okay, that makes more sense,” said Roger. “Some people were trying to say that you started swinging its club back at it.”

Hermione and Alicia both rolled their eyes. Hermione supposed she should consider herself lucky that the rumours had only gone that far.

“How did you come up with the idea to use combined Levitation Charms, though?” Cedric asked. “People rarely do anything like that.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” she insisted. “I just saw that one spell partially deflected it, so I thought three might be able to lift it.”

“Well, we’re all glad you got out of there,” Alicia said. “We wouldn’t want to see you get hurt, especially with the rough time you’ve been having.”

“Thanks.” Hermione smiled meekly.

“Anyway, we’d better get to work,” she continued, looking down at their exercises on proportions. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make it on Wednesday. Wood’s scheduled a bunch of extra practises.”

“I know. Harry’s getting really nervous about the match,” Hermione said. “He’s already under a lot of pressure with the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing and being the youngest player this century. And I guess it doesn’t help that he’s especially important being a Seeker in the Hogwarts league.”

“What do you mean?” asked Alicia.

“Well, since the Seeker almost always wins the game, having the Snitch only really makes sense in a tournament context where there are a lot of games and the actual scores matter. But in the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup, each House only plays three games per year, which makes the whole thing extremely Seeker-dominated.”

The others stared at her, open mouthed.

“What, isn’t that obvious?”

Cedric cleared his throat. “Um, sorry, Hermione, it’s just that we didn’t think you even liked Quidditch, and for a minute there, you sounded like a sports writer or something.”

“Well, honestly, I don’t that much,” she admitted sheepishly. “I don’t think it’s very well balanced, and I don’t enjoy flying all that much. But most of my friends love it, including you, and it’s not hard to figure the numbers, so I might as well have fun with it.”

“It’s nice of you to get into it, then,” Cedric said. “I guess I’ve always thought it _was_ a little silly that we play so few games here. When you only play each house once, you never really get a chance to develop a strategy. We could easily play each house twice like in the professional league without disrupting classes.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Roger said wistfully. “My grandpa says they used to do that in the old days.”

“Maybe you should start a petition,” Hermione suggested.

The others all chuckled at that. “Yeah, maybe we should,” Roger replied. “So can you use maths to figure out who’s gonna to win on Saturday? And don’t worry about offending Alicia.”

“Hey!”

“Well, that’s difficult with three new starting players on the Gryffindor team,” Hermione said as she thought over the numbers. “Based on last year’s statistics—percentage of Chaser shots made and so forth—I’d say Gryffindor has a slight advantage on the Chaser side, but, of course, the wild card will be Harry. I’ve only seen him fly the one time, but if he’s as good as everyone says, I think I give Gryffindor a seventy-five percent chance of winning.”

“Well, I guess it’s up to us to make sure it’s a hundred percent,” Alicia quipped.

“Wow,” Cedric said. “Hermione, have you ever considered a career as a Quidditch analyst.”

“Not really,” she said flatly. “I’d rather do something that has more advanced maths in it.”

“Yeah, I hate to admit it, but your brains would be wasted on that,” Alicia said. “I’m sure you’re gonna be inventing spells that aren’t supposed to be possible someday.”

Hermione smiled nervously. That seemed like an awful lot of pressure, even if they were just joking around. “Well, I try,” she finally said, trying to lighten up a bit as they really got to work. She had to admit she was still a little distracted, though, for other reasons, for as they worked, she found her thoughts wandering back to the letter she was writing to her parents, which now stood at four pages and counting. It was hard work, and she was sure she still wouldn’t be able to finish tonight, but she would get there eventually.

* * *

Daniel and Emma Granger had been a little concerned when no owl arrived Monday with a letter from their daughter, especially after last week’s distressed note. Still, she might just have been revising for an exam or something.

When Monday stretched into Tuesday, and Tuesday stretched into Wednesday, they became more concerned. They wanted to say perhaps Hermione had just missed a week, but it was hard to say it, knowing how hard a time she was having.

Finally, on Thursday morning, they got a shock when not one, but two owls showed up at their kitchen window. One was carrying a small letter in an official Hogwarts envelope and addressed in emerald-green ink, but Emma set that one aside for a moment because she was more interested in the second letter, addressed with “Mum and Dad” in their daughter’s neat handwriting.

But this was by far the fattest envelope Hermione had sent them, and when Emma opened in on the kitchen table, pages and pages of parchment spilt out, obviously written over several days and at least as many moods. Some of them were her written in her usual tidy script, while others were roughly scribbled and tear-stained and everywhere in between.

“Oh my,” she exclaimed.

“Whoa, what happened?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know. This is either a really good sign or a really bad sign.” She organised the pages to find the top one, and started to read with growing apprehension:

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I_ _’m sorry I didn’t get this letter to you on time. This is going to be really hard for me to write, and I know it’s going to be hard for you to read, too. You’re going to want to sit down for this and maybe make an extra-strong cup of tea._

_I was really afraid to tell you all this stuff because I know how you_ _’ll react. I was going to just hide it and pretend it didn’t happen. I really wanted to, but Professor Vector told me how she’d seen muggle-borns keep things from their families back in the war and grow apart from them and lose all contact with them, and how much it hurt them, and I don’t want that. I don’t think I could bear it without you there to support me. So please, just hear me out. I know it’s going to sound bad, but it turned out better than I ever could have hoped. It turns out I was all wrong about Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Actually, I was all wrong about a lot of things. You know, they say when times get rough, you learn who your real friends are, but even I’m surprised that I’ve got so many._

_Sorry, I know I_ _’m rambling. It’s just so hard to think in a straight line right now. So, anyway, what happened was…_

Dan and Emma held each other close and took turns reading each time one of their voices gave out as they saw their daughter’s trials and tribulations unfold over the next ten pages. It was clear that she hadn’t told them half of what was going on, and they could understand why, as it got darker and darker. If the length of this letter was any indication, though, she wasn’t holding back anymore.

She told them about how she was being bullied and called racial slurs by that pureblood Malfoy. How the Weasley Twins messed around and caused her trouble and generally made her nervous. How creepy the Divination teacher was. How she was feeling like she couldn’t relate to her classmates. About how she had withdrawn into herself and made things that much worse for herself. How she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus, and felt like everything was slowly crumbling out from under her. And finally how Ron’s words on Halloween had been her breaking point, and she spent the entire day crying in the bathroom.

All of that was bad enough, but that was just the opening act before her letter took a turn to the plot of a horror film. Dan and Emma staggered out to the living room and collapsed on the sofa together as they read the news that their daughter had very nearly died that day.

More than that: she told them in graphic detail just what a mountain troll looked like (and smelled like), followed by a blow-by-blow account of being cornered by it in the bathroom, being saved by Harry and Ron, whom she hadn’t been getting along with at all, and by Professor Vector, whom she made sound like some kind of mythical warrior, and a little clever spellwork on her own part, and, finally, being mobbed by all the worried friends she had been ignoring when she got back to safety.

And then, just as an afterthought, she mentioned that the school was keeping a giant three-headed dog on the third floor to guard something, but she didn’t think that was such a big deal anymore.

 

_…Look, I know that right now, you’re going to be_ _ completely _ _freaking out and probably looking for the literature from Beauxbatons to transfer me right away, but please don_ _’t. I’ve only just now realised how many friends I have and how much I love it here, ridiculous non-Euclidean geometry and stupid pureblood politics and all, and I don’t want to go. After everything that happened, I think all I really needed was to get more sleep and lighten up a bit and quit being so hard on myself about everything._

_Even Harry and Ron are a lot better than I thought now that I_ _’ve really talked to them. Ron apologised on his own for what he said, and he even tried to turn down the points for saving me. He’s still kind of a git, but he usually comes around before too long. And Harry—well, I’m not quite sure what’s going on with Harry. It sounds like he’s had a rough time at home, but he usually gets along with the other Gryffindors pretty well._

_Hogwarts really isn_ _’t that dangerous, either. All the professors have been saying dangerous creatures almost never get into the castle, and no student has died here since 1943, and I did the math, and that’s probably better than most muggle schools—I wrote it out on the back. It’s not like an evil psychopath sneaks in and tries to kill somebody every year or something._

_I_ _’m sorry for scaring you like this, but I was really worried about what to say to you, and after I talked to Professor Vector, I just had to get it all down. I hope you can understand how I’m feeling. I really do want to stay here, so please give Hogwarts another chance._

_Love from Hermione_

They turned the last page of the letter over to see that, sure enough, Hermione had used her limited actuarial knowledge and some algebra to try to prove that living in Hogwarts was safer than living in the muggle world. Dan and Emma gave a pair of tight smiles to see that a near-death experience hadn’t blunted their little numberphile’s wits.

“I can’t…I can’t believe…” Emma whispered tearily.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Dan said, shaking his head. “I’m almost not sure whether to be more worried about her being…attacked by a…by a troll—or her reaction to being attacked by a troll.”

“Well, it’s good she’s made so many friends—it’s amazing, really, but…” Emma shook her own head frantically. What was she saying? Her daughter had nearly been killed, and she started liking the place more? She’d gone mad! The whole world had gone mad!

“Emma, where’s the other letter?”

She closed her eyes and remembered. “Still in the kitchen. You think it’s related?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I’ll go get it.” He squeezed her shoulders gently and slowly lifted himself off the sofa.

Returning a moment later with the official-looking envelope, he opened it and began to read:

 

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger,_

_I would like to let you know that I have every reason to believe that everything your daughter wrote in her letter is true and more or less complete. I wanted to inform you of what I know of the situation._

_On Halloween night, a mountain troll from the colony that lives to the north of the grounds got into the passages under the school from the ravine due to a mistake on the part of the Defence Professor, Quirinus Quirrell. Professor Quirrell discovered his mistake and alerted the school during the Halloween Feast. I knew that Hermione had missed class that day, and I did not see her at the feast, so I immediately found out where she was from her roommates and went to find her. I believe her classmates, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, did save Hermione from the troll, if ineptly. When I arrived at the scene, I got all three of them out of harm_ _’s way as quickly as possible. (While first-years would not be able to handle one, it is relatively simple to stop a troll long enough to escape it.)_

_I want to assure you that your daughter is safe and whole, and in as good of spirits as can be expected under these circumstances. Indeed, I had noticed her growing self-isolation myself in recent weeks, and the outpouring of concern and support she has received from her classmates has lifted her spirits greatly._

_I also want to assure you that these events are definitely not usual for Hogwarts. There has only been one other occasion in which a troll has got into the castle in my twenty years of teaching, and other dangerous creatures are very rarely sighted. In the past fifty years, there has been only one fatal attack at Hogwarts, a tragic incident in which a student was killed by an acromantula—a creature which has since been carefully confined to the forbidden forest. This rate of attacks is, in fact, slightly better than at other schools because there are fewer large, dangerous magical creatures in Britain than on the Continent. We are also reviewing our safety procedures to prevent another such incident from occurring._

_As such, I strongly urge you to respect Hermione_ _’s wishes to remain at Hogwarts, as I can honestly say I believe she will be happiest staying here. She has been very worried about your reaction to her ordeal. However, I advised her of the difficulty that muggle-born students have in staying connected with their families, and she expressed a strong resolve to keep close to you and to be fully honest with you in response. I have seen the damage done to families of muggle-borns who chose to hide the danger of the war from their parents a decade ago. Because the divide between the magical and muggle worlds is so deep, it is a tempting choice to make, and for Hermione to be so open with you about this shows and incredible degree of trust on her part. Keeping a family together across that divide is not easy, but I believe she has shown a commitment to doing that, and that she would do so is a great credit to you as her parents._

_And on a personal note, I would be very sorry to see Hermione leave. Your daughter is easily the most intelligent student in her year and the most intelligent I have ever had the pleasure to meet in the field of arithmancy. She is a joy to have in class and has been a great help to the other members of her study group. With training, I believe she has the potential to make advances in the theory of magic that we can_ _’t even imagine yet, and I hope that you will continue to give her the opportunity to do that at Hogwarts._

_Sincerely,_

_Septima Vector_

_Professor of Arithmancy_

 

Dan and Emma sat on the sofa in silence, wondering how the second letter had managed to completely floor them again.

“She’s really something, isn’t she,” Dan whispered. “She practically has the whole thing worked out.”

“She’s growing up, Dan,” Emma sighed. “She’s starting to make her own decisions now.”

“I know. It’s just—it was always going to be hard. It’s a lot harder with this mess. I wish we could’ve had a few more years with her around.”

“She still needs us, you know,” Emma said as she tried in vain to wipe away her tears. “She’s trusting us to support her. She’s wanting so much to be able to rely on us—We can’t pull her out now. We couldn’t do that to her after all she’s been through. We’re so lucky she wants to keep us close.”

“We certainly are, Dear. And…I guess Hogwarts doesn’t sound that dangerous normally. And she already worked out the maths for us, so we know it’s right,” Dan said with a slight grin.

Emma grinned back. “No stopping her, is there?”

“She wouldn’t be our Hermione otherwise.”

“Mmm…”

They sat there in each other’s arms on the sofa for a while as they started to come to terms with what was happening. “We’ll have to reply before too long,” Emma said after a while. “She’ll need closure with this— _I_ need closure with this…We just need to figure out what to say.”

Dan helped her rise to her feet and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Well, we’d better get started, then.”

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_…Wow, this is hard, isn’t it. We hardly know what to say after your last letter. It was probably the most terrifying thing we’ve ever read in our lives—and saddening and disturbing and confusing and somehow wonderful all at the same time. We couldn’t have imagined anything like a troll attack happening in a school, or even some of the other things you mentioned. You know, you never really told us about all of your friends at school, and it sounds like you didn’t really see things clearly yourself until now. We can’t say how proud we are that you’re fitting it so well at Hogwarts, even though we wish you could have realised it under less dangerous circumstances._

_Professor Vector sent us a letter explaining things. She understandably made the whole incident sound a lot more cut-and-dried than you did. When we read your version of the story, it was like seeing a side of magic that we_ _’d never seen before. Be sure to thank her for us for saving you. We don’t know if she told you what she wrote, but she speaks very highly of you. She obviously has a lot of respect for you not just as a student, but as a person, and we can tell that she will be a good mentor for you in school and beyond._

_It disturbed us a little to see you getting so much more enthusiastic about Hogwarts after what happened. And you were right, our first instinct was to get you out of there—that_ _’s just one of the rules of being a parent. But thinking it over, we realised that you were right about the rest, too: it was just a freak accident, and there’s really nothing especially dangerous about Hogwarts. Professor Vector also confirmed this and explained what the school is doing to make sure it doesn’t happen again._

_To be honest, though, now that we have a better handle on your safety, we_ _’re a little more concerned with your emotional well-being. You’ve gone off into these little episodes before, but never like this. It hurts to see how difficult things have got for you, and it worries us not having you here where we can help you out or comfort you or bug you about your homework—and yes, we know you always get it done. It’s really good to see that your friends and at least Professor Vector are supporting you. That was a good idea asking them to help you stay on track and remember to sleep. Still, we were getting worried about how detached your letters sounded, and now we have a whole new set of things to worry about._

_Now, we know you said things are getting better, but these kinds of things take time to recover from. Please go to your friends and teachers for help before you let things get that bad again, and don_ _’t take on too much right away. Take it easy and relax when you can. You know we’re going to worry about you even more now until we’re sure you’re back on your feet. We wish we could keep you closer to us at home. After all this, we’re hardly going to be able to wait to see you at Christmas._

_As much as it pains us, though, we know that we need to let you start being your own person and make your own decisions. We know it must have been hard for you to trust us enough to tell us all of this, and if you can do that, then we can trust you to make a rational decision about where you_ _’ll go to school. It’s wonderful to see you growing into such a strong, thoughtful, and brilliant young woman, and we know you’ll find the right path for yourself as long as you surround yourself with people who truly care about you. Just keep trying your best, try not to let things get to you, and be sure to get enough sleep. We’ll see you at Christmas._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

 

Harry wore an obvious look of concern as Hermione set down her letter, and he saw her tear-stricken face.

“Hey, Hermione, is something wrong?” he asked tentatively.

“No,” she squeaked, smiling wistfully. “Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter leaves from Kings Cross station heading north at 60 miles per hour. His time of arrival is determined by JK Rowling.

Hermione raced through the Quidditch stands as fast as her legs would carry her, but her mind was racing even faster. Harry’s broom had gone haywire—bucking so much that he was about to be thrown off and fall a hundred feet. His teammates might be able to catch him, but it would be a roughly landing, and if they didn’t…

Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand was brand new, and it was a top-of-the-line model, she thought, which meant it was undoubtedly individually tested. There was no reason for it to act up on its own. It was also enchanted out the ears with months’, if not years’ worth of arithmantic planning. She knew from class that enchantments that heavy and carefully designed would not be disrupted by any simple jinx. It would take serious dark magic to override them, even for a moment.

And then she had seen Professor Snape. Everyone knew he disliked Harry Potter in particular, and he’d seemed particularly angry yesterday, but she never imagined a teacher would actually try to hurt a student, much less kill him. But there he was, staring up at Harry’s broom, unblinking, muttering under his breath—exactly the kind of spell that was needed to override those heavy enchantments. And she’d _just_ got through convincing her parents that Hogwarts was safe.

Hermione didn’t really think at first. She just sprang into action. Normal rules didn’t apply to something like this, not when the teachers turned evil. Harry was her newest friend, and she wasn’t about to let anyone, even Professor Snape, hurt one of her friends. By the time she was halfway there, she already had a plan. Those chanted curses were very difficult to maintain. All she had to do was to break Snape’s eye contact for a moment, and Harry would be able to take back control of his broom. The tricky part was that she had to do it without getting caught.

The whole thing nearly fell apart when she tripped over Professor Quirrell and knocked him forward into the front row. She leapt over the back row and scampered behind the seats, hoping nobody had seen her. A moment later, and she was behind Snape, apparently undetected. She whipped out her wand, pointed it at the hem of his robes, and whispered, “ _Lacarnum Inflamari_.”

A bright blue flame landed on his robes and began to smolder. Wasting no time, Hermione pulled a jar from her pocket and got ready. Within seconds, Snape yelped in surprise that he was on fire and jumped out of his seat, breaking his eye contact.

Then, Hermione had to pull off the hardest part of her plan: getting the fire off of Snape’s robes without him seeing her. She would only have a split second before he shook his robes out and started looking around for the perpetrator, and if he was already trying to kill Harry, she didn’t want to think about what he’d do to the one who stopped him. With one swipe of her arm, Hermione brushed the blue flames off and onto the floor of the stands, where she quickly scooped them up in her jar and ran off.

She got back to the open air just in time to see Harry land hard and roll off his broom onto all fours. Her heart skipped a beat as she feared she had been too late. But then Harry started gagging and coughed something into his hand. He stood up triumphantly and shouted, “I’ve got the Snitch!”

The pitch descended into confusion. The Gryffindors stormed the field while the Slytherins went from shock to anger. That was probably the most absurd catch of the Snitch any of them had ever seen. Lee Jordan loudly proclaimed that Gryffindor had won one hundred seventy to sixty.

It wasn’t till Hermione made it back to where the other first years and Hagrid were standing that the enormity of what she had just done hit her. She didn’t mind a little surreptitious magic out of class here and there, now, as long as she didn’t get caught, but she had just _attacked a teacher_! With magic! A teacher with obviously murderous intent! Forget rule-breaking—that was probably the most dangerous thing she had ever done—well, deliberately—she remembered Halloween. And for that matter, a teacher had just tried to kill a student! Her whole world was turned on its head. She clung to Hagrid’s cloak to keep from falling over with shock on her way down to the pitch.

“That wasn’t catch!” Marcus Flint, the Slytherin Captain was shouting. “He practically _ate_ the Snitch!” The other Slytherins were in agreement, but Madam Hooch ruled the catch good. Harry had the Snitch in his possession in the air, and that was all he needed.

“There yeh are, Harry,” Hagrid boomed as he picked the boy up by the armpits and set him on his feet, rescuing him from being carried off by the other Gryffindors. “Great catch, there, great catch. But what’d yeh think yeh were doin’ up there flailin’ around on yer broom like that?”

“I didn’t do it,” Harry protested. “My broom just went nuts on its own.”

“It was Snape!” Hermione cried, but Hagrid wasn’t listening.

“Well, yer lucky, whatever it was. Why don’ yeh come down to me hut for a cuppa? You, too,” he said to Ron and Hermione. “Ain’t seen much o’ you two in a while.”

“Sure!” Ron said excitedly.

“Um, sure, thanks,” Hermione replied.

They crossed the grounds and entered Hagrid’s hut. It was an odd little place, Hermione thought. She hadn’t seen the inside before. It looked like an old-fashioned cabin in the wilderness, except scaled up to Hagrid’s huge size. Hagrid got a roaring first going in the fireplace and started the tea.

“So, I heard you three had a little Halloween adventure,” he said. “Somethin’ about fightin’ off a troll?”

The three children turned pink at that. “Well, not exactly,” Hermione said. “More like survived it.”

“And good on yeh for it. Still, mighta liked to have seen that,” Hagrid mused. “Don’ see trolls that much “round here.”

 _And thank Merlin for that_ , Hermione thought. She’d heard rumours about Hagrid’s affinity for dangerous creatures. Then again, he was almost as big as the troll was and could probably fight it with his bare hands if he had to.

Harry saw his friends were getting uncomfortable and changed the subject back to something more relevant: “I still don’t understand what happened to my broom.”

“It was Snape!” Ron exclaimed. “Hermione and I saw him staring at you and not blinking and muttering something. He must’ve been cursing your broom.”

“Rubbish!” Hagrid cut in. “Why would Snape do that? He’s a teacher.”

“Because he hates me.”

“Rubbish, I say. I told yeh he just doesn’t like anybody. He wouldn’t cause any trouble like that.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other nervously, thinking of all the trouble they had seen Snape cause so far this year.

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. “We know he tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. I think he was mad “cause I saw he’d been bitten.”

There was a loud crash as Hagrid dropped the teapot and spilt it all over the floor.

“How’d you know about Fluffy?”

“ _Fluffy_?”

“That thing has a name?” Ron shouted.

“Of course he does. He’s mine,” Hagrid said. “I bought him from a Greek chappie last year and lent him to Dumbledore to—uh…”

“Yes?” Harry said.

“I’m not supposed to tell yeh that. Top secret, that is. Don’ ask me any more about that.”

“But Hagrid,” Hermione said, thinking fast, “it’s well known that cerberi are guard dogs. What if Snape was trying to steal whatever it’s guarding?”

“He wasn’t! He even told us he was just checkin’ on—well, on Fluffy. Snape’s a Hogwarts teacher, an’ he’d never do any such thing.”

“Then why did he try to kill Harry at the match?”

“I’m tellin’ yeh he didn’t!” Hagrid said angrily. “I don’ know what happened to Harry’s broom, but I know it wasn’t Snape that did it, so yeh can just forget about it, and while yer at it, yeh can forget about that dog, and forget about what it’s guardin.” It’s dangerous business, that is, and it’s supposed to stay between Professor Dumbledore and—uh…”

“Yes?” Harry said again.

“Nope, can’t tell yeh ‘bout that, neither,” Hagrid insisted. “Just drop it, now. Yer meddlin’ in things that don’ concern yeh.”

They chatted uneasily after that only long enough to finish their tea. The conversation quickly grew uncomfortable as Hagrid got testy whenever they got anywhere near the topic of what was going on on the third floor, so they decided to cut their visit short.

“It seems _awfully_ suspicious, doesn’t it?” Hermione said as they made their way back up to the castle. “Snape tried to get past the dog, and you can’t help but wonder if he went after Harry to try to cover it up.” Harry, who was already looking pale, nodded nervously.

“So you’re with us that Snape’s a bad guy?” Ron asked.

“I guess so,” she replied glumly. “I can’t believe he would try to kill a student, but I can’t imagine what else he could have been doing. And Percy said he’s very interested in the Dark Arts, so he’d certainly be able to. If only we knew what that dog was guarding, then maybe we’d know what he wants.”

“Hermione,” Harry said, “you said maybe we could figure out what it’s guarding?”

“Well, we can try. I mean, there can’t be that many things that are that small that are worth all this trouble. I’m sure we could find all the things it _could_ be in the library…unless it’s so secret that it’s not written in books at all.”

“I think we should try,” Harry said firmly. “I’ve got a feeling it’s important. We can start tomorrow maybe…” Then a thought struck him. “Of course, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of your exploring the castle, though. We can still help you out with that, right Ron?”

“Sure. If you can prank Fred and George doing that, it’s bound to be useful sometime.”

“Thanks, guys,” Hermione said, smiling. “I’d be happy to help you solve your puzzle if you help me with mine. We can split the time, maybe.”

“Thanks,” Harry agreed. “Do you want to try tomorrow afternoon, then?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

* * *

And so, the next day, after lunch, the trio found themselves wandering around the Entrance Hall and the Great Hall once again, trying to figure out how one might get up to the space above them.

“What about getting in from the Grand Staircase?” Ron suggested.

“No, I looked all over that section,” Hermione said. “They’re not connected at that level.”

“So how do we find a secret passage?” Harry asked. “We already tried the doors and tapestries and stuff.”

“Fred and George talk about secret passages sometimes,” Ron answered as he drew his wand and started tapping it at various places on the wall. “They say sometimes you have to tap your wand in the right place and say a password, kind of like getting into Diagon Alley. And sometimes you have to tickle the wall in the right place or walk by it twice or do something strange like that.”

“That’s got to be hard to figure out what to do,” said Hermione. “In muggle stories, you always have to press on the right brick or pull the right book of a shelf, and it’s like a door handle…Hmm…” She got an idea and pulled one of her empty flame jars from her robes, put it to the wall, and pressed her ear to it. Then, she started knocking in various places on the wall.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked in confusion.

“I’m listening to hear if any places behind the wall sound hollow. It’s what they always do in muggle stories.”

“Huh, neat. I’ll have to tell my dad about that. He always likes hearing about muggle stuff. Course, it won’t work if there’s a Silencing Charm on it.”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

Hermione went down the wall in an orderly line, while Harry and Ron haphazardly tried out the ideas Ron had thought of, but the wall remained stubbornly solid. They tried the next wall and were just about to give up on that one, too, when Harry cried out, “I found something!”

“You found the way up?” Hermione said excitedly.

“No, it’s just…I guess it’s a little broom cupboard,” Harry said, disappointed.

Sure enough, a hidden panel in the decorative stone work around the Architect’s Statute had opened up, revealing a small cupboard, only about four feet high and filled with cleaning supplies. There didn’t seem to be anything remarkable about it, except that it was hidden—and that it probably didn’t quite fit in the floor plan of the castle, Hermione thought with annoyance. In a normal building, one could add up all the internal and external dimensions and figure out where all the hidden rooms could and couldn’t be, but at Hogwarts, that wasn’t going to work.

“Well, that’s something,” she admitted.

“How’d you find it?” asked Ron.

Harry turned a little pink. “I, uh, tickled the statue’s foot.”

Ron guffawed. “No way!”

“I did…” Harry let go of the panel, which swung back into place and blended seamlessly with the wall. “I just…” He tickled the statue’s foot, and, sure enough, the panel opened again.

“Huh. That’s odd,” Hermione said. “I wonder if…” She reached out and tickled the statue’s other foot. There was a soft scraping sound, and an identical little cupboard opened on the statue’s other side.

“Wicked,” Ron commented.

They tried to see if the statue did anything else, as far as they could reach, which wasn’t much above the knees with it being on a pedestal, but no other hidden panels appeared. Going around the rest of the Entrance Hall, they managed to find two more panels that opened onto what looked like small storage cupboards, but they were empty.

“That’s probably all we’re going to find in here,” Harry decided. “Do you mind if we go up to the library now? We can keep looking if you want.”

“Sure, I mean, it’s fine, I guess,” Hermione answered. “We’ve probably spent enough time on this for now. Let’s go.”

They wandered up to the far corner of the castle to reach the library and quietly walked past Madam Pince before Hermione led them to the history section.

“So what are we looking for?” Ron asked.

“Hmm…treasures would be a good start,” Hermione mused. “Famous wizarding jewelry, that kind of thing. We know the whatever-it-is is small. But we might also look at biographies, since it could be a relic from Merlin or one of the Founders or something. _Hogwarts, A History_ had a little about that kind of thing, but the only thing that would be small enough would be Salazar Slytherin’s locket. We could also look up famous battles and see if any special weapons or cursed objects were used that might be powerful enough to keep locked up like this.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Ron complained.

“I know it’s a lot of ground to cover,” she admitted. “We really don’t have much to go on. I think we should make a list of anything we find that might fit, and maybe we can narrow it down by looking up the history of each item.”

Ron still looked unhappy at having even more work, but he held his tongue.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry assured him. “It’s not like we’re in a hurry. We can just work on it when we have time.”

“Let’s start by looked for books about jewels and treasures,” Hermione suggested. “Those will probably have the most leads.”

They got to work. In Hogwarts’s vast library there were a number of books that were specifically about those kinds of things. They turned up a lot of possible leads, especially if one considered that the jewels might have been separated from the necklace or diadem or sword they were mounted in, but there was very little that looked to be of “break into Gringotts’ calibre. The best leads they found were Slytherin’s locket (which looked to be of no more than historical value), plus the jewel from Merlin’s staff and the one from Morgan le Fay’s diadem, both of which were supposed to be lost for nearly a thousand years. By the time they had to go down to dinner, it was becoming clear that this would take quite some time.

* * *

The days passed quickly for the nascent trio. Hermione was feeling much better now that, with her roommates’ help, she was consistently getting enough sleep again. They had to practically drag her up the stairs a couple of times, but they got her back onto a normal schedule. Of course, she still woke up early against her will at times. When that happened, she would sit up and talk to Lily and Sally-Anne until the others were awake, but that problem was quickly going away.

Now that she was talking to them more and had got to know her new friends better, Hermione’s suspicions were confirmed. Recklessness aside, Harry Potter was a completely normal product of the muggle world, like herself. Well, not _completely_ normal: he remained very reticent to talk about his home life, which concerned her a little, but he was otherwise a pretty normal kid. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, had been something of a surprise. If you cut through the glaring inferiority complex and the Quidditch obsession, he turned out to be pretty nice. And he seemed reasonably bright if he would only apply himself. He was good to have around, too, since he was the only one of the three with experience in the wizarding world. Suddenly, it seemed silly that she had written them off as troublemakers at the start of the term.

Harry was getting adulation (and anger and mockery from the Slytherins) all week for his most unorthodox Quidditch victory. Hermione found it a little off putting, but Harry actually seemed to prefer that to the constant Boy-Who-Lived talk. Professor McGonagall seemed especially pleased about the victory, but the real surprise came from Snape, who seemed no more disagreeable than usual by the time Potions came around on Friday. Harry speculated that it was because he wasn’t limping anymore.

They spent a fair bit of their spare time in the library, working on their private research project. It was slow going. By muggle standards, the organisation of the library ranged from mediocre to terrible—though they didn’t dare tell Madam Pince that. Given the small population and long history of the wizarding world, many of the books were ancient, and few were truly up to date. Also, many of them were not that well written, and the documentation was usually poor, so it was uncommonly hard to find anything.

On Saturday, a week after the Quidditch match, they spent some time exploring again. Hermione had a hunch that one or more of the many wooden panels on the lower sections of the walls in the Great Hall would open onto a stairwell up to the space above, but even finding the correct panels, let alone figuring out how to open them, would be a difficult task. Ron was still sceptical of her method of listening to the wall through a jar, but he and Harry didn’t have any luck either. After an afternoon spent covering most of the Great Hall and not finding anything, none of them had much confidence in any of their methods.

“Maybe we should look around the castle and see how the other secret passages work,” Ron suggested. “Maybe we can get Fred and George to tell us.”

“I wonder if there are any spells to detect secret passages,” was Hermione’s idea, “and if there, are, if we can convince someone to teach them to us, and if they would even work in a place as magical as Hogwarts.”

“What do you think’s up there, anyway?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. It’s probably just storage or something, or it might just be empty. But it’s just odd that nobody seems to know.”

They gave up for the day soon afterwards, but the problem was still bugging Hermione. She felt like she was missing something, but she wasn’t sure why. She wanted to go check it out again the next day, but her friends were not as helpful then.

“Sorry, I’ve got Quidditch Practice,” Harry said. Wood rescheduled it “cause we skipped them last week.

“Oh,” Hermione said, a little crestfallen. “What about you Ron?”

“Nah, sorry, I’ve got homework,” he grumbled. “I bet you’ve already finished yours.”

“Well, yes…did you want some help?”

“Kinda…I think I’m okay for now, though. I can always ask you tonight. You can go ahead if you want.”

“Really?” That was surprisingly considerate for Ron. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s cool.”

“Sorry we can’t help you out,” Harry added. “But you don’t need to let that stop you if you don’t want. We can still help you some other time, though.”

“Well, thanks…I _did_ want to take another look around today…I’ll see you later, then, I guess.”

“Yeah, see ya,” they called after her.

Hermione walked down to the Great Hall alone. It was unfortunate, but she could understand their problems. She felt a little awkward going off on her own. She really shouldn’t feel that way, she thought. After all, it was her project. But they were more or less working together, now, and she knew Harry and Ron would be disappointed if she found something while they weren’t with her. Oh, well, she’d certainly show them right away if she did.

They’d looked over most of the obvious parts of the Great Hall yesterday. The largest area left to be searched was the wall behind the High Table, where the teachers sat at meal times. It seemed a little bit wrong to go behind there, but she needed to be thorough, so she strode up cautiously to the back wall, placed a jar against one of the wood panels, pressed her ear against the glass, and knocked on the wood. She heard the same dull thud of all the other panels that were mounted on the solid stone wall. It was entirely possible that Ron was right, and she wouldn’t be able to find anything by sound, but she couldn’t help feeling that it should be easier than that—that there should be an easy way to find things that were hidden. She kept going, panel by panel until—wait! She knocked again and carefully compared the two adjacent panels. Yes! She could hear the reverberation. There was definitely a hollow space behind this one. Whether it was a stairway or another cupboard she didn’t know, but there was something. Now she just had to figure out how to open it.

She ran her fingers around the edges of the panel, but nothing was out of the ordinary. She knocked on the adjacent panels and got a good idea of the size of the door—it was small, like the cupboard doors. But there were no distinguishing features to them. They looked just like all of the other panels in the Hall. She tried pushing on them. She tried tickling them here and there. She tried tapping her wand to them. But nothing worked. Maybe she had to tap the six panels in a certain order—that meant 720 permutations though. Or maybe the latch was somewhere around the door. Or maybe she had to speak a password. Or maybe there was a button on the Headmaster’s chair, which was just behind her and a few seats over. There were too many possibilities to contemplate and absolutely no clues to work with. It didn’t make sense that the door should carry no indication that it was even there. The trick should be easier than that—shouldn’t it?

Then, she looked down at her wand in her hand. Suddenly, that nagging feeling she’d been getting clicked into place. She wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. Maybe this wouldn’t work on all hidden doors, but if it worked on the door that housed a giant three-headed dog, of all things, it was worth a try. She pointed her wand at the hollow panel and whispered, “ _Alohomora_.”

There was a click, and the panel popped open.

That was almost certainly not the intended way to get in. Leave it to wizards to not think about the most obvious solution.

With the panel open, Hermione could see where the latch was, although she still couldn’t make out how it was supposed to open normally. But more interesting was what she saw inside the panel. It wasn’t a cupboard. Instead, it was a miniature spiral staircase, looking like it was built for dwarfs, which extended both up and down from the ground floor. This was it! The only place it could possibly go up from there was directly over the Great Hall. She was so excited that she barely even gave a thought to Harry and Ron. She’d give them a tour once she knew what was up there, she decided.

She hesitated on the threshold, though. This door had to be locked for a reason—no, not locked, just hidden, she reminded herself. She didn’t know for sure if it was locked. Still it was a strange, cramped little space. It might be off-limits, or even dangerous. You’d think places like that would be more carefully secured, but the thought of that dog dispelled that idea.

On the other hand, this was a place that even the teachers didn’t know much about. It was probably _not_ off-limits just because no one thought to make a rule about it—or no one remembered it if there was one. And certainly no one had ever _told_ her that it was off-limits. That would have to count for something, right? She took a deep breath and stepped into the stairwell.

The staircase looked almost like something out of a dollhouse. The steps were only about four inches high and six inches deep. She could barely get her shoes to stay on them, and with the low ceiling, she quickly found it was easier to crawl up the stairs on her hands and knees, as uncomfortable as it was. The space was also very narrow. A large man would have a hard time squeezing through it. Hermione propped the door open with her jar, just in case, ascended a few steps, paused to make sure she would have enough room to turn around if need be, then started climbing.

The spiral stairs wound around and around tightly as she climbed. There was no way to see how far they went in either direction. She just kept crawling. By counting the shallow steps, she could tell she was climbing high. A hundred and fifty, or two hundred, she guessed, would put her at the level where she wanted to go. There were no pauses or landings in the staircase, not surprisingly, since the only thing on the other side was a solid wall. On the other side, there were only slits for windows, and the staircase was lit by some kind of enchanted glowing lights, rather than torches.

Finally, about when she judged that she’d reached the level of the ceiling, the stairs stopped and let out onto a small landing, which ran a few yards until it turned left into a cramped little hallway that ran directly down the entire length of the spine of the Great Hall’s Enchanted Ceiling.

Hermione tried to stand, but the ceiling in the hallway was only about three feet, nine inches high, from what she could tell, measuring with her hands. Like the stairs, the space was also only one foot, ten inches wide. But the strangest part was that the entire hallway was lined with little doors—perfectly ordinary looking, but half the normal size. She tried the first one. Locked. She considered trying to spell it open, but she saw a flickering light at the far end of the hallway, so she decided to investigate that first.

This probably counted as one of the stranger things she had done: crawling on her hands and knees in what amounted to the attic of a magical castle, wondering why anyone needed a half-scale hallway up here and why no one downstairs knew about it.

It was quiet up here—no sound but her shuffling and no sign of movement besides the flickering light ahead. Hermione had got about halfway down the long hallway when it happened: one of the little doors opened, and some _thing_ stepped out.

The creature looked like a tiny person, but it was very skinny, and it had large, bat-like ears on either side of a bald, wrinkly head, plus an angular, over-sized nose, and huge, blue eyes the size of tennis balls. It was wearing a toga with the Hogwarts Coat of Arms on it, which was very fuzzy-looking and appeared to be made out of a tea towel.

The creature looked directly at her and froze in place.

“Ah!” Hermione shouted in surprise.

“Ahhh!” it yelled back in a squeaky voice.

“Ahhh!”

“Ahhh!”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The set of all Harry Potters is a subset of JK Rowling.
> 
> It took me a while to get the portrayal of the elf society at Hogwarts just the way I wanted. We don’t really see much in canon where they’re not “on the clock.” I hope you like it.

“Ahhh!”

“Ahhh!”

The squeaky little bat-eared creature stared at Hermione fearfully with those huge blue eyes. What _was_ it, she wondered. She hadn’t read about anything like it in any books. _Hogwarts, A History_ didn’t even mention that this place _existed_. Was it out of bounds? Did _anyone_ know about it? Was there some secret society of little sprites hidden away like wizards were hidden among muggles?

The shouting had attracted attention. More of the little creatures came out of the miniature doors to see what was going on. They had different coloured eyes and all kinds of different shapes of noses and ears; about half were bald, and the other half had short, scraggly hair—Hermione guessed those were the females—but they were all about the same shape and size, and all of them were wearing Hogwarts tea towels. More of them came from the end of the long hallway, and a couple of them came out of the doors behind her. She counted an even dozen in all. She was surrounded.

Then, to her surprise, the first creature began speaking: “Vanny is sorry, miss. Vanny is not meaning to frighten Miss. How is Miss getting into our dorms?” Some of the other creatures began twittering quietly to each other.

Hermione blinked a few times. _What? Just_ _…what?_ “Your…your dorms? I…I got in through that little panel behind the High Table. I’m sorry, I’m not out of bounds, am I? No one could tell me anything about this place.”

Some of the other creatures giggled at this, hiding their mouths behind their hands. “Vanny is not thinking so, miss, but witches and wizards is never coming up here to talk with elves. Elves is not usually being seen, miss.”

Hermione was so confused that see barely even noticed the creature’s bizarre grammar. “Um…elves? I’m sorry, but who are you…? Or what are you?”

But the creature seemed eager to answer. “I is being Vanny, miss. And we is the Hogwarts House Elves, miss.”

“And…what are house elves?”

There was some more quiet twittering among the “elves.” Another elf, this one with matching grey eyes and hair, a snub nose, and a higher-pitched voice spoke up: “Is Miss being muggle-born?”

“Um…y-yes. I guess I don’t know that much about the magical world…”

“That is alright, miss,” Vanny said. “House elves cooks and cleans and does chores for wizards, miss. Hogwarts has many elves to help yous students and the teachers, miss.”

“Cooking and cleaning? Huh, I just figured there were spells to do that.”

“Oh, no, yous can’t conjure food, miss. And self-cleaning spells wears off, miss.”

Hermione knew that! Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She couldn’t believe that even she, a muggle-born, could take magic for granted like that so quickly. What other little things like that had she missed?

“Well, um, thank you for doing all that, then,” she replied. The elves all squeaked excitedly. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? My name’s Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.” She extended a hand to Vanny.

Vanny’s eyes started to fill with tears as he (she was pretty sure it was a he) took her hand reverently in both of his and shook it vigorously. The other elves squeaked even more exclamations of appreciation. “Miss Hermione Granger is a great witch,” he said. “Witches and wizards is hardly ever introducing themselves to elves like equals.”

“Well, that’s not very friendly of them.”

An odd tick ran through the group of elves as they all looked down or away, just for a moment, as if she had said something off-colour.

“Witches and wizards is not often meeting elves at all, miss,” the grey-haired elf said with the air of explaining something to a child, which, admittedly, she was. “Good elves is not being seen. Witches and wizards is liking if it looks like things runs on their own.”

“Well, you’re certainly doing a good job of that—”

With that compliment, the elves jumped up and down with exuberance. They must take their jobs very seriously, she thought. “Miss Hermione Granger is too kind to us elves,” Vanny said. The others made similar comments.

“And what is your name?” she asked the grey-haired elf when they had calmed down.

She was sure she saw the elf blush slightly. “I is being Tilly, Miss Hermione Granger. Tilly is in charge of teaching the elf children.”

That would explain the elf’s tone, she thought. Some of the other elves started to introduce themselves. They were quite an odd bunch, Hermione thought, most of them having names ending in “y” and all of them seemingly having the energy of a kindergartner on a sugar high. She did her best to remember their names, but many of them were hard to tell apart, at least at first glance.

“Miss Hermione Granger should not be staying in the hallway. Will Miss Hermione Granger be coming to our Common Room to sit?” Vanny asked nervously, as if it were some great imposition.

“Common Room…? Um, sure.” Hermione again became acutely aware that she was kneeling in the middle of a hallway that was barely big enough for her.

Some of the more shy- or busy-looking elves ducked back into what she assumed were their bedrooms, while the others ran ahead, further down the hall. “This way, miss,” Vanny said, motioning her forward, just in case there was any confusion. Hermione crawled forward until the tiny hallway opened into a fairly large room that actually had a ceiling high enough for her to stand upright.

The Elves’ Common Room didn’t look that different in style from the Gryffindor Common Room, except that it was rectangular, and everything was about half the normal size. There were two rows of little windows at either end of the room. There must still be something above this room, she thought, since there were three rows visible from the outside, not to mention the little towers. There was also a miniature staircase at each end of the room, leading to the upper floors. Interestingly, the room was decorated in Hufflepuff yellow and black.

In spite of the strangeness of the elves, it all looked so…normal. There were elf-sized chairs and tables and lamps and sofas, but most were not currently in use. In one corner, a group of elves were playing Exploding Snap with a miniature deck of cards. Some older-looking elves sat around the fireplace talking with each other or reading books. The books seemed to be the only normal-sized things in the room, but even some of them were elf-sized. Two tiny little elf children, no more than eighteen inches high, ran through the room having a sword fight with toy brooms, only to be scolded by one of the grown-up elves. Hermione thought they were incredibly cute.

The few elves who hadn’t heard the commotion in the hallway turned to look at what was happening.

“This is being Miss Hermione Granger,” Vanny introduced her. “She is finding her way in from the Great Hall.”

The other elves hopped up to introduce themselves. It was only Hermione’s years of memorising mathematical tables that gave her the skill to (hopefully) remember all of them. Vanny motioned to one of the sofas and said, “Please sit, miss.”

Hermione cautiously sat down. She took up practically all of the miniature sofa, which creaked under her weight. Now she knew what Hagrid must feel like all the time. “Thank you. So are there more elves around here?” she asked. The room seemed pretty empty.

“Yes, miss. There is only a few elves here now. Most of the elves is cooking dinner, miss.”

“Ah…”

“Why is Miss Hermione Granger coming to talk to the elves?” Vanny asked.

“Well…I mean, honestly, I didn’t know who or what was up here…it _is_ good to meet you, though. Anyway, I’ve been making a map of the castle…” Several elves started giggling at her declaration. _Great, them too_ , she thought.

“Please excuse Vanny, miss,” the blue-eyed elf said, “but how is Hermione Granger making a map of the castle when it keeps changing?”

“Well, it has to be approximate, doesn’t it,” she huffed. “I can’t make exact measurements, but almost all of the rooms stay the same, so I can just mark down where everything goes relative to each other. Of course there’s a lot of off limits areas I can’t get into. But I saw your windows from outside, and no one I asked knew what was up here. I even asked some of the professors…although I suppose Professor McGonagall must have known.”

“Professor McGonagall would be knowing, miss, but Professor Dumbledore and Professor Sprout is managing the elves, miss. Flory, the Head Elf, is reporting to them,” said Vanny.

Hermione watched as the elves settled back in, although many of them kept watching her. She considered asking Vanny more about how the elf…society? …was set up at Hogwarts. It still surprised her how all this could go unnoticed.

Before long, though, another elf came up to Hermione, this one apparently female and a couple inches shorter than the others. She had unnaturally deep blue eyes and blond hair in a pixie cut, but otherwise resembled a younger version of Tilly. She also wore a belt cinched around her waist tight enough to show a figure, with a small pouch hanging from it. “Hello, I is being Sonya, Hermione Granger, miss’ she said. The other elves rolled their eyes when she said her name, and Tilly grumbled, as if it were some sort of childish nickname. “Is Hermione Granger liking playing cards?” Sonya’s demeanour and boldness (though still quite timid by human standards) gave Hermione the distinct impression of her being a teenage elf.

“Um, sure, I can play a game,” Hermione said.

Sonya smiled, and she and two other young-looking elves joined Hermione and Vanny around a small table. Sonya pulled something like a marble out of her pouch. “Is miss wanting to be wagering gobstones?” she asked hesitantly.

“Sonnitt! You is ought not to be betting with witches!” Tilly scolded her immediately. “It is being most unbecoming an elf!”

Hermione was taken aback by the exchange. _Sonnitt?_ She wondered. That explained the nickname. But betting gobstones? Unbecoming an elf? “Er, it doesn’t matter anyway,” she tried to smooth it over. “I don’t have any gobstones.”

“Pardon Sonya, miss. We can be playing for fun,” Sonya said contritely. Tilly grumbled something about the younger elves scavenging things that students lost or left behind, but she let the game go ahead. Sonya muttered something about her grandmother—presumably Tilly—being an over-wound clock spring, which Hermione only partially understood the metaphor.

They played Exploding Snap for a while. The elves were quite good at it, especially Sonya, but Hermione had a distinct advantage because she was less afraid of the smaller cards exploding and thus could think more rationally about it. Playing cards with house elves was the strangest thing she had done in quite a while, but it was actually a lot of fun.

The one odd thing that kept bothering her, though, was the way the elves were dressed. She kept glancing at their strange outfits: togas made from tea towels. Even the littler children looked like they were wearing hand towels. After a while, she worked up her nerve and said, “So, if you don’t mind my asking…why are you all dressed like that?”

“Oh, house elves is not wearing wizard’s clothes, miss,” said Vanny. “It is a mark of our service.”

“So it’s like a uniform? That’s seems like an odd uniform though. And can’t you buy regular clothes for when you’re off duty?”

“Oh, no, house elves is not being paid, miss,” Vanny said far too cheerfully.

“What? What do you mean?”

“House elves is bound to a wizard family to work their whole lives,” Tilly explained, “but we is being bound to the castle.”

“What! You mean you’re slaves?” Hermione shouted, dropping her cards, which exploded with a loud crack.

The elves all turned to stare, looking rather nervous. “Elves is always being bound to witches and wizards,” Tilly explained gently in her patronising teacher’s tone. “It is what elves is for.”

“That’s slave labour, though!” she insisted. Hermione’s stomach was turning. The food she’d been eating all year, all the cleaning going on in the castle—she knew wizards were backwards, but she couldn’t believe even Albus Dumbledore would condone slavery. “It’s horrible!” she said, oblivious to the disturbed looks she was getting. “Can’t you be freed? Work for wages?”

All the elves squeaked in horror and backed away. The tiny children ran and hid behind their parents’ legs. Even Sonya, the most outgoing one, looked nervous. None of them seemed to want to show their hands.

“Oh, no, no, no, Miss Hermione Granger,” Vanny said fearfully. “It is most disgraceful for an elf to be dismissed, miss. No one is wanting an elf without a master, miss.”

“Well, that’s the wizards’ problem, then. They shouldn’t be keeping slaves in the first place. Isn’t there some way to free the elves?”

Most of the elves whimpered again and took another step back, as if Hermione were diseased or something. Tilly, who seemed to be the most level-headed elf in the room (though even she seemed quite put off) explained nearly in a whisper, “House elves is only being freed if they is being presented clothes from their master’s hands, miss. But please do not be thinking of trying to free the elves, miss. It is being most disgraceful, and we is liking it very much at Hogwarts, miss.”

“But it’s not right. And how can you know if you’ve never lived anywhere else?”

Tilly looked distinctly uncomfortable as she answered: “Tilly does not mean to offend Miss Hermione Granger, but she is being muggle-born and is not knowing much about house elves. House elves is not the same as witches and wizards. We is liking to work, miss, and is not wanting to leave.”

“But could you be freed if you wanted to?” Hermione tried one last time.

Tilly looked down at her feet as if in shame. “Tilly is thinking Professor Dumbledore would, miss. Professor Dumbledore is a great wizard, miss. But we is not wanting it, miss. House elves is treated very well at Hogwarts.”

Hermione wanted to protest again, but as she fully registered the saddened and scared looks on the elves’ faces, she just couldn’t keep up her indignation. She knew she ought to be furious. The whole wizarding world kept a slave underclass. Even the supposedly progressive Hogwarts ran on slave labour. But after seeing the elves where they lived and talking to them all afternoon, well, she was more confused than anything else. The elves had quarters that looked the same as the students’ quarters, they hung out and played games just like her friends, and they seemed, well, happy. They also seemed deeply offended and afraid of the idea of freedom. She knew she ought to say that they were brainwashed and uneducated. That’s how it always was with slaves in the muggle world. But these elves could read and even had schoolteachers of their own. Tilly seemed pretty smart, and Sonya even played the “rebellious’ teenager. The pieces just didn’t fit together in her mind, but she was suddenly very worried that she was driving away a lot of potential friends.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “It’s just that I don’t understand. We don’t have anything like this in the muggle world. It’s not even allowed. We _have_ to pay everyone who works for us…It’s one of our most important laws.”

The elves seemed to relax at her apology, although they still eyed her warily. To her surprise, it was Sonya who spoke up next: “Muggles is different from witches and wizards, Hermione Granger,” she said. “And witches and wizards is different from elves. You is being muggle-born, miss, but you is still a witch. You is not needing to be worried about elves.”

“Well…I can definitely see that we’re different. I guess I can try to see things from your point of view…” Truth be told, the whole thing still made her queasy, but the elves seemed much relieved by her relenting. In any case, it was clear that she would never get anywhere by arguing with them. Maybe if there was an elf out there who wanted to be free who could set an example, it might be different, but it didn’t look like there would be many of those. She set that aside in the back of her mind.

“Wait a minute,” Hermione said as the elves sat back down around their little table. “You said presented with clothes? But if you cook and clean, don’t you do the laundry, too?”

A couple of the elves giggled again, thankfully not offended this time. “Laundry is always being our masters’ clothes, miss,” Vanny said. “It is not being presented to us elves, miss, and not from our masters’ hands.”

Yes, elves were definitely more complicated than she thought.

They played a couple more hands of Exploding Snap, but mostly just made small talk after that. The slave labour bit still made her uncomfortable, but as she calmed down, she started to talk more interest in the elves’ unconventional way of life. Eventually, her boundless curiosity got the better of her.

“Tilly?”

“Yes, Miss Hermione Granger?”

“Erm, if you don’t mind, how did you become…bound to wizards in the first place?”

“We is being bred for it, Miss Hermione Granger,” Tilly explained. “German wizards a long time ago was wanting more magical pets, so they trained wild elves to do work like dogs, miss, and they bred house elves from the ones that was doing the best work.”

“I’ve never heard of wild elves, either. I know they’re not in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_.”

“Tilly is not thinking so, miss. There is no more wild elves. House elves is the only elves left, miss. But house elves is smarter and more magical than wild elves, so we can be doing all the chores.”

Despite her reservations, Hermione was quite interested in that story. When asked, Tilly eagerly launched into a long description of the history of house elves: how they were magically bred from wild elves in just a few generations, how they were exported from Germany and used throughout Europe by the time of the founders of Hogwarts, how Helga Hufflepuff had purchased many of them from “unkind masters’ (this part was spoken of only in whispers) and brought them to Hogwarts, how the first Head Elf, Hooky, had helped Godric Gryffindor expel Salazar Slytherin from the castle during their infamous falling-out, and how the Wizards’ Council and the Ministry had begun regulating elves in later centuries.

All of it was fascinating, and not one word of it was in _A History of Magic_ or _Hogwarts, A History_. So much for History class being comprehensive. Hermione was sure she learnt more from Tilly in an hour than she had from Professor Binns’s lectures all year. But then again, Tilly’s job was teaching, and if there was one thing she could tell about house elves, it was that they took their jobs _very_ seriously.

Suddenly, there was a series of loud cracks, and many more elves began appearing from nowhere in the Common Room.

“Ahhh!” Hermione screamed. “What—? How—? But that’s impossible!”

“Is something wrong, miss?” Vanny asked quickly. “We is not meaning to frighten Hermione Granger, miss.”

“But…but…you can’t! You can’t apparate in Hogwarts. It says so in _Hogwarts, A History_.”

At this the elves started openly giggling.

“Please be excusing Vanny, miss,” the elf said with a smile. “Witches and wizards cannot apparate in Hogwarts, but elves can, miss.”

“What? But how?”

“Because our masters wants us to, miss.”

“Huh?”

“Tilly is sorry for Vanny, miss,” the older elf said. “Vanny is forgetting that Miss Hermione Granger is being muggle-born. The house elves’ highest law is their masters’ will, miss.”

 _And that_ _’s really all it takes to apparate in Hogwarts?_ “But…but there’s still an anti-apparition ward, and those are arithmantically impenetrable…so what you’re doing must not really be apparition.”

“Of course, miss. House elves has their own magic, miss, just like goblins and centaurs and other magical races.”

The revelations boggled Hermione’s mind. The magical world was so much wider than anyone had let on. Could wizards really be that narrow-minded? Yes. Yes, they could. In a daze, she managed to ask, “So who are these elves, Tilly?”

“They is the elves that serves dinner, miss. They is finished, miss, and now the cleaning elves will be cleaning the kitchens.”

“Oh no! I missed dinner!” she exclaimed, jumping off the sofa. Her sense of time was still a bit weak.

“Is miss being hungry?” Vanny said, leaping to his feet.

“Yes, but it’s not just that. My friends will all be worried about me. The last time I missed dinner, I nearly got killed by a mountain troll.”

The elves squeaked in surprise. “You was attacked by the bad other troll that was being let into the castle?” Sonya said in awe.

“Yes, but I made it out alright,” she said, heading for the exit. “I have to go. I wonder if anyone grabbed some extra food—maybe Ron…”

But then Sonya spoke up again. “If Hermione Granger is hungry, miss, she can be going down to the kitchens, and we elves can be bringing leftovers.”

“I can…? How do I get to the kitchens?” _And why did I never think to look for the kitchens before?_

“If you is going down the stairs where you came in, miss, to the bottom, you will be finding the kitchens, miss.”

“Really? Is that allowed?”

“Yes, miss. We is not allowed to be helping students break school rules.” Was that just a hint of annoyance in Sonya’s voice?

Hermione thought about it for a moment. It wouldn’t matter if she was a little later, as long as she made curfew. Her parents _were_ expecting a note, too, but she could make it a short one. She’d need time to figure out how to explain house elves to them, anyway.

“Thank you, Sonya. I’ll do that, then.”

“Sonya will go with Hermione Granger, miss. Sonya is wanted for cleaning.”

So Hermione started crawling back down the little hallway with Sonya following close behind. She got to the miniature stairwell and climbed inside, but she wasn’t quite sure how to get down. It wasn’t tall enough to stand up. The stairs were low enough that she considered sliding, but her robes presented too much friction. Finally, she wound up having to shimmy down them backwards, like a ladder. Sonya looked like she was trying not to laugh at her.

They passed the little landing where she’d come in and kept going. The panel there had been closed during dinner, and the door was almost invisible, even from the inside. It was a long way farther down from there, though. The kitchens must be as deep as the Great Hall was high. Hermione was starting to realise just how much of the castle was left out of her mapping efforts. True there were plenty of blank spaces where students weren’t allowed, but how had she not even considered where the kitchens were? She’d been so obsessed with sorting out the upstairs that she’d never paid them much mind. What else was around, she wondered. Where was the laundry, for example?

After a few more turns, she came to a more obvious door, opened it, and finally stepped into a place where she could stand upright…

Coming face to faces with Fred and George Weasley.

“Hermione?” the redheaded twins said in disbelief from across the kitchens.

“Fred? George?” she exclaimed.

“How did you get in here?”

“Um…through the door?” She pointed behind her. “How did _you_ get in?”

“Um…through the door.” They both pointed behind them.

“But what’s with that door there?” George added. “We’ve never seen that one before.”

Hermione grinned. “Oh, that? Well…I’ve just found out what’s above the Great Hall.”

When Hermione told a speechless set of twins what was upstairs and how she’d found it, they ran over and hugged her, which scared her a bit, given who they were. Then, when she told them she’d come down for a late dinner, they grabbed a chair and insisted on sitting her down at Professor Dumbledore’s place at the duplicate High Table that stretched across the front of the room, with the huge kitchen fireplace roaring behind her. It wasn’t a golden throne, but it was fun to see things from the teachers’ point of view. Fred and George sat on either side of her, snacking and doing impressions of the other professors.

Whatever Hermione had been expecting the kitchens to look like, this wasn’t it. The room was as huge as the Great Hall and even had an enchanted ceiling of its own that showed the cloudy night sky. It was dominated by four long tables that matched up with the House Tables in addition to the duplicate High Table. In an emergency, this could _be_ the Great Hall. She wondered if that was intentional. The walls were lined with one preparation area after another: a large cupboard, an ice chest, a sink, a large counter for preparing food, and an oven, all repeated over and over again, all of them full sized, except elf-height. Pots and pans and utensils by the hundreds hung on pegs all the way around the room, and the elves wandlessly levitated them up and down. They really must have different magic, she thought.

Even now, there were dozens and dozens of elves washing dishes, sweeping the floor, and packing away leftovers. Many had come from upstairs, but based on the introductions they kept making, the ones handling the food had stayed on from the cooking shift. Hermione noticed now that many of the elves on duty wore belts much like Sonya’s, which they seemed to be using as tool belts.

Hermione introduced Fred and George to Vanny and Sonya (Tilly was still upstairs). The twins had met most of the elves at one time or another, but didn’t know many of their names. She also told them what the elf quarters were like and what the elves did when they were off duty, much to their amusement.

“So how exactly do you get into the kitchens the normal way?” Hermione asked when the twins told her of their after-dinner snacking habits.

“Oh, that’s easy,” George said. “There’s a portrait of a bowl of fruit outside. Just tickle the pear, and it’ll turn into a doorknob.”

“What _we_ want to know is how you got into the elves’ living quarters,” Fred said.

“Well, I just…actually, Sonya, how _are_ you supposed to get into that elves’ staircase? I just used my wand.”

“Oh, that is easy, miss,” Sonya replied. “Just knock four times on the panel where the latch is.” She ran over to the wall beside the fireplace and demonstrated by tapping on the correct panel by the fireplace, causing the little door to pop open. “Will Miss Hermione Granger be coming to visit the elves again?”

“Of course. I want to introduce you to my friends, Harry and Ron.”

Sonya’s eyes looked like they would pop out of her head. She ran to Hermione and whispered, “That is not being Harry _Potter_ , is it?”

“Uh huh.”

Sonya squealed with delight and started jumping around. The other elves just shook their heads at her, not knowing what was going on. Even by elf standards, Sonya was being more hyper than usual. It took her a while to calm down, and she then declared that she would keep the identity of the visitors a secret until the next visit. Hermione hoped she wouldn’t regret that.

In any case, dinner was as good as ever, until right at the end. Hermione was just finishing up, and Sonya was trying to sucker Fred and George into a game of Exploding Snap, when a frightened-looking elf popped into the centre of the kitchen and yelled out, “Peeves is coming! Peeves is coming!”

“Uh-oh!” Fred and George said at once. In an instant, the elves were running around, squealing loudly and seemingly trying to lock down as many things as they could. A few seconds later, the number of elves increased, as some of them vanished upstairs and returned with as many of the off-duty elves as they could, and it was a good thing, too, because a moment later, Peeves came zooming in the door.

It was anyone’s guess why the castle poltergeist had got it into his head to ruin the kitchens tonight, but he didn’t waste any time. The ugly little spirit started throwing pots and pans around as fast as he could. The elves picked up pots and pans and brooms and mops of their own and brandished them like weapons to fend off the attack. Seeing three students in the kitchen, Peeves soon zeroed in on them, but Fred and George grabbed a couple of pans like Beaters’ bats and tossed Hermione a large meat fork to stop him.

“Let’s get out of here!” yelled Fred.

The three of them sprinted for the exit, dodging elves and knocking away any flying objects that came their way. Soon, they dropped their weapons by the door, barrelled out of the room, and slammed the door shut behind them.

“Excellent!” Fred and George immediately started laughing and high-fived. Hermione rolled her eyes at first, but she couldn’t help giggling a little herself. After all, where else on earth did things like that happen besides Hogwarts?

“Hermione, I think you are really going places,” Fred told her.

“Yeah, maybe we’re not so different after all,” George added.

Hermione smiled weakly. She didn’t have the heart to tell them what she really thought of that sentiment. “Well, right now, I’m just going to the owlery and then to bed,” she said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter to e5. JK Rowling to f7.

By Monday afternoon, however, Hermione’s excitement was back. It was actually a little difficult to get through the day, she was so eager to show Harry and Ron her new discovery. The two boys seemed less enthused, possibly because she was so hung up on surprising them that she refused to tell them where they were going.

“Hermione, will you just tell us what’s up there?” Ron demanded as she dragged them into the empty Great Hall after classes ended.

“You’ll see, you’ll see in a minute!” She ran behind the high table, pulled the empty jar from her robes, and used it to listen to the panels, tapping on them one by one. “Now which one was it again?”

Harry and Ron looked sceptical. “Look, if you—” Ron started.

“Aha!” She found the right panel. She stood up primly and, keeping an eye on the boys, knocked four times on the wood. To her delight, the panel popped open, revealing the elf-sized staircase. “Come on,” she implored them.

“In there?” Harry asked.

“Yes. It’s alright. It’s not that hard. Just follow me.” She crawled into the stairwell.

“Hermione, what’s all this about?” Harry asked as he crawled in after her.

“I found this place yesterday, and—oh, come on, I want to show you.”

“Alright, alright, keep your shirt on. We’re coming,” Ron said.

The three children crawled uncomfortably up the small, winding stone steps. Harry and Ron quickly realised, as Hermione had done, that it was quite a long way up.

“Hermione, doesn’t this thing actually _go_ anywhere?” asked Ron. “This isn’t some kind of prank, is it?”

“No, I finally found out what’s up here, and you just need to see it.”

“This is a really weird staircase,” Harry commented. “It doesn’t look like it’s made for regular people.” Even so, the dark-haired boy seemed unusually competent at moving around in the confined space.

Hermione didn’t respond to that as she hoped Harry wouldn’t speculate too close to the truth. A few minutes later, they emerged onto the top landing, and Hermione motioned them forward, still crawling—Ron especially was too tall for the place—until she took that left turn and came face to face with a house elf with cobalt blue eyes and blond hair cropped short.

“Sonya!” Hermione said with a smile. “Hi. How did you know I’d be here?”

“Hello, Miss Hermione Granger,” the little elf squeaked eagerly. “Tenny heard that someone was climbing the stairs, miss, and came to tell Sonya, and Sonya is coming to meet Miss Hermione Granger.”

Harry and Ron squeezed up against Hermione, peeking around the corner as best they could to see what strange creature their friend was talking to.

“What the heck?” Ron exclaimed.

Harry sat wide-eyed. “Um, who are you?” he said.

“I is Sonya, sir. Sonya the house elf.”

“I met Sonya here yesterday,” Hermione explained. “Sonya, these are my friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.”

“Eep!” Sonya rushed forward to shake Harry’s hand, even though she could barely reach it around the corner. “Harry Potter, sir! Such an honour it is!”

“Erm, thank you,” Harry said absently. He turned to Hermione. “Uh, sorry, but what are house elves?”

Sonya let out a surprised squeak. “Is Harry Potter not knowing about house elves, sir?”

“Sonya, Harry was raised by muggles, like me,” Hermione said. “House elves are like magical servants,” she explained, making an effort to be respectful about it. “They do all the cooking and cleaning in the castle.”

“Yeah, lots of old, rich families have ‘em, too,” Ron added. “Mum’s always says she’d like an elf to do the ironing and stuff, but we could never get one at the Burrow.”

“Huh…” Harry said. He had obviously not thought about all that before either.

“Sonya, do you think we could get to the Common Room, where there’s more space?” asked Hermione.

“Oh, of course, miss, of course. Please be coming in.” She led them forward down the long hallway.

“So this is where the elves live,” Ron mused. “Weird. It’s all, like, elf-sized. Fred and George’ve talked about meeting the elves in the kitchens, but they never mentioned this.”

“That’s because they didn’t know,” Hermione said with a grin. “At least until I ran into them in the kitchens last night.”

Ron laughed loudly. “Wow, Hermione, I never thought _you_ of all people would be better at exploring the castle than my brothers.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Ron opened his mouth and did a surprisingly good imitation of Hermione’s voice: “We could all have been killed—or worse, expelled.” Harry chuckled behind his hand.

“Please, Ron, I was hysterical about running into a giant Cerberus. And besides, as near as I can tell, this place isn’t _actually_ off-limits.”

They came to the end of the hallway, and the three children stepped out and stood up, surveying the perfectly scaled-down Common Room. It looked just as surreal as it did last night. Dozens of elves were sitting around it, chatting. Evidently, the dinner shift hadn’t started yet.

“Everyone,” Sonya called to the room as they entered. “It is Harry Potter!”

The room erupted as all the elves jumped to their feet and crowded in to get a look at the Boy-Who-Lived, jumping up and down and bowing and curtsying to him. Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable wading through the mass of the little creatures.

“Blimey, mate, even the house elves are all over you,” Ron said, laughing at Harry’s predicament.

“Uh, hi, uh, nice to meet you,” he said.

Hermione managed to manoeuvre the three of them to a ring of sofas in the corner of the room, which was one of the few places three humans could sit together. Tilly soon came running over, ostensibly to keep “Sonnitt” in line, but Hermione could tell from her wide grey eyes that even she was eager to meet Harry.

“No thank you, really,” Harry said as multiple elves offered to get him snacks from the kitchens. Even so, they continued to bound up to him to greet him. “I’m really not…I’m really nothing special,” he protested.

“Harry Potter is very modest, sir,” Sonya said admiringly. “He does not speak of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“Voldemort?” he said.

“Ahh!” The elves screamed, and many of them jumped back or even ran to the far end of the room, clapping their hands over their bat ears. Harry turned very red at having frightened the strange creatures. Tilly was the only one calm enough to reply sensibly: “Please do not speak the name, Harry Potter, sir. It is a most terrible name, sir, especially to we house elves.”

“Sorry,” he said. “But really, what’s the big deal about it?”

With a nervous squeak, Sonya turned back to him and piped up: “Sonya hears stories of when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, Harry Potter, sir, when Sonya was very young. Professor Dumbledore protected us in the castle, but other house elves was treated like vermin, sir, but life is much better for we elves since Harry Potter defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir.”

Harry looked even more embarrassed at this. “But I don’t even remember that,” he protested. “And I don’t think I was the one who did it. I was only a baby.”

“But Harry Potter survived, sir, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did not,” Tilly said. “Tilly remembers it well. His power was broken, and things was at once much better for we elves—and goblins and others, too, sir. Harry Potter is a beacon of hope to so many of the lowly creatures of the magical world.”

Harry was pretty much lost by that point. He knew Voldemort was a bad wizard, but he barely knew anything about the other races in the magical world, much less how Voldemort had affected them. He tried asking Hermione to explain, but he got more than he bargained for when she had Tilly, the elf teacher, start in on a long explanation about house elves’ service. It seemed a little eerie to Harry that wizards had a whole race of bound servants to do all their chores that he hadn’t heard about—eerie and disturbingly familiar—but it was actually pretty interesting, and things did get clearer as she explained. Even Ron, who was always complete rubbish around Professor Binns, was into it by the end.

“Wow, maybe you should teach history instead of Binns,” Harry said as she concluded.

Tilly blushed crimson at the praise and started tripping over her words, “Oh, b-begging Harry Potter’s pardon, Harry Potter, sir, but T-Tilly is knowing much more of elves’ history than wizards’…”

“Yeah, but anybody’d be better than Binns,” Ron quipped. “Plus, can you imagine the look on Malfoy’s face if he had to have an elf for a teacher?” All three children laughed aloud at that and several elves giggled conspiratorially, especially Sonya.

Hermione had warned Harry and Ron that they should leave when the dinner shift started, but they still had a little bit of time after that, so Sonya roped the three of them into a game of Exploding Snap with a timid-looking Vanny and a taller elf with a French accent whom Hermione had not met yesterday. Hermione had noticed by now that a significant minority of the elves had foreign accents, mostly French, but she heard some German and Spanish in there, too, which made her curious.

“What’s your name?” she asked the newcomer.

“I is being Remie, Mademoiselle,” he replied.

“Are you French, Remie?”

“Yes, Mademoiselle. Many elves is traded to different countries, Mademoiselle. Zee ‘Ouse Elf Relocation Office is doing it, Mademoiselle, to make sure too many elves isn’t breeding with cousins.”

“Really…?” _To prevent inbreeding?_ she thought. That seemed odd. But then, Hermione thought about all the places in Britain that might employ elves: Hogwarts, the Ministry, St. Mungo’s, and then if one in ten wizarding families had a house elf (and she suspected that was being generous), there couldn’t be more than five hundred working-age elves in all of Britain, probably more like three hundred, which she wouldn’t trust to maintain a viable breeding population. (Actually, with that body shape, she wasn’t sure how elves could reproduce at all, but it was probably best not to think about that.) So the job of the House Elf Relocation Office didn’t have so much to do assigning elves within Britain, but with moving them from country to country to keep the elf bloodlines healthy.

Suddenly, Hermione burst out laughing.

Harry and Ron gave her a confused look, and Remie turned pale and started apologising, but Hermione cut him off: “I’m sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you. I was just thinking how all the pureblood wizards are so proud of keeping their bloodlines “pure” when even they recognise the importance of interbreeding with their house elves. The hypocrites!”

At that, the other elves started sniggering conspiratorially again, as if she were speaking about something improper. Ron chuckled and said, “Well, my Dad says the whole pureblood thing is hogwash anyway. There’s so few purebloods left that practically everybody’s half-blood these days. Mind you, my family’s still pretty pure, but there’s only a couple others we’d actually associate with.”

Hermione made a mental note to look up some of the wizarding genealogies for reference when she had the time—which wasn’t often with their little third floor project—but that could wait until later. For now, she could just enjoy the game.

It was only when they crawled back down the spiral staircase and started toward Gryffindor Tower that Hermione pulled one of her friends aside for a chat, telling Ron they would catch up with him in a minute.

“Harry, I was wondering what you thought about the house elves,” said said.

“What do you mean?” Harry said, confused.

“I mean, they _are_ technically slaves, even if they say they like it. I was just wondering, since you were raised by muggles…”

“Well, they seem like they’ve got a pretty nice place to live. It’s sure a lot nicer than what I grew up with.”

That wasn’t an answer Hermione was expecting at all. Had Harry misunderstood the question? “Huh? What do you mean by that?”

“I had to do all the chores, too, and my cu—room wasn’t very nice. I definitely _didn_ _’t_ like it, though, so it’s kinda like they’re better off.”

Hermione had already been a little concerned for Harry, but this clinched it. If the boy was saying he was worse off than slaves—well-treated and bizarrely-happy slaves, but slaves nonetheless—something was seriously wrong with his life. “Harry…” she asked tentatively, “if it’s so awful for you at home, don’t you have anywhere else to go?”

“No,” he said defensively. “They’re my only family. Where would I go?”

“I’m sorry, I just thought…if it’s just for the summer…Honestly, I might be able to convince my parents to take you in if I asked them nicely—or maybe Professor Dumbledore could arrange something.”

“You don’t have to do that, Hermione,” he said quickly. “I can manage fine with the Dursleys. Besides, it’s only two months, and that’s worth it to come to Hogwarts.”

Well, it was hard to argue with that logic. Even she still couldn’t believe how amazing magic was sometimes. Even so, she filed that away in case she got a chance to find her friend better accommodations for the summer.

* * *

November turned to December, and Hogwarts was buried under several feet of snow. Hermione didn’t think snow that heavy fell regularly anywhere in Britain, but maybe it was the magic of the place. People stayed inside when they could on account of the cold, except for the occasional snowball fight, and the Weasley Twins’ charmed snowballs were a constant threat to anyone who ventured outside.

With the colder weather, the Gryffindor Common Room grew more crowded with people keeping warm around the fire. Hermione took to sitting nearer the edge, away from the crush—at least when she was curled up with a good book and not chatting with her roommates. It was on one of these evenings that something at a nearby table caught her eye, something she had glanced at, but not paid much attention before. She saw Ron and Seamus Finnigan were playing chess—wizard chess.

Wizard chess turned out to be the same as regular chess except that the figures were alive, and you had to call out your moves to them. She wandered over to the boys’ table for a closer look just as Seamus made a move.

“Knight to e5.”

It was an obvious sacrifice move designed to draw Ron’s queen out. Hermione felt like the little knight piece had a resigned look on its face as it moved from a rook’s line of fire to the queen’s.

Ron accepted the offered knight: “Queen to e5.”

The Black Queen glided forward and lifted up her chair. Yelling a distinct “Hi-ya!,” she swung it around so hard that the knight was knocked clean off the board.

“That’s totally barbaric!” Hermione said.

“That’s wizard chess,” Ron smirked.

Hermione calmed herself. Surely, the little chess pieces weren’t really _alive_ , were they? They were probably just constructs transfigured to act like it, just like Professor McGonagall always said. Even so, it was weird to see Seamus’s pieces question a couple of his moves. Wasn’t that like cheating? Or was wizard chess more different than it looked?

She watched them a while longer, thinking about what moves she might make in the game. Seamus was decent at chess, but Ron was _good_. After a few moves, she broke down and said, “Okay, I play winner.” She pulled a chair close and sat to watch them finish.

Ron cocked an eyebrow. “You play?”

“Of course.”

“Alright, we’ll see if you’re better than Seamus,” the redhead said smugly.

“Oi!”

But Ron beat Seamus after just a few moves, and the sandy-haired boy got up and yielded his seat. By now, Harry had noticed them and come closer to watch quietly. Fred and George were also keeping watch and came over to see what was up.

“Ah, so you’ve discovered that ickle Ronnie is a chess prodigy,” George said.

“Well, I don’t know about “prodigy,’” Fred suggested. “More like idiot savant.”

“Hey, lay off guys, I’m finally gonna beat Hermione at something,” Ron said.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “We’ll see about that.”

“Ooh, this should be a good one,” George said.

“Just a moment,” Fred added before calling out to the Common Room, “Hey everybody, Ron’s facing Hermione Granger at chess. Place your bets!”

“Fred!” Ron and Hermione said in unison. Hermione nearly lectured them that gambling was against the rules, but she reminded herself that it wouldn’t help. Anyway, it turned out that a lot of the older boys had fallen to Ron’s chess skills and wanted to see the action. Lavender, Parvati, and the Quidditch Chasers, on the other hand were sure that Hermione’s raw intelligence would win out. For their part, Fred took Ron’s side, while George took Hermione’s.

And so, it was a very red-faced Hermione who found herself facing the undeclared chess champion of Gryffindor with a sizable audience. Ron took the two queens in hand behind his back, mixed them up, and then presented his closed fists to Hermione. She tapped one of them with a finger, and he opened it, revealing the White Queen. Hermione was encouraged to see that that custom was the same in the wizarding world.

The pieces set themselves up, which was very convenient, and then it was all up to Hermione to make the first move. She sized Ron up. He was a good player. He probably had a solid opening book. This wasn’t a timed game, so her speed wouldn’t be of much help. She considered a Queen’s Gambit, but instead, she decided that she would try to throw Ron off with a non-standard opening.

“Pawn to c3,” Hermione ordered.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised when all of her pieces yelled, “What!” which was echoed by several of the chess players in the Common Room. Fred started laughing at George. Ron just stared at her in disbelief.

“I though you said you played,” he said.

“I did. Pawn to c3.”

Her pieces shouted another protest, and the c-pawn itself said, “Are you nuts? That’s a ridiculous opening move.”

“No, I mean it. Pawn to c3,” she repeated. When the pawn still didn’t move, she physically picked it up and moved it by hand as it shouted a muffled protest under her fingers.

“Grrr. Well, so much for _this_ game,” the pawn said when she put it down.

Ron smirked at her again and said, “Pawn to e5.”

 _Aha! Pawn to d5 would have been better_ , Hermione thought. _He_ _’s just ignoring me and doing his own thing. Good._

“Mm-hmm. This should be easy,” Ron’s e-pawn said as it glided forward.

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “Pawn to d4.”

“Oh, _now_ you do something sensible, after he’s already got a pawn there,” the d-pawn said, but it glided forward on its own, used to being knocked out early in the game.

Ron raised an eyebrow at Hermione’s “strategy” and ordered, “Pawn to d4,” capturing Hermione’s piece.

But that’s what Hermione was counting on. “Queen to d4,” she said.

“Are you sure?” her queen asked. “It’s risky sending me out this early.”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” The queen grumbled, but moved forward, capturing Ron’s pawn.

“Well, I’m surprised,” George said. “It seems our Hermione likes to live dangerously.”

“Maybe, brother, but doesn’t she have the skill to back it up?” Fred replied.

Ron didn’t seem to think so because he shook his head and said, “You _are_ a nutter. Knight to c6.”

Hermione just grinned and said, “Queen to a4.”

Ron’s smile started to fade, now, as the queen threatened his knight, and he started to see the inklings of Hermione’s strategy. “Pawn to d5,” he said.

Hermione responded with, “Pawn to e4.”

This put another of her pawns diagonal from one of Ron’s. Her e-pawn, being used to this kind of treatment, said, “Oh, boy, here we go,” before it moved.

Ron still looked sceptical. “A reverse Scandinavian Defence?” he asked.

Hermione just smiled innocently.

“Fine. Pawn to e4,” Ron took another of her pawns.

Hermione followed up with, “Knight to d2.”

Her knight slid into position and looked around, surveying the board. “Wait, what just happened?” it said. “This actually looks kind of good.”

Ron was surprised, but he had to agree. It was a much better position than he expected to see her in after that weird opening, even if it was still pretty off. He gave Hermione another sceptical look.

“What?” Hermione said offhandedly. “It’s a variant on the Blackmar-Diemer Gambit—I’ve already got my queen deployed, I’m blocking half of your queen’s moves, and my pawn structure’s almost as good.”

“Bloody hell!” The reply came from both Ron and all twenty-nine pieces that were still on the board. It was his chess set, after all.

“You were saying?” George asked Fred, who glared back at him.

“Wow, you _are_ good,” Alicia said from over Hermione’s shoulder. Much of the audience murmured in agreement.

“Alright,” Ron said with a determined look on his face, “ _now_ you asked for it.”

The game was hard-fought after that. Ron certainly wasn’t ignoring her anymore. He wasn’t just good, though, he was _really_ good. Hermione struggled to hold her own. The tension in the room seemed to rise as people started recalculating the odds on the outcome of the game. The people who were most familiar with chess cheered when either of them made a decisive move.

It was after a couple of particularly difficult moves, as Hermione surveyed the board, trying to figure out her best course of action, that she noticed Ron looking particularly smug in the corner of her eye. She nervously looked over the pieces again, and the realisation hit her.

“You win in two moves, don’t you?”

There were gasps from the people who were supporting her.

“Ah, so you noticed it,” Ron said, folding his arms.

“You won…” Hermione said. She was about to knock over her king on the spot when she saw him take off his crown and throw it at the Black King’s feet. “You beat me…” she stammered. “I can’t believe you won.”

Ron started laughing. “Yeah, well it’ll probably do you some good to lose once in a while,” he said.

Hermione glared at him. “It’s not that. I’ve never been beaten by someone my own age before.”

Ron’s eyebrows rose a bit. “Really? Well, I think you _are_ the toughest opponent I’ve had who’s _my_ own age. That was a good game.” He offered her his hand.

“Yeah, good game…” she said as she shook his hand. “I want a rematch,” she said sharply. She should have tried that Queen’s Gambit from the start.

But Ron let out an exasperated sigh and rose from his seat, saying, “Tomorrow. It’s getting late.”

“Fine.” Actually, it was getting close to her self-imposed bedtime. She’d have to turn in soon, as well.

“That was still brilliant, Hermione,” George said quietly after Fred forced him to pay up. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll have to beat him sometime—cut him down to size.”

“I’ll certainly try,” she said. Ron was going to be tough to beat, though. Most of her friends were surprised by her own chess skills, but Ron was definitely a level above her. She was starting to think there was more to Ronald Weasley than she’d first thought.

* * *

It was the day before Christmas holidays, and the teachers were busy setting up the decorations for the Great Hall. Dinner that evening would be the Christmas Feast for the majority of students who were going home. Most of Hermione’s friends would be on the Express with her tomorrow, but Ron and his brothers were staying because his parents were visiting another brother, Charlie, in Romania, and Harry, predictably, had no desire to see his relatives.

The Great Hall really did look amazing, even unfinished. Hagrid was hauling in the twelfth and final huge Christmas tree—even taller than he was—when they ran into him that morning. Professor Flitwick was decorating the trees with huge golden bubbles from his wand. Professor Vector was nearby, measuring everything with a quadrant—probably something to do with ley lines, Hermione thought. She had mentioned that even on small scales, the proper alignment would improve the staying power of Professor Flitwick’s charms.

But for all this, Hermione was still on a mission. “Harry, Ron,” she said, “we’ve got an hour before lunch. We should be in the library.”

“Yeah, the library, right,” Ron groaned. He was quickly losing patience with the whole think.

“The library?” Hagrid said. “Bit keen, aren’t yeh, the day before the holidays?”

“Oh, we’re not working,” Harry said brightly. “We’ve just been researching magical artifacts in our spare time.”

“Magical artifacts?” Hagrid rumbled suspiciously. “You’re not still on about the third floor, are yeh? I told yeh to drop that.”

“We just wanna know what’s up there,” Ron said.

“Unless you’d like to tell us and save us the trouble,” Harry added.

“I’m sayin’ nothin’,” Hagrid insisted.

“Trouble Hagrid?” Hermione twitched when she saw Professor Vector coming over, having obviously overheard their conversation.

Hagrid seemed to consider whether to say anything, but apparently decided to do the responsible thing, much to Hermione’s nervousness and Harry’s dismay. “Well, Professor,” he said diplomatically, “it’s just that these three here seem to have got it into their heads to figure out what’s at the bottom of the third floor corridor.”

“Miss Granger,” Professor Vector said in surprise. “I’m _sure_ you remember what Professor Dumbledore said at the start of term. This isn’t something you should be getting involved in.”

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Hermione said, glancing down at her feet. “But we’re not looking to cause any trouble. We’re only looking in the library. We just thought it would be interesting to know. And the research is quite fascinating. We’re learning lots about ancient artifacts.”

Vector’s lips pressed together sternly, but she softened when she saw Hermione’s face. “Pardon me, Miss Granger. I know you’re quite responsible. If you’re only doing research in the library that any other student could do, I certainly can’t stop you. But please speak to a teacher before you get any ideas about anything else. This is a dangerous business that children should not get mixed up in.”

“Yes, Professor,” Hermione said.

“Thank you, Miss Granger. And Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas,” Hermione called before the trio walked off to the library.

But they didn’t find out anything interesting that day, and Harry nearly got kicked out of the library when he wandered into the Restricted Section. The next morning, Hermione packed up and got down to breakfast early so she could make it to the carriages to go to the train station. Harry and Ron walked out to the carriages with her.

“Well, have a nice Christmas here,” she said as she loaded her trunk into a carriage. “I’ll see if I can send you something by owl post.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said. “I can’t get you anything.”

“I want to. You’ve both been really good friends. Remember to owl me if you find anything interesting in the library.”

“Yeah, will do,” Ron said unenthusiastically.

“Happy Christmas!” she said, hugging both of them before she climbed into the carriage. Harry gave an odd shudder when she did, but she didn’t think much of it at the moment.

“Happy Christmas,” the two boys called after her, and she was off.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter regardless of any reasonable estimate of your position in spacetime.
> 
> Part of this chapter is quoted from Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone.
> 
> Thanks to Hermione destroyer of worlds for suggesting that Hermione could find the Philosopher’s Stone in a muggle encyclopedia.

The ride back to London on the Hogwarts Express was pleasantly uneventful. Hermione found a compartment with her older friends from the Quidditch teams, which proved to be wise, since it cut short Draco Malfoy’s efforts to accost her.

The only problem was that as the afternoon wore one, Hermione’s estimation of distances and times seemed to be slipping a little. She had confirmed through her parents’ letters that the train was to arrive at King’s Cross at precisely seven o’clock. However, from the look at the countryside, she was starting to think that they were closer to London than they should be, and when they crossed into Greater London with an hour left to go, she was sure they were going to be quite early. She mentioned this to her friends, who just shrugged and told her that the Express was always on time. Even when they were nearly there, and she insisted that they were going to be half an hour early, Alicia reassured her that there was no problem because it was magic.

Hermione thought that seemed like a whopper, even for Hogwarts, and it certainly didn’t stop the train from pulling into Platform Nine and Three Quarters at six twenty-five in the evening, by her watch. Still, she sighed, wished her friends a happy Christmas, and rolled her trunk off of the train. She walked up the platform, looking for a bench to sit down and wait for her parents to arrive. This proved to be a bit difficult, since the platform seemed oddly crowded for getting in so early. She was about to give up and just stand by the barrier into the muggle world when…

“Hermione?”

She turned and saw her parents walking towards her.

“Mummy! Daddy!” It was all she could do to keep hold of her trunk as she ran to them. She leapt into her father’s arms, and he spun her around once before handing her off to her mother. After the Halloween incident, they were extremely eager to see each other, and her mum squeezed her till she couldn’t breathe and cried softly into her shoulder.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you, baby,” she said.

“You too, Mummy.”

“We’ve really missed you,” Dad said. “And what with all the stuff that’s been going on…”

“I missed you, too,” Hermione said. “It’s hard getting used to being away from home.”

“Well, at least you’ve made plenty of friends,” Mum said. “I don’t think you’ve ever had so many friends before.”

“Mummy…”

“Come on,” Dad said, kissing her on the top of her head. “You have all your things?”

“Uh huh. But what are you doing here so early?”

“Early? What do you mean? We’re right on time.”

“No, the train came in half an hour early.”

“It did?”

“You mean you’ve been waiting for us for half an hour?” Mum said worriedly.

“No, we just got here. That’s the thing.”

“Hermione, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Dad said. “The letter said seven o’clock, and the train pulled in at seven o’clock.”

“No, it didn’t. We pulled in at six twenty-five—” She checked her watch. “—four minutes ago.”

“But it’s seven—”

All three of them stopped short as Hermione and her father held out their watches side by side. Her own watch said six twenty-nine, but her father’s said seven oh-four.

“What? But how…?” she said.

“Hermione, did your watch stop?” Mum said.

“No. Look, it’s still ticking. And it’s been matching the bells all term and everything. It was fine at the castle this morning…huh, I wonder…”

“What?” Mum and Dad said.

“Well, I told you that the castle changes slightly over time, didn’t I? If space isn’t constant in Hogwarts, then maybe time isn’t constant, either…” Her face fell as a horrifying thought crossed her mind. “Dad, _please_ tell me it’s still the twenty-first of December, 1991.”

“Of course it is,” he reassured her. “I think one of us would have noticed that. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Mum and Dad walked Hermione out to the car and loaded her things in the boot. They stopped at a drive-thru on the way out of London for some Indian takeout. (Hogwarts really was behind the times, Hermione thought. She wondered if she could teach the elves to make chicken tikka masala.)

“You’re awfully quiet, Hermione,” Mum said as they drove back to Crawley.

“I was just thinking about the time thing. If the time drifts back and forth at Hogwarts, then sunrise and sunset must drift, too, according to the clock, right? I mean, thirty-five minutes early is a minimum of three hundred miles west, even in the highlands. Even if the castle _could_ change its actual position on the Earth, that far would take it clear out of Britain.”

Emma Granger knew better than to question her daughter’s calculations. “I suppose so. Have they?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been paying that much attention, but I think they might have. And I’m starting to wonder if that’s deliberate.”

“Oh?” Why’s that?”

“Well, in _Hogwarts, A History_ , it says that the location of Hogwarts is secret. All magical schools are. It makes sense, really. If almost every magical child in Britain lives there nine months of the year, it’s the kind of protection you’d want to have. Anyway, Hogwarts is already unplottable—that means magic will prevent you from marking it down on a map—but if you knew the latitude and longitude, you could probably still locate it, and you could get those by watching the sun and stars. But if sunrise changes unpredictably from day to day, then you wouldn’t be able to use it to determine your exact longitude.” Come to think of it, she thought they had never actually used altitude and azimuth in Astronomy class—positions on the sky relative to one’s location and the time. They’d learnt the theory, but in the practical portion, they always aligned on the Pole Star and used right ascension and declination from there—coordinates that didn’t need to be specified relative to anything on the Earth.

“I guess that makes sense,” Dad said. “That seems like a lot of magic just to protect a location, though.”

“So’s making it unplottable,” Hermione replied. “It would have to affect map-making throughout the entire country, if not the world. That would take an awful lot of power. I don’t really know much about area effect spells yet. I think it has something to do with runes and ley lines—I think they can draw power from the Earth itself somehow.”

Many of their conversations went like this. Hermione was very grateful that her parents took an interest in what she was learning, even though it was so different from muggle subjects, and that they were smart enough to not only get a good grasp of magical theory, but also to contribute their own perspective on things. Granted, they were just as mystified as she was by a lot of the idiosyncrasies of magic, like the literal “no free lunch” rules of transfiguration or the metaphorical aspects of potions, but they did make some good points for thinking about potions by analogy with chemical reaction networks and drug interaction tables. Of course, on the more mathematical subjects like Charms and Arithmancy, they just let her do her own thing.

It was good to be home, Hermione thought. It was nice to be able to have longer conversations with her parents than she could put in her letters about her friends and classes and all the crazy things that went on at Hogwarts. Her parents were as uncomfortable as she was with the house elf situation, for example, but they had to agree that there really wasn’t much that could be done about it. All in all, it was a bit annoying to have to stay away from magic for two weeks, but Hermione still slept well that night.

* * *

“Happy Christmas, Hermione!”

“Happy Christmas, everybody!”

Grandma and Grandpa had come by for Christmas, as usual. The one problem this year was that they weren’t supposed to know about magic, and even if they did, Hermione couldn’t demonstrate it, so she and her parents reluctantly decided not to tell them, which led to more than a few awkward questions about school. They had decided to describe Hogwarts as a school with a rigorous science program: Charms was Physics, Potions was Chemistry, Herbology was Biology, and so on, but they couldn’t get into too many specifics. They also couldn’t very well tell them about the troll incident, for example, since there was no way to convincingly dress that up with a muggle cover story.

But they were all focused on opening presents this morning, so it wasn’t a problem. Hermione did hope her friends had got her owl order gifts: a box of Chocolate Frogs for Harry and Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans for Ron. Hermione, of course, received more than her share of books.

But the normal holiday routine was interrupted by her mother’s startled yell during breakfast. An owl had arrived at the window. Mum quickly took the parcel from it before Grandma and Grandpa could see what was going on, and passed it off as being caught by splattering bacon. Thinking fast, she finished breakfast and then brought in the parcel.

“Oh, Hermione, I almost forgot,” she said. “Professor Vector sent you a gift in the post.”

“She did?” Hermione said in surprise. “That was nice. I really wasn’t expecting anything…” She took the parcel and read the note:

 

 _To Hermione, in the hopes that even you will be able to find a use for it_.

 

She unwrapped her present and gasped. It was a slide rule, but not just any slide rule. It was an incredibly complex circular slide rule made of lacquered wood with two dozen scales on it between the two sides, all set in rings that could be rotated freely and even flipped over, allowing the computation of all kinds of functions that normal slide rules couldn’t handle. She could easily tell that it was held together by magic, although she could pass it off as mundane.

“It’s beautiful…” she said. Things like this were probably easier to make in the magical world, but something this nice couldn’t have been cheap, or maybe Professor Vector made it herself. She wasn’t sure if it could actually improve her computation speed, but it would at least be fun to play with.

“Wow, this professor must really like you to send you something like this,” Grandpa said.

“Mm hmm…” Honestly, it was a lot more than she was comfortable accepting. Professor Vector wouldn’t be the first maths teacher to send her a Christmas gift, but it was a little less unexpected for an algebra teacher to send a little nine-year-old girl an inexpensive trinket than for a teacher to give such a fancy gift to someone who was only two years younger than her other students. “I’ll have to try to give her something back,” she mused. A calculator would be the most obvious choice, given the circumstances, but it wouldn’t work in Hogwarts. She’d have to think about it.

* * *

It took until the twenty-eighth of December for Hermione to notice the long row of books on the shelves of the Grangers’ library and open up the volume that said “Light—Metabolism.”

It was half an hour later when her parents found her sitting on the floor, cross-referencing “Light—Metabolism,” “San Francisco—Southern,” and “United—Zoroastrianism,” that they gave in and asked her what she was doing.

“Well, do you remember that three-headed dog I told you about?” Hermione said.

“I think you mentioned that somewhere between the troll and the Quidditch match,” Dad said dryly.

“Well, we think it’s guarding something…” And she explained about Harry’s trip to Gringotts with Hagrid, and the little package he saw, and their conversations with the Groundskeeper about it. “We’ve been looking up magical artifacts in the library to see if we can figure out what it is,” she finished. “You know, just for fun.”

“And are the teachers okay with that?” Mum asked. “It sounds like this is something really important and secret.”

“I’m a little concerned with the fact that they’re keeping whatever this is in a school,” Dad said.

“I’m sure it’s perfectly safe,” Hermione countered. “And Professor Vector said it’s fine if we just look in the library.”

“Well, that’s nice that you and your friends have something you can spend time on together,” Mum said, “but do you really think you’ll find anything in the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_?”

“It’s possible. From what I can tell, a lot of muggle notions of magic are distorted, but based on real magic. There’s all kinds of mythical creatures in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , like dragons, and griffins, and sphinxes. Maybe mythical artifacts work the same way.”

“But wouldn’t the books at school have that?”

“Yes, but they’re not very well organised. Most of them haven’t even caught on to the notion of indexes. I think muggles think in kind of different ways, so the muggle perspective might be useful.”

Hermione kept looking for a while after that. She learnt that muggles had many well-developed traditions of divination, more so than most other branches of real magic. Beyond that, traditional magic dealt a lot in amulets and talismans designed to cure illnesses, ward off danger, and the like. There was quite a lot more of that in myths than in real magic, but a particularly important mythical talisman could possibly be the answer.

Magic rings were another rare artifact that appeared more in fairy tales. Rings of invisibility, like in _The Lord of the Rings_ , were fairly common, but Hermione had seen references to invisibility cloaks in the Hogwarts Library, so that probably wasn’t it. However, the Ring of Solomon was supposed to allow the wearer to control demons and speak to animals. And a ring of invulnerability existed in several Norse and Arthurian legends, which could well be valuable enough to be the mysterious artifact. Also from Norse mythology, there was the great sailing ship of the god Freyr, Skithblathnir, which could supposedly be folded up like cloth and stuffed in one’s pocket. That would be amusing, she thought, but impractical.

But when she dug into the “Accounting—Architecture” volume, Hermione started to wonder. This just seemed too perfect.

“Hmm, this is interesting,” she said. “The Philosopher’s Stone. Transmutes base metals into gold _and_ produces the Elixir of Life. That _could_ fit…”

“You think the dog’s guarding a Philosopher’s Stone?” said Dad.

“Well, it meets the requirements. It’s the right size, and it’s powerful enough to be worth all the trouble they’re going to. But I’m not sure. It seems like it’s too powerful to actually exist, even in the magical world. Hogwarts _does_ offer an Alchemy class to the upper years, though. I can look up how real alchemy works when I go back, just to be sure. Hmm…if it is…” She frowned in thought.

“Is something wrong?” Mum asked, seeing her face.

Hermione was hesitant, but she answered, “Er, whatever the thing is, Harry and Ron think Professor Snape tried to steal it—and Professor Snape _was_ acting kind of suspicious, but he seems to have some kind of feud going on with Harry, so I’m not sure that’s entirely fair. Anyway, if it _is_ a Philosopher’s Stone, that would be a good reason for Professor Snape—or anyone, for that matter—to try to steal it.”

“Well, I would hope that a teacher would be responsible enough not to do something like that.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“You’ll stay out of trouble if something does come up, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mum.”

* * *

The rest of Hermione’s break passed uneventfully, which was a refreshing change. She kept up with her reading and studying, of course, and she convinced her parents to get a hold of Mr. Andrews to give her a Calculus I final exam before she went back. (“It’ll be good practice for sitting the A-level next summer,” she said.) Naturally, she passed with flying colours.

Harry had sent her a thank you note for the chocolate frogs. Ron had also sent her a note a couple days later, though she suspected that was a result of Percy bugging him to do it. Meanwhile, even though her Mum had advised her that Professor Vector probably wasn’t expecting her to spend any money on a gift, Hermione managed to track down an old, mechanical “Magic Brain Calculator” for a good price. The little device was neither magic nor particularly brainy, but it was a brilliantly simple mechanism that would probably speed up an average person at arithmetic quite a bit, and she hoped it would be something that Professor Vector hadn’t seen before.

By the end of the break, Hermione was eager to get back to learning magic and, finally, really well-rested—which she hoped would stay that way.

“I hope your friends had a good Christmas even though they were stuck at school,” Mum said as she was packing up the night before the train ride back to Hogwarts.

“Ron had his brothers,” Hermione replied. “I’m sure Harry liked it. It sounds like almost anything would be an improvement for him.”

“What do you mean?” Mum said with concern.

“Well, I told you I thought he’s had a rough time at home…I’m a little worried about him, actually. You know the story of You-Know-Who and Harry’s parents?”

“You-Know-Who? From the books?”

“Yes. His name was Voldemort—I think—but he’s kind of like the Bogeyman, so everyone calls him You-Know-Who. Anyway, Harry says he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle after his parents died. And he said they don’t like magic, which is one thing, but he also said his aunt called him and his parents “freaks,” and they make him do all the chores, and they accused him of cheating when he got better grades than his cousin.”

Mum and Dad both stopped what they were doing.

“That sounds pretty awful,” Mum said. “Is he okay?”

“He seems okay most of the time. He’s actually happy to be away from his family, but he seems pretty normal otherwise, except…”

“Except what?”

“I didn’t think much of it at first, but he’s really small and skinny, too,” she said nervously. “I thought it was just because he’s one of the youngest boys in our class, and he eats fine at Hogwarts, but…”

“But that’s not a good sign,” Dad finished for her.

“I know. I don’t know what to do, though. I mentioned that he might look if he can find another place to stay for the summer, but any time I bring any of it up, he just brushes it off and says not to worry about it. I don’t want to push him too much or anything, though. I don’t think he likes to talk about it.”

“Has he told any of the teachers?” Dad asked.

“I don’t know. I feel like he wouldn’t really want to.”

Mum sat down beside her and put an arm around her. “Hermione, this isn’t something you should let go,” she said. “I’m not saying you should pressure Harry too much, but if you suspect something’s wrong, you really owe it to him to at least tell a teacher. He may not like it, but he’ll be better off in the end.”

“Hmm…I guess you’re right…” she admitted. Professor Vector was always easy to talk to, despite her reputation, so she could at least tell her. She tried not to think too much about her real worry: that Harry would be angry with her about it.

* * *

Hermione’s first few days back at Hogwarts were a whirlwind of activity: getting started with classes again, hearing all about her friends’ holidays, and catching up on the goings on in Hogwarts from Harry, Ron, and the Twins. (To her dismay, they had barely touched the library aside from Harry’s failed attempt to get into the Restricted Section.) She also wasn’t too happy with Harry’s and Ron’s nighttime escapades—she had a feeling Harry especially was still on thin ice from all his antics last term. His story of a mirror that could show you your heart’s desire was intriguing, though, if a little creepy. Knowing Harry’s history, Hermione had to agree with Professor Dumbledore that it couldn’t be good for him.

Meanwhile, Professor Vector was delighted and very touched by Hermione’s gift. Mechanical calculators hadn’t really been seriously tried in the magical world before, and the simplicity of the mechanism gave the professor ideas for a charmed version that could be used much more easily. In fact, she said, with a strange hint of concern in her eyes, she thought she might even be able to make it calculate faster than Hermione.

The following Saturday, they decided to try another spin in the library, but Hermione stopped them on the way out when she saw a new flier posted in the Common Room.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“This is interesting,” she replied. “Professor Babbling’s giving a special seminar: “Latin Letters as Runes.’”

“Babbling? What’s he do again?” said Ron.

“It’s a _she_ , Ron,” Hermione huffed, “and _she_ teaches Ancient Runes. We should go. We might learn something useful.”

“Really,” Ron whined. “We’re doing enough stuff already. I don’t know how you manage it with Arithmancy.”

“Because I don’t put off everything till the last minute. Besides, Harry’s got Quidditch, too, and I don’t see him complaining.”

Harry looked like he really didn’t want to be involved in the conversation.

“But Ancient Runes is an upper-year subject,” Ron said.

“‘Open to all years.’” Hermione pointed at the flier. “It’s probably an early introduction on a special topic—Come on, Ron, you’re the one who speaks four languages.”

“I speak _two_ languages. I barely know the other two.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry what do you think?”

“Uh, sorry, what are runes, exactly?”

“Runes are used for powerful or long-lasting magic. Like the charmed objects Professor Flitwick talked about, except you write symbols on them that are empowered with magic. Then, it can maintain magic without having to use your wand.”

Harry’s face suddenly lit up. “It can?” he said. “D’you think that could get around the rule of not using our wands over the summer?”

Hermione paled slightly and bit her lip. She had some idea of why Harry might want to know that. “I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “I’m not sure I’d want to try it.”

“It might,” Ron countered. “Lots of kids have charmed toys.”

“Well, I’m in, then,” Harry said excitedly. They both looked at Ron.

“Alright, I’ll go if both of you are going,” he conceded.

Hermione smiled and led the way to the library. Once there, Harry and Ron got back to skimming biographies, like they were doing before break, but Hermione made a beeline for the general magic section. She pulled out a very large volume that she’d skimmed earlier—one that gave an overview of many subfields of magic. Rejoining her friends at the table, she opened the book with a thud, causing her friends to stare wordlessly.

“So, uh…what’s this?” Harry asked when words came back to him.

“I was thinking about checking this out, but it’s kind of heavy reading, even for me—”

“Kind of?” Ron said incredulously.

“Anyway, I had an idea at home, and I wanted to check it out…” She flipped through the pages. Luckily, this book at least had a useful table of contents. “Ah, here we go: alchemy.” She started reading over the page, and to her surprise, there it was, right at the top: “Wow, it really does exist.”

“What does?” Harry and Ron said in unison.

“The Philosopher’s Stone.”

“The what stone?”

“It’s a famous very famous thing in alchemy. Even muggles know about it. Here, listen to this:

_“The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal._

_“There have been many reports of the Philosopher’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty eight).”_

“Wow, if those Flamel people are over six hundred, it must _really_ work,” Harry said.

“Right. The book talks some more about it…it’ll be small—small enough to fit in your hand. And if there’s only one, then it’s going to be very valuable and well-protected…It looks like there’s some pretty strong limitations on its power, but if you only wanted it for yourself, it would be all you ever needed.”

“Wait, so you think that’s what that dog’s guarding?” Ron said. “It’s the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Well, we can’t be sure unless Hagrid or somebody else lets it slip, but it fits what we know a lot better than anything else we’ve found. Some ancient artifacts would have a lot of historical value or even magical power, but none of them are anywhere near this one.”

“What about the Resurrection Stone?” he suggested. “Remember? From _The Tale of the Three Brothers_?”

“Yes, I remember, but I doubt it really exists. And even if it does, according to the story, it’s not really that useful.”

“It would make sense if Snape was trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone,” Harry decided. “I mean, think about it: a stone that makes gold and stops you from ever dying! _Anyone_ would want it.” He frowned in concentration. “Flamel, Flamel, Flamel…I think I’ve heard that name before.”

“Where?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know. Something about him and Dumbledore…I don’t remember where I saw it.”

“Well, Professor Dumbledore teaches the Alchemy class here.”

“That’s it!” Harry exclaimed. “Dumbledore’s Chocolate Frog card. I remember “cause it was the first one I ever got. Dumbledore worked with Flamel on alchemy.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Then it would all fit,” she said. “If Dumbledore and Flamel are friends, Flamel could have given Dumbledore the Stone for safekeeping because it wasn’t safe in Gringotts.”

“And the only place safer than Gringotts is Hogwarts,” Harry finished.

“Brilliant,” Ron said. “So what do we do now?”

“Well, we still don’t know for sure that’s what it is, but—” Hermione started.

“We could try to get Hagrid to admit it,” Harry suggested.

“That’s not very nice, trying to trick him like that,” Hermione said. “Anyway, I don’t think we need to do anything. I’m sure Dumbledore’s keeping it perfectly safe. After all, even if Snape _was_ trying to steal it, he didn’t get past the dog.”

“But if he tries again…” Harry said.

“I’m sure Dumbledore will take care of it.”

“Yeah, mate, Dumbledore’s brilliant,” Ron said. “I bet he’s got a bunch of other stuff protecting the Stone too.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Harry admitted cheerily. “Well, I guess I’ll have more time for Quidditch now.”

Hermione silently agreed. They didn’t have a definitive answer, but they had a pretty good guess, and she really needed to focus her own spare time on learning integrals.


	17. First Year, Spring Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling in at least 68 languages.
> 
> Runes and wards are usually spoken of as being “charged.” This makes little sense since “charge” is a term relating to “eckeltricity.” However, “charge” was used in earlier contexts derived from the French “charger” meaning “to load or fill,” as I’m sure Hermione knows. Therefore, I have elected to keep it for clarity’s sake.

Bathsheda Babbling was a middle-aged witch with an impatient look about her. Her skin was dark, and her reddish-brown hair hung in bangs down to her sharply appraising eyes and limply down her black robes. According to Cedric and Roger, though, she was friendlier than she looked, and Hermione was surprised to learn from Fred and George (with much assurance that it wasn’t a joke) that she was best friends with the batty divination teacher, Professor Trelawney. Perhaps opposites attracted after all.

There was enough interest that the special runes seminar was held in the Great Hall on a Saturday afternoon. Most of the attendees were pre-O.W.L. Ancient Runes students, of course, and there were only a few first years: Hermione, Harry, Ron, and a couple of Ravenclaws. Percy Weasley was sitting attentively in the front row, even though Hermione thought she had seen him making his prefect rounds at this hour.

A couple of minutes after the seminar was to begin, when it looked like no one else was likely to show up, Professor Babbling stood in front of some movable blackboards and addressed the group. “Thank you all for coming,” she said congenially. “I’m glad to see there’s such interest in non-standard magical topics. It’s true that today’s subject has little bearing on most day-to-day rune work, even in jobs that call for a lot of it, but I hope that it will be a good introduction into the wider world of what is truly possible with runic magic.

“I’ve never been very satisfied with the usual way of teaching Runes,” Babbling continued. “The standard curriculum for the Study of Ancient Runes is to learn the runic language first and then the magical applications of it. However, I’ve always felt that an early introduction to the magical aspects of the subject would both generate more interest and make it easier to learn advanced runic magic later. After lobbying unsuccessfully for a change in the Board’s curriculum, an early runes elective, and a rather ill-advised attempt at a Junior Runes Club a couple of years ago, I decided to ask Professor Dumbledore for permission to run a special seminar on non-Norse runes. If today is successful enough, I may be able to expand it into a series, or even a revived student club.

“For those of you who are new to the subject, runes are, in simplest terms, a form of magic writing. Runes can be written or inscribed on any object and are used to maintain spells that require more power, are longer lasting, or affect a wider area than is generally possible with ordinary charms or enchanting. Virtually all permanent wards are powered by runes, as are many of the systems the Ministry of Magic maintains, like the Floo Network and the Portkey Network. It may surprise some of the younger students to learn that portkeys cannot be created on a whim, but must have a connection to the large-scale magical energies of the land to function.”

That _did_ surprise Hermione. She hadn’t read that much about magical transportation, but she was pretty sure that apparition required no such support—at least none that required Ministry maintenance. But then again, apparition had a more limited range if your name wasn’t Albus Dumbledore. She jotted down a note of that fact for reference.

“Most of the work we do with Runes here at Hogwarts—and, indeed, most standard runic magic—involves the earliest form of the Norse runes, or ‘futhark.’” Babbling indicated the angular alphabet written on one of the blackboards. There were a few scattered giggles from the less mature students over the word. “However, any form of writing can be used for runic magic, even pictographs—even _pictures_ , for which the art transitions smoothly into ordinary enchanting. Many ancient cultures developed their own ancient forms of runic magic based on their primitive writing system—Aztec pictographs, Egyptian hieroglyphics, proto-Chinese characters, and on and on. Indeed, some of the earliest evidence of magic in Europe comes from clay amulets inscribed with runic pictographs that are a thousand years older than writing itself.

“Now, some writing systems work better for runic magic than others. Part of this is based on intent, just like other forms of magic. For example, languages that are traditionally considered “holy,” like Arabic, Hebrew, and Sanskrit, tend to be more powerful. However, the science of the Norse futhark is by far the most developed. This is because the Elder Futhark has the property, shared only with cuneiform among common writing systems, that it is written exclusively with straight lines.

“The position and alignment of runes is very important for advanced runecrafting, as even a small misplacement can significantly weaken the enchantment. To do it properly, the precise arrangement must be computed arithmantically, which is easiest to do with straight lines, making futhark ideal for most purposes. But this is not the only possible method. Scholars of Arabic magic in particular take the opposite approach. Because the Arabic alphabet is so curvy, they write the words with extremely ornate calligraphy, which, in the hands of an experienced artist, can work just as well as arithmantically-aligned futhark runes. However, this is very much an art, and not a science—done largely by feeling and practice, rather like the difference between analytic and experimental spellcrafting.” (Hermione had no idea what that meant, but she vowed to look it up later.)

“As it happens, the Latin alphabet—the one we use for the English language—is not particularly good for runic magic. While it is heavy on straight lines and is used for the roots of many incantations, the letters have different widths, and the kerning—the spacing between the letters—is inconsistent, which makes the alignment awkward. However, being able to write runes in one’s native tongue can be useful for “quick and dirty” runic magic, when you need to enchant something quickly that doesn’t need to last all that long.”

Professor Babbling lectured for a while about how runes could interact with the ambient magic in a manner analogous to the wand motions for spells. The energy, or something like it, of the spells was very important to keep in mind. Ordinary enchanting, which they were already learning the rudiments of in Charms class, could cause objects to move about on their own without a constant input of energy, just like Fred’s and George’s charmed snowballs that they were still setting whizzing about. But the energy still had to come from somewhere, usually from the caster’s wand, in which case the charms would wear off over time. For many charms, it was possible to draw on the ambient magic from the air for a more permanent result, but it could still be no more powerful than the caster.

With runes, however, this limitation was much diminished. Runic magic could draw much more strongly on energy from the air, from the _earth_ (though the distinction wasn’t entirely clear), from the material it was written on, if it was magical (like dragon hide, for example), or from living things in the area, again, especially if they were magical. This meant that the effects could be made permanent—or last as long as the physical runes did, anyway—and be much more powerful. They could also push that energy back out into the magical fields of the earth, affecting a much wider area than was possible with simple spells.

There was a whole library of spells to manipulate, activate, and charge runes in various magical media, but Professor Babbling bypassed all that to focus on the main point of the seminar. Using Latin letters, she said, was useful because one could write out the names of spells directly and charge them to produce a more powerful or longer-lasting effect than simply casting them. They would not be on the level of Norse runes, but they were much easier and faster to work with. With a few choice words or mixed-language runes (a more advanced topic for another time, she said), it would be possible to cast spells repeatedly and automatically, which had applications everywhere from Auror training to intensive care hospital beds. Of course, for normal applications, Norse runes would still be used, but in an emergency situation, Latin runes could be a lifesaver.

After giving a brief sense of how the usual runic spells must be modified when working with Latin letters along with the various shortcuts that could be used and their trade-offs (“all of which are far too sloppy to be accepted as normal class work”), she deemed the group ready for a small practically exercise and began handing out slates and chalk to the students.

“Once again, this is the simplest form of runic magic,” Professor Babbling reminded them. “The slate and chalk are not magical at all. The runes are simply charged by your wands. This means that you will not get any more power out of the enchantment than you put into it directly, whereas a more magical medium will allow you more options. The transient nature of the medium will also make the magic itself weaker and less stable, but it is still an excellent tool for practice. For those of you who don’t know, we frequently use slates to practice runecrafting, since the runes can be changed and corrected much more quickly and easily than if they are carved or written in ink.

“For this exercise, we’ll be enchanting the slates to perform a simple Hover Charm,” she said once everyone was ready. “Set the slate flat on the desk in front of you. Place the end of the chalk flat again the slate, not at an angle, so that you’re writing with the whole end of the chalk. We want the letters to be nice and thick. Now, everyone write out “LEVIOSA” in nice, big block letters—all the way across the slate. Try to keep the size and spacing of the letters equal for best results.”

Hermione made mental tick marks on the slate to visualise where the letters needed to go and wrote them out with careful angles and her best mathematical curves. It wasn’t perfect, but it looked pretty regular to her. Ron made his first couple of letters too big and had to start over, but he got it well enough. Harry wrote a little too small and only filled three quarters of his slate.

This exercise was really incomplete, she thought. Almost nothing of practical use used only a single runic word or group. The pared-down version of _Wingardium Leviosa_ would only make the slate float in midair, not move around, and without any activation or deactivation runes, it would just continue to hover wherever it was placed in the air until the magic ran out. By itself, that was an interesting property: one could set it up anywhere in midair as if on a stand and leave it there. Hermione immediately thought of making a book rest that way. But the lack of control was a problem. In fact, with just the one word on it, the magic would continue to run down even if the slate was lying flat on the desk.

That was one reason that Ancient Runes was an elective, from what little Hermione had read. (The challenge of learning the language was no small matter either.) Even the simplest runic magic required a lot of pieces to do it right. It was as complicated as Potions and much less hands on. From the mystified looks on Harry’s and Ron’s faces, it must all have seemed very esoteric by wizard standards, but it actually reminded of Hermione of her dabbling in computer programming.

“For this simple example, we won’t be using any of the specialised spells for runic magic,” Professor Babbling said. “Another reason Latin runes are easier to work with is that a simple modification of the spell to be cast can be used for the runes. Now, in this case, the incantation is “ _Leviosa Potentia_ ,” and the wand motion is the same with the addition of a flick down to touch your wand to the runes. Everyone try that now, and be careful to touch the tip of your wand to the chalk of the first letter. If you’ve done it correctly, you should be able to see the letters glowing.”

Hermione performed the spell and was pleased to see all of her letters glowing, although the glow was less pronounced farther from her wand. To her surprise (not to mention his own), Ron got it to work on the first try. Harry only got his L to light up. Most of the Ancient Runes students found it trivially easy.

“Now when you’ve got it, hold your wand there. You should be able to feel the magic flowing into the letters. The younger students may not be used to this, so you need to concentrate on it. That’s another reason we usually start Runes in third year—so that you’ve become more accustomed to feeling your magic. But for the time being, if you’re having trouble, just focus on putting more energy into the spell. For a small, low power spell like this, a minute of serious concentration will easily power the runes enough for an hour of hovering. There are better and faster ways, of course, but this is more than enough for our purposes.”

Hermione focused on the letters. She knew that very intense magic could be felt, but it took a lot of practice to refine one’s magical senses. She could barely detect the energy flowing through her wand, but the letters did glow brighter as she concentrated.

“That’s enough,” Professor Babbling said after about a minute. “Let’s see how you’ve done. Pick up you slate and release it in midair, like this.” She let go of her own slate as if she were dropping it from about a foot over her desk, but it stayed floating in midair. All the students tried to do the same.

Immediately, there was a loud clatter as about a dozen slates just dropped to the desks. Some others sank slowly or drifted sideways until they collided with each other. Harry seemed disappointed as his flopped over and started swinging as if it were suspended only from the L. Hermione’s own slate stayed put, only drifting slightly in the air, although it was tilted to one side. She looked over and saw Ron looked very pleased with himself. He had pulled off the enchantment nearly as well as she had.

“Good job, Ron,” she said sincerely.

“Thanks…You too.”

“Yes, very good work for first years,” Professor Babbling said, pointing them out. “Five points each to Gryffindor.” She also looked very pleased with the results once she had tutored everyone in what they were doing wrong, and she announced that she would try to schedule another seminar to teach how to add activation and deactivation runes in Latin. All three of the first year trio were interested, and Harry convinced Ron and Hermione to help him practice his technique so he would be ready for it.

* * *

After the stress of the first term, Hermione was pleasantly surprised when the spring term actually settled into a routine. There were no near-death experiences, no dangerous-sounding mysteries to solve, she was consistently getting enough sleep, and it was just classes, homework, and time spent relaxing with her friends. Oh, and integrals. Lots of integrals.

That was the hard part of calculus. Differentiation followed lots of nice, neat rules. Integrals kind of did in principle, but they were more complicated, and it took a lot of algebra to beat the equations into a shape where you could use them. In practice, you learnt a few of the rules and then looked up in a big table all the different formulae for the ones that had to be manipulated with lots of algebra. Hermione’s calculus book had a few pages of those formulae in the back, but there were whole books of them to be found in muggle libraries.

In any case, Hogwarts was suddenly pretty much like a normal school, but with magic, which was to say, loads of fun for someone like Hermione, especially when she had several friends who were studious enough to keep up with her. This was the way things were supposed to be like, she thought, and she told Ron so one evening over a game of chess. (She played chess with Ron several times a week, and she was pretty sure she was improving. She even managed to beat him a couple of times, though he usually won out.)

Of course, when she said that, she must have jinxed it because in the next five minutes, Harry came in, panicking over Professor Snape suddenly deciding to referee the next Quidditch match, and then Neville flopped through the portrait hole, having been Leg Locker Cursed by Draco Malfoy. Well, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

The next two weeks were very nerve wracking. Snape was even meaner toward Harry than usual (with whichever one of his friends took the bullet and partnered with him dragged along for the ride). As disconcerting as it was, Hermione still couldn’t find any explanation for what happened at the first match other than that Snape had tried to kill Harry, and with him refereeing, it would be the perfect opportunity to try again, and Hermione nor anybody else would have much chance to save him this time. She more than once told him not to play, but stubborn Gryffindor that he was, he wouldn’t listen. She even tried to ask Professor Vector about it with an oblique question about Snape’s fairness as a referee, but Professor Vector merely assured her that he would remain professional.

But the day of the match came, and Harry marched out with the team…and caught the Snitch inside of five minutes. She screamed like a hopeless fan-girl when that happened, jumping up and down and hugging Parvati in the row in front of her, much to the other girl’s surprise. She didn’t realise herself how much tension she was under about the match until it was over, and her friend didn’t almost die…again.

In fact, the only people in danger in that match were Ron and Neville, who got in a fistfight with Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. Honestly, Hermione had half a mind to hex Malfoy herself after what he was saying about the boys (now that she actually knew some hexes), but of course she would never do that…well, in public, anyway. She did, however, tip off Fred and George to prank him, much to the surprise of all of her friends. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle all spent a day walking around with Weasley orange hair and green eyes like Harry’s, complete with glasses stuck to their faces, and they were each Leg Locker Cursed at least once. Hermione had to stick close to her older friends for safety from them for the next couple of days, but it was worth it.

On the other hand, Harry did manage to come back from the match with some disturbing news. Ron and Hermione were all excited for the party the Twins were setting up when Harry showed up half an hour late and immediately dragged them off to an empty classroom.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” asked Hermione when they were sure they were alone.

“I saw Snape going into the forest,” Harry told them, “so I followed him on my broom.”

“You _what_?” Hermione yelled. “Harry, you can’t do that. It’s forbidden—and dangerous—that’s why it’s called the Forbidden Forest.”

“Listen to me,” Harry hissed. “I had my broom, so I could get out fast, but I had to find out what Snape was up to. I heard him talking to Quirrell in the forest.”

“Quirrell?” Ron said.

“Yeah. Snape said it really is the Philosopher’s Stone that the dog’s guarding, and he was trying to get Quirrell to tell him how to get past it, and then he said something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus pocus.’”

“So Snape really is trying to steal it,” Ron said.

“‘Hocus pocus’?” Hermione said. “So there are other things protecting the Stone?”

“Must be,” answered Harry. “Probably loads of enchantments and stuff. Those are the only two I heard, but I think Snape was talking about some others, too, and he was trying to force Quirrell to help him get past them.”

“And Quirrell actually stood up to Snape?” Hermione asked nervously.

“Yeah, but I bet he won’t for long.”

“Not for long? The Stone’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” Ron said in horror.

“It can’t be that bad,” Hermione tried to assure herself. “If Dumbledore’s the one keeping it safe, I’m sure he’ll have given it more protection than that. I don’t think Quirrell and Snape will be able to get past all of it.”

“But Hermione,” Harry said, “Quirrell’s the Defence Professor and Snape _wants_ to be. I’ll bet they know more about the Dark Arts than anybody in the school. Maybe they could.”

“Well, we still can’t do much about it, can we? I mean, we’re not even supposed to know about the Stone. And besides, Dumbledore’s really smart, too. I’m sure he has things under control.”

* * *

February wheeled into March, which was stormy and rainy, but at least the deep Highland snow was gone. Things were calm for a moment—the lull before teachers began gearing up for exams—and nothing much seemed to happen with Quirrell, except that the trio stopped making fun of his stutter. In the meantime, Hermione continued to visit the house elves every so often. She usually went alone, but they were still always happy to see her.

It was pretty clear that the house elves didn’t get many visitors in their dorms, and no one ever showed much interest when Hermione asked them to come. Ron, as tolerant as he was, still exhibited the pureblood tendency of not caring much about elves, and most of her other magical-raised friends were similar. Out of sight, out of mind was how they seemed to think of them, which _was_ fitting, since the elves really took pride in their ability to go about their work unseen. Harry was a little more interested, but he usually had Quidditch practice during the elves’ downtime. Sally-Anne, on the other hand, just found them creepy. Fred and George visited a couple of times, too, but since the elves couldn’t help them break the rules, they mostly stuck to grabbing snacks from the kitchens.

To some extent, though, Hermione liked it that way. She sort of felt like visiting the elves was her thing. Of course, it would be great if she could encourage wizards and elves to be friends more, but still, it was nice to have something she could do on her own, even though she already had the maths.

And so she found herself playing a game of chess with Tilly one afternoon while Harry was at Quidditch practice and Ron was finishing his homework. Hermione was pleased to find that Tilly was actually pretty good at chess—not quite at her level, but enough to give her some competition besides Ron—and she shared Hermione’s love of unconventional moves. It seemed even the most conservative elves had a hidden depth of cunning, but maybe they had to to get by in this world. Her granddaughter exhibited this much more vividly, of course: Sonya was a real troublemaker by elf standards and, honestly, a bit of a card shark—one more reason to stick to chess.

Hermione picked up her castle and moved it into position. Since most of the elves had to make or scavenge most of their non-essentials, the chess pieces didn’t move on their own (and were, of course, elf-sized). Tilly looked over the board and captured the rook with her queen, but that’s what Hermione was hoping for. She checked Tilly’s king with her bishop, forcing the queen of capture it, leaving enough room for her to move in her knight.

“And checkmate,” Hermione said. “Good game, Tilly.”

“Thank you, Miss Hermione Granger,” Tilly squeaked. “Miss is a very good chess player. Tilly is thinking she should play against Professor McGonagall.”

“Oh, Professor McGonagall plays chess?”

“Yes, miss. Professor McGonagall was Hogwarts Chess Champion when she was being a student.”

“Really? I don’t think they even have a chess champion anymore.”

After the chess game, Tilly said that it was time for one of the elf children’s history classes. She rang a bell in the corner of the Common Room, and little elflings streamed out of the long hallway and headed for the staircases up to the next level of the attic space. With a start, Hermione was reminded of her original reasons for exploring the space.

“Tilly,” she called after the elf, “would it be alright if I sat in on the class?”

Tilly’s huge grey eyes grew even larger and gleamed like sickles. “Miss Hermione Granger is wanting to see Tilly teach?”

“Sure. It’s very interesting seeing how you do things up here. And actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you—I was wondering if you might show me around up here. I mean, it looks like you’ve got three floors here plus some little towers.”

“Yes, Miss Hermione Granger,” Sonya said from her side. “It is like having our own castle in the castle.” She giggled at that, and the two of them started climbing—or crawling in Hermione’s case, up the stairs to the “second” floor of the elf quarters.

It really was just like a miniature castle, Hermione realised. If the first floor held the bedrooms, the second floor must be the classrooms, and all the other essential facilities must be squeezed in around here somewhere. She pulled out a scrap of parchment and started making notes on the rooms.

“Is Miss Hermione Granger drawing our rooms?” Sonya asked.

“Well, sort of. I’m trying to finish my map. When school started last fall, I was getting lost so much that I decided to make a map of the castle. No one’s really done that because things change quite a bit, but I just wanted one that was approximate, so I paced off all the halls myself. That’s why I was looking for your dorms in the first place. I figured out what most of the other rooms were, but no one I asked knew you were up here.”

“You is knowing where all the rooms in the castle is, Miss?” Sonya said in surprise.

“No, just in the places where students are allowed—and even then only the ones that aren’t hidden. I was hoping I could figure out all of them, but I don’t have time to find them and work them out.”

“Sonya can help! We elves knows where all the hidden doors is and how to get through them.”

“You do?”

Sonya’s head bobbed eagerly.

“That would be great! Thank you!” _Finally!_ she thought. _I can finally finish my map!_ Hermione was so excited that she bent down and hugged the little elf, leaving Sonya looking like she was about to faint. Sonya had to go to her cleaning duties shortly afterwards, but she was grinning madly as she did. Elves definitely weren’t used to that kind of attention from humans. Meanwhile, Hermione sat through the history lesson and once again learnt much more from Tilly than she ever had from Professor Binns. (Much of it she _had_ learnt from the textbook, but the elf perspective was quite interesting.)

It was the following weekend that Hermione and Sonya finally had enough free time together to start exploring. True to her word, Sonya showed Hermione all of the doors where students were allowed and how to get into them—and conspiratorially mentioned to no one in particular about some of the doors where students weren’t allowed (mostly storage for the less safe artifacts and such). House elves, Hermione had learnt, were quite good at reinterpreting orders to mean what they wanted them to mean. They really were clever creatures. In any case, the hidden doors were like many of the ones she already knew about, which only opened if you tickled them or asked them politely or could only be seen if you walked past them backwards on a Tuesday. The catch was that with the lesser-used doors, there were few other people she could ask about how to find them, so it really was a great help having Sonya along. There was even a hidden staircase that provided a shortcut from near Gryffindor Tower to the Great Hall.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised when, while they were out and about, Fred and George Weasley sauntered towards them, carrying arms full of she really didn’t want to know what.

“Hello, Hermione,” one of them said.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the other finished.

“Hello,” she said.

“You seem hard at work.”

“Uh huh.”

The Twins eyed her sketchbook where she was marking down all the doors and rooms. “By the look of things, I’d say you’ve taken up your mapping project again,” one of them said—George, she was pretty sure.

“And you’ve roped an elf into joining you.”

“She’s the one with the cards, right?”

“Yes, sirs, I is being Sonya,” the elf said.

“Sonya’s been showing me where all the hidden doors are,” Hermione explained.

“And you didn’t ask us?” Fred said. “I feel a bit hurt.”

“You had Quidditch practice. Plus, I want to make sure the information I get is accurate.”

“Us? Lie to you?” Fred said with mock indignation.

“We would never do that,” George said.

“Well, maybe omit some important details—”

“Like the impossibility of certain tasks—”

“Or what you might run into if you try them—”

“But surely not _lie_ to you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“My point exactly,” Hermione said flatly.

“Well, have fun you two,” said Fred with a grin and hefted his parcels. “We have _work_ to do. I wish we could get that kind of help.”

“Sadly, our pursuits are generally not quite virtuous enough for the elves,” George added. “Good luck with your map. Perhaps we should compare notes sometime—make sure we haven’t missed anything.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hermione said cheerfully. “I’ll let you know when it’s finished.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter cannot be defined analytically without the use of the JK Rowling function.

Toward the end of March, the homework began to pile up again. Final exams were on the horizon, and exams always tended to make Hermione tense. So she drew up a rigorous study schedule for herself and dove right in. It was only the memory of the state she’d worked herself into last fall that kept her from going completely crazy over it. Harry and Ron thought she had anyway.

“Alright, Hermione, calm down,” Alicia said one afternoon when she’d gone off at the study group. “Yes, the exams are important, but with your grades, you could do anything short of skiving them completely and still get promoted.”

“I know,” she said, “but Harry and Ron—”

“Will have to learn to handle themselves,” Alicia interrupted.

“It’s really not that bad,” Cedric assured her. “Hardly anyone ever fails the final exams. Even Snape lets most people squeak by with an A. It doesn’t reflect well on him to have too many people fail.”

“And even then, the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are the only things anyone ever looks at after you leave school,” Roger added.

“Yeah, I know,” Hermione admitted. “I just wish I could get Ron and Harry to actually apply themselves.”

“Eh, boys. What can you do?” Alicia said with a grin.

“Hey!” Cedric and Roger said as Hermione and Alicia both laughed.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” Cedric said. “Now tell us about this quadratic formula thing.”

“Negative b plus or minus the square root of b-squared minus four a-c all divided by two-a,” Hermione said automatically, just like every sixth former ought to be able to.

Cedric rolled his eyes. Roger sniggered and said, “Ask an obvious question, Ced.”

Hermione smiled warmly and explained it for real. “It’s just a formula that you have to memorise. I know I say that a lot, but that’s really how everybody does it in this case. Technically, you _can_ derive it. Do you remember completing the square in class?” They nodded. “If you complete the square for the general a-x-squared plus b-x plus c equation, you get the quadratic formula—so that’s where it comes from.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for that,” replied Cedric. “So what’s it actually good for?”

Hermione suppressed a sigh. “The quadratic formula gets used all the time in more advanced maths. You need it to calculate the elements a lot of simple charms and jinxes. Look here.” She turned to near the back of _Numerology and Grammatica_ and pointed out the many places where quadratic equations occurred. “And that’s just the start. You can approximate almost any more complicated formula with a quadratic equation—They do that in muggle physics all the time. So even a lot of more advanced spells use it.”

The three older students figured out soon enough that there really wasn’t that much difficulty to the quadratic formula. As Hermione said, it was really just a matter of remembering it, even if they couldn’t appreciate the usefulness of it, though she hoped they would in time.

“You know, Hermione, you’ve been a little bit on edge for a while, now,” said Alicia as they were getting ready to leave. “Is everything okay?”

It was true. Ever since the day of the Quidditch match, Hermione couldn’t stop herself worrying a little about the Philosopher’s Stone. But that was a real secret, not something she could bring up here. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve just got a lot on my mind…like always.”

“Well, you know we’re here for you if you need anything.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

* * *

She tried her best to set the Philosopher’s Stone issue aside, but things definitely got a lot hairier when Hermione, Ron, and Harry ran into Hagrid in the library one day, and Hagrid asked them if they were still looking for what was on the third floor. That made the hair on the back of Hermione’s neck stand up. Hagrid must be really nervous about something if he thought of that before he thought of them studying for exams. He understandably got more nervous when Ron blurted out that they had found the answer ages ago. When Harry took the opportunity to ask about what else was protecting the Stone, Hagrid quickly shut them up and told them to come to his hut later. And as if that weren’t bad enough, Ron noticed that he was checking out books about dragons.

That couldn’t be a good sign, thought Hermione. Either the Stone was vulnerable, and they needed to bring in a dragon to help protect it, or…or Hagrid was illegally breeding dragons.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“So…yeh wanted to ask me somethin’?” Hagrid said as the trio sat down in his stiflingly hot hut. Even in this private setting, he still looked pretty cagey.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione jumped in front of him, thinking it might be better to butter him up a bit. “Well, Hagrid,” she said, “we know Professor Dumbledore must trust you a lot to help guard the Philosopher’s Stone.” Hagrid’s chest swelled with pride. “But we were thinking it would be safest if there were other people setting enchantments to guard it, too, so that no one person knew what all the protections were. We were just wondering if Dumbledore did something like that.”

“Aye, yeh are a bright one, aren’t yeh,” Hagrid grinned at her. “Ah, I s’pose it can’t hurt ter tell yeh ‘bout that. Dumbledore’s a smart man—came up with the same idea. In fact, it was just about all o’ the teachers who helped him. I don’t think Professor Kettleburn added another creature—didn’t have nothin’ tougher’n Fluffy—but everybody else who had anythin’ ter offer did somethin,” even Dumbledore himself. Yep, ain’t no dark wizard that can get past all o’ them.”

“Professor Vector added something?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah. Said she made sure no one could get past it without a whole team o’ curse breakers. Lot o’ the others did, too.”

“Did professor Snape?” Harry asked darkly.

“Well, o’ course he did.” Harry and Ron gave Hagrid a horrified look. “What, you’re not still on about Snape bein’ dark, are yeh? He’s helpin’ _protect_ the Stone. He’s not gonna steal it.”

“Besides, Harry,” Hermione added. “No one knows what all the protections are, and I’m sure it’s safe with Professor Vector helping out.”

“But she was a Slytherin,” Ron protested.

“Not all Slytherins are alike, Ron. She actually keeps everyone in line, unlike Snape, and if she says no one can get through her protections, I believe her. Besides, I’m sure Professor Dumbledore came up with something even better than she did.”

Harry seemed to accept that more the time being, and it was only then that the children’s attention was drawn to the large, black spheroid that was sitting right in the middle of Hagrid’s roaring fire.

“Hagrid…is that a dragon egg?” Ron asked nervously.

“Ah…yeah, matter of fact it is,” Hagrid answered, fiddling with his beard.

“Where did you get a dragon egg?” Hermione demanded. “Aren’t they illegal to trade in most of Europe?”

“I won it. Fella down at the pub last night said he had a dragon egg, and we could play card fer it if I wanted. So I said, o’ course. An’ he did say he had ter be sure I could handle it, but I told him after Fluffy, a dragon would be easy."

The children all gave a start and looked at each other in horror. Hagrid’s face fell as he realised what he’d said.

“You told him about Fluffy?” demanded Harry.

“Well…yeah, I s’pose I did. Probably shouldn’ta said that…”

“You didn’t tell him how to get past Fluffy, did you?” Ron asked.

“Course not,” Hagrid said firmly. “I’d never give somethin’ like that away, even when I’d been drinkin’.”

“Phew, good.”

“There, you see. It’s perfectly safe,” said Hermione. “I mean, even if somebody else knows about Fluffy, it’s not like you can just play music for him or something—”

Hagrid yelled an exclamation and shot to his feet so fast that he tripped and fell onto his table, smashing it to bits. The children all screamed. Then, to their horror, Hagrid reached up and clapped an enormous hand on Hermione’s shoulder, knocking her to the ground hard and bringing her face close to his huge one. “How’d you know about that?” he growled.

“What?” Hermione squeaked.

“Let her go!” Ron yelled.

“About playin’ music to Fluffy. If you play him some music, he goes right to sleep. Nobody knew that but me an’ Dumbledore.”

“What!” Harry and Ron demanded. They tried to pull Hermione away from the huge man.

Hermione started crying. She’d only ever even _heard_ of Hagrid getting truly angry once, and that was when he’d cursed Harry’s cousin with a pig’s tail. But he was so big it was almost as bad as the troll to see up close. “I-I didn’t!” she whimpered. “I didn’t think—I thought it wouldn’t—It’s the myth of Orpheus…”

“The what of what?” Hagrid said, starting to calm down.

“It’s an ancient Greek story—muggle story…a musician named Orpheus had to sneak past a three-headed dog to get into the realm of the dead, and he played music to put the dog to sleep. I didn’t think it was true because…” She braced herself with her arms blocking her face and whispered. “Because I thought it was too obvious.”

Hagrid let go of her, slumped back on the floor, and started crying loudly himself. “I’m sorry,” he bawled. In retrospect, she thought he had probably knocked her down by accident. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’ mean teh scare yeh like that. It’s just this is so importan.” Dumbledore’s trustin’ me teh keep the Stone safe from…”

“From who?” Harry said.

“I can’t tell yeh that. Dumbledore says someone’s after it—same bloke who tried teh steal it from Gringotts, probably. But I know it ain’t Snape. Dumbledore trusts him as much as me. We all worked together back in the—er—well, back in the war. Snape ain’t very nice, I admit, but he’s on our side.”

“But Hagrid, do you think Snape _could_ know how to get past Fluffy?” Harry asked.

“He couldn’t!” Hagrid insisted. “There’s no wizards who know but me an’ Dumbledore—and don’t you tell nobody else, either.”

But Harry ignored him. “Hermione?” he asked.

“Well,” she said slowly, hating that she had to undermine her earlier argument, “it’s possible he could have read the story somewhere, and if he did…well, if I was desperate and just _had_ to get past Fluffy, one of the first things I’d try would be playing music to him, because that’s what Orpheus did in the myth…But he still couldn’t get through the other protections,” she said quickly. “Not with Vector and Dumbledore and everybody else helping out. Right, Hagrid? I bet Professor Babbling came up with something really complicated with runes, and McGonagall probably transfigured statues to fight or something.”

“Yeah…” Hagrid said glumly. “They didn’t tell me, mind yeh, but I’m sure it’s somethin’ real tough like that. But Merlin, if I’d known other people knew how teh get past Fluffy…”

“I…I’m sure you did you’re best, Hagrid,” Harry said, patting him on the arm. It looked like everything was still okay…for now.

* * *

Two weeks later, though, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore and dragged Ron and Harry to a meeting in an isolated back corner of the library.

“We have to do something about Hagrid,” she whispered.

“Why?” Ron said. “I though you said the Stone was safe.”

“I’m not talking about the Stone. I’m talking about that dragon egg.”

Hagrid had ignored the trio’s (mostly Hermione’s) protests to his keeping a dangerous and illegal wild animal in his kitchen.

“Well, I know it’s not a great idea…” Harry trailed off.

“Not a great idea?” Hermione hissed. “Hagrid lives in a _wooden house_.”

“Well, yeah, but if it’s only a baby…”

“Hmpf.” Hermione reached into her bagged and pulled out a book she had checked out last week: _From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper_ _’s Guide_ , one of the few books on the subject Hagrid had left behind. She opened it on the table and flipped to the place she had marked. Here, listen to this: “‘Keepers who hatch dragons must remain aware that newly-hatched dragons grow magically fast. Many species will triple in length in the first week after hatching and reach ten times their birth length by the age of one month.’”

Ron, at least, looked appropriately frightened by this revelation. “Okay, that _is_ bad,” he said. Harry just looked at his friends sceptically.

“Don’t you see?” Hermione continued. “With the size of that egg, if Hagrid keeps that dragon for even a month after it hatches, it’ll be as big as he is! We have to do something, or he’s going to get hurt or worse…I…I think we have to tell somebody.”

“But I don’t want to get Hagrid in trouble,” Harry said.

“He’ll get in more trouble when his house burns down. Come on, Ron, you know about dragons, right?”

Ron looked very much like he didn’t want to get between his two friends. “What if we, er, just get Hagrid to let it go when it hatches…” he suggested weakly. “You know, I don’t think the British Dragon Reservation is too far from here.”

“But Ron, you saw how Hagrid’s been the past two weeks. He won’t listen to reason. I don’t want him to get in trouble either, but if he won’t listen to us, what else can we do?”

“Well…” Ron said tentatively. “What if we talk to Dumbledore? He seems pretty, you know, friendly and understanding. My folks really like him—and so does Hagrid.”

“But if Dumbledore finds out Hagrid told a stranger about Fluffy…” Harry replied.

“Hmm…” Hermione had another thought. “We could try talking to Professor Vector.” Ron made a face. “I know she was a Slytherin, Ron, but I’ve never had a problem with her, _and_ she’s friends with Hagrid. They always sit next to each other at dinner. Plus, she didn’t get us in trouble with the troll or looking up the Philosopher’s Stone. I think she might be okay with taking care of this quietly.”

“Well…maybe,” Harry said. Ron still looked uncomfortable, but he reluctantly nodded. “But I don’t want to go behind Hagrid’s back,” Harry added. “Can we talk to him one more time first?”

“Sure,” Hermione said.

But Hagrid still didn’t want to hear any criticism of his dragon-rearing skills.

“Hagrid, if you keep it too long, it’s going to be too big to hide,” Harry insisted. “You’re going to get found out sooner or later.”

“Besides, you can’t keep a dragon someplace as small as Hogwarts,” Ron said. “Charlie says they need lots of land to catch enough game to survive. I know you’re good with animals—” (Actually, that was debatable.) “—but the forest just isn’t big enough.”

And miraculously, that actually seemed to get through to the huge man. Gazing at the egg in fire, he bit his lip and said, “I—I know I can’t keep it forever. But I can’t just dump it. It deserves a chance to hatch and grow up.”

“We know, Hagrid,” Hermione said sympathetically. “But you’re not going to able to do that here. We, uh, we know you’re friends with Professor Vector. Do you think she’d be willing to help if we asked her? She’s been really nice with us. I don’t think she’ll ask too many questions.”

“Who, Septima? Ah, she’s a good woman, she is. Knew her when she was a student. Real curious ‘bout things, an’ a lot nicer than the other Slytherins. Hmm…well, I s’pose it’d be alright if you wanted to ask her to help.”

“Thank you, Hagrid.” She forced down her nerves and hugged him as best she could. It was a little difficult after their earlier confrontation, but she managed it. For everyone’s sake, she vowed to get this thing sorted as soon as possible.

* * *

“Ah, hello Hermione—and Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley. Is there something wrong?” Professor Vector said when she saw the trio’s nervous faces outside her office door.

“Professor, we need to speak with you in private,” her star pupil said.

Vector’s face fell. She had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well. “Come in, come in.” She ushered the children in and sat them down. “What is it?”

“Well, ma’am…” Hermione started, “we have this friend who’s doing something dangerous…and we’re worried he’s going to get in trouble.”

“I see,” the Professor said warningly. “You have a _friend_?”

“It’s not one of us,” Harry jumped in. After a pause, he said, “It’s Hagrid…He’s trying to hatch a dragon egg in his hut.”

“What! Augh.” Vector pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh, Rubeus, what have you got yourself into this time? Dragon egg. Of all the—” she muttered. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Do you know when it’s going to be hatching?”

“Ron and I put our heads together, and we think it’s going to be another week or two, from the books,” Hermione said, thankful that she had a semi-dragon expert in her circle of friends.

“Yeah,” Ron added, “we just barely got Hagrid to say he’ll get rid of it, but now we don’t know what to do about it.”

“We were all hoping you could help out without…you know…” Hermione trailed off, not quite willing to say something so against the rules to a teacher.

“Without reporting him, you mean?”

The girl reluctantly nodded.

The professor sighed again. “Well, I’ll tell you what we _are_ going to do. We’re going to hand that dragon off to a professional dragon handler, and the sooner the better—preferably before it hatches. Dragons are an endangered species, and the most important thing is to make sure it gets somewhere safe.”

“Hagrid’ll like that,” Harry said.

“I’m sure he will. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. I can try writing some letters, but frankly, the British Dragon Reservation is barely functional as it is. Not enough space on the island. That’s why the biggest ones are in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union—ah, Russia, excuse me. Not to mention the difficulty of transporting one illegally.”

“Charlie!” Harry suddenly exclaimed. “Ron, couldn’t you just write your brother Charlie and ask if he can do anything with the dragon?”

“Maybe,” the redheaded boy said. “There’s still the illegal part, but I know they’ve got the space in Romania.”

“Good,” Vector said. “I’ll still write my letters, but you should write your brother right away, Mr. Weasley, and let me know as soon as you receive a reply.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

As expected, Professor Vector’s contacts fell through pretty quickly, but Charlie’s reply, which came a week later, was more positive:

 

_Dear Ron,_

_How are you? Thanks for the letter—I_ _’d be glad to take the Norweigian Ridgeback. The problem is that it’s not a good idea to transport a dragon egg this close to hatching. I don’t know how you got a teacher in on the scheme, but it’ll be a big help, since we’ll have to ship the dragon out under cover of darkness. I want you to write me again as soon as it hatches. The next Saturday night, I’ll send some friends to pick it up. Bring the hatchling up to the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight to make the hand off. Will that work? Send me an answer as soon as possible._

_Love,_

_Charlie_

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” Professor Vector said. “This will work very well. And if the dragon’s less than a week old, I should be able to move it without much trouble.”

“Will you need any help moving him, Professor?” Harry asked hopefully. Hermione could tell he was eager for a chance at being out after hours legitimately and was surely internally debating whether to tell the professor about his invisibility cloak.

But Vector gave him a firm, “No, Mr. Potter, I want you to stay well away from this. I could explain myself carrying a suspicious package through the castle on my own after hours, but not your presence with me.”

Harry wasn’t too happy with that, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Still, when the sun rose on the twenty-seventh of April, Baby Norbert (whom Ron was pretty sure was a girl dragon, but Hagrid wouldn’t listen) was on her way to Romania, and none too soon, because Draco Malfoy had spotted her when she hatched. Even so, Hermione, Ron, and Harry got to see a baby dragon, Hagrid got to take care of one for a couple of days, Hermione got to brush the whole thing off as a fun and minor diversion to her parents, and Malfoy got detention when Professor McGonagall caught him out of bed trying to catch what he expected to be three Gryffindor students smuggling an illegal dragon after hours, so everyone got what they wanted in the end. Hermione adopted a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy regarding whether Harry and Ron had followed Professor Vector under Harry’s invisibility cloak, but at least they didn’t get caught, even if Professor Snape did make a few suspicious remarks to them afterwards.

Hermione had a bit of an extra spring in her step after that. All was right with her world…at least for the next couple of weeks.

* * *

“Hey, Hermione, we’re going to visit Hagrid. Do you wanna come?” asked Harry.

“I’ve got studying to do,” Hermione said exasperatedly. “And shouldn’t you by studying, too?”

Exams were one week away, and for Hermione, this was the prime time to be stressing out—certainly more than she was before. Her friends, while they were gearing up for finals as well, seemed much more laid back.

“Go on, Hermione,” said Lavender Brown, who was sitting nearby with Parvati. “It’s the last weekend before exams. You should take some time out to have fun.”

“Lavender, these exams are very important—” she started.

“And you could pass them in your sleep,” the blond shot back, putting her hands on her hips. “Everyone knows it.”

“But I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

“Hermione,” Parvati said gently, “you told us to help make sure you don’t lose it and break down again, and we’re telling you you need a break. You’ve been getting all moody and antisocial the past few weeks, and even we can tell you work a lot better when you don’t overdo it.”

Hermione sighed. Since when did her giggly roommates get so deep? Of course, she knew the answer. It was when, in her desperation, she specifically told them what to watch her for. And she hated to admit it, but her eyes had been getting tired far too early in the afternoon for the past few days.

“Alright, alright,” she groaned, “I guess I _could_ do with a break.”

“Great,” Harry grinned.

“Thanks, girls,” Ron said as the trio ducked out. They could hear the girls giggling behind them.

If Hermione was feeling tired, it certainly woke her up when Hagrid opened the door to his hut and pointed a huge crossbow at them. The children all yelped in surprise.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry,” Hagrid said. “There’s been some…it doesn’t matter. “Sgood teh see yeh. Come on in, I’ll make some tea.”

“Um, Hagrid…is something wrong?” Harry asked once they had sat down. He motioned to the crossbow.

“Oh, right, that,” Hagrid said darkly. “Nasty bit o’ business that. See, I found a unicorn dead in the forest on Wednesday.”

Ron gasped. Harry and Hermione didn’t know the full implications of that, but they both got a bit of a greenish tinge.

“Yeah, it weren’t pretty. Somethin’ had run it down, an’ that’s tough teh do. Unicorns are faster “n anythin.” I never seen one hurt by a predator before, an’ I’ve been here nearly fifty years.”

“But what could do that?” Harry said.

“Dunno. I’ll have teh try huntin’ it if it happens again.”

“Hunting it?” squeaked Hermione. “Isn’t that dangerous.”

“Yeah, but Fang an’ I can handle it. Besides I can’t let anything keep killin’ the unicorns. Yeh shoulda seen it—blood everywhere. The animals all stay away from it, but it kills the plants like anythin’.”

“It kills the plants?” Hermione said in surprise. “Unicorn blood is toxic?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Hagrid said. “It’s too pure an’ sacred for anythin’ but the unicorns. It’s powerful ancient magic. If it gets into your body, it can even save yeh from dyin,” but it’s so pure that it eats away at everythin’ slowly. Horrible fate—horrible. Yeh don’t want to hear any more ‘bout it, I’m tellin’ yeh.”

Hermione thought she had to agree. Her imagination and what she’s skimmed from her parents’ dental school textbooks were more than enough to put images she didn’t want in her mind. Ron looked equally green, but Harry looked oddly thoughtful—and worried.

“Hagrid…” he said. “Do you think…whatever this thing is could be killing unicorns…for their blood?”

“Don’ see how,” Hagrid muttered. “The animals all stay away from unicorn blood. It’s instinct. And as for humans, well, who’d be that desperate? Still, I can’t figure why anything’d be attackin’ them in the first place.”

Harry looked very much like he had more to say, but he didn’t mention it until they got back to the castle.

“Guys,” he said, “I’m worried about the unicorns.”

“Well, so are we, but I’m sure Hagrid can handle it,” Hermione said, if uncertainly.

“No, I mean I worried about whoever’s attacking the unicorns.”

“What about it?” Ron said.

“I think he’s after their blood.”

“But you heard what Hagrid said. The consequences are too horrible,” Hermione told him.

“Yeah, but what if he could get something else? Something stronger that could fix what the unicorn blood did?”

Ron just asked, “Like what?” But Hermione made the connection.

“You mean the Elixir of Life,” she said. “That might be stronger. Probably is, from what I’ve read.”

“Right. So if they get hold of the Philosopher’s Stone, they can be cured.”

“But who is it?” Ron said. “I don’t think any of the professors are dying or anything.”

“No, but there’s something else,” Harry said. “On Tuesday night, I got this really bad headache. It wasn’t like a normal headache. It was in my scar.” He pointed to his forehead. “And the same thing happened at the start of term feast when Snape looked at me. What if…” He gulped and shuddered slightly. “What if it’s Voldemort?”

“Don’t say that name!” Ron hissed.

“Vol—You-Know-Who?” Hermione whispered, seeing the look on Ron’s face. “It can’t be.”

“But it makes sense. Listen, people think Voldemort’s still alive out there somewhere, but weakened.”

“Stop saying the name!” Ron repeated.

“Maybe he’s drinking unicorn blood to stay alive, and the pain in my scar has something to do with him because I’m the only one he couldn’t kill. And then Snape’s working for him, and he’s trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone and use it to cure him so he can come back…” He shuddered again. “And then, Voldemort will come and finish me off.”

“ _Will you stop saying his name_!”

“Harry, that’s crazy!” Hermione snapped. “Hagrid said Snape worked with Dumbledore against You-Know-Who.”

“So? Maybe he was a spy. He’s sure evil enough. And he tried to kill me, remember?”

“Bloody hell, I _can_ see Snape as a spy,” Ron said.

“But if all that was true,” Hermione protested, “Don’t you think Dumbledore or somebody would have noticed by now?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I just hope Snape really _doesn_ _’t_ know how to get the Stone.”

“Harry, everyone says Dumbledore is the only person You-Know-Who was afraid of,” she tried to comfort her friend. “With him around, You-Know-Who can’t touch you _or_ the Stone. And besides, I doubt it’s really him out there. I bet it’s just some kind of rabid magical creature.”

“Yeah…maybe,” Harry said, forcing himself to smile.

But on Monday night, Harry came down with another headache in his scar, and, checking with Hagrid on Tuesday, they learnt that another unicorn had been killed that night. Nothing was going to convince Harry Potter at that point.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Hermione Granger (along with the rest of the Harry Potter universe) is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Many thanks once again to Pahan for helping me to hash out the climax of First Year, starting with this chapter. I hope you find it an interesting new spin on things.

Hermione and Harry were both very worried about exams, but for different reasons. Harry had become paranoid that Voldemort was going to burst in and kill him at any moment, and Hermione, in addition to wanting to pass her own exams, was worried that Harry’s paranoia would cause him to flunk. No matter how many times she assured him that nothing could possibly get him at Hogwarts, he couldn’t seem to shake his nervousness.

Admittedly, he was still getting headaches, although he stubbornly refused to see Madam Pomfrey about it ( _Boys_ , Hermione thought), insisting instead that they meant danger was coming. Even Ron told him to relax and not worry about it.

When the time came, Hermione, for her part, found the exams easier than she expected, for which she congratulated herself for her good study habits. Before she knew it, she was finishing up her last exam, Arithmancy (which _was_ a little more challenging), while the boys were taking their History exam. Now, all she had to do was learn some of the more advanced integration techniques and revise for her maths A-level next month.

She had already wandered out to the grounds for a pleasant walk when she saw Harry and Ron running flat out towards her. She waved to them, but she soon realised that they weren’t excited that their exams were over. They were running as if Fluffy were after them, coming up to her with horror-stricken looks on their faces.

“Hermione!” Harry said breathlessly, “Snape’s figured it out…! He knows how to get the Stone!”

“What?” Hermione exclaimed.

“We heard it…” said Ron, panting even more heavily. “Quirrell…Snape…told him…”

“What are you talking about?”

“We were going past the staffroom—” Harry said.

“We heard Quirrell—” Ron started.

“He said he knew everything—”

“He didn’t want to tell him but—”

“Harry! Ron! Calm down and tell me _exactly_ what you heard,” Hermione snapped.

The boys tried to collect themselves and recounted their tale. They had been hanging back a bit talking after their History exam, and as they were walking past the staffroom, they’d heard Professor Quirrell talking to someone they couldn’t quite hear. Quirrell was crying. From what Hermione could piece together, he said something like, “Please…please I can’t…yes, that’s everything, but…no, please…alright, alright!” The boys had taken this to mean that Quirrell had told Snape everything he needed to know about how to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, however far-fetched that seemed.

“Did you actually hear him talking to Snape?” Hermione asked astutely.

“We heard someone whispering to him,” Harry said. “We didn’t want to get too close in case Snape saw us, but what else could it mean?”

By now, Hermione was just about done arguing with Harry about this. “Well, if you’re so sure,” she said, “there’s only one thing to do.”

“What?” both boys asked.

“Go to Dumbledore.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other, and then they both smacked themselves in their foreheads and took off running back toward the castle.

“Hey, wait for me!” Hermione yelled as she sprinted after them.

The three of them dashed inside and started climbing the stairs. It was only after they had ascended several flights that Harry and Ron realised they had no idea where they were going. “Uh…where _is_ Dumbledore’s office?” Harry said as they came to an intersection.

“Seventh floor,” Hermione replied. She pulled her quick-reference map from her robes. With exams to worry about, she’d only had time to explore the West Wing with Sonya, but she thought it would be good to carry a small map with the important places marked on it, just in case. “I ran into him when I was exploring the castle—almost literally.” She double-checked her orientation and pointed down one of the corridors. “This way—”

“What are you three doing inside?”

They turned around to see Professor McGonagall approaching with a large pile of books. She looked rather suspicious of the trio, but then, navigating the castle with a foldout map wasn’t exactly normal behaviour.

Hermione collected herself and said as calmly as she could, “We want to see Professor Dumbledore.”

“Professor Dumbledore?” McGonagall looked even more suspicious. “Why?”

“It’s sort of secret,” Harry blurted out. Hermione suppressed a groan.

“Well, I’m afraid it will have to wait, whatever it is,” the professor said. “Professor Dumbledore was urgently called away to the Ministry ten minutes ago.”

“He’s _gone? Now_?” Harry gasped in horror.

“The Headmaster is a very busy man with other duties beyond the school. I’m sure whatever this is can wait until tomorrow.”

“But this about the Philosopher’s Stone!”

McGonagall dropped her books with a loud crash that echoed through the empty hallways. “How do you know about that?” she whispered. Her whisper seemed to carry even farther.

“Professor, I think—I _know_ —that Sn—someone’s going to try to steal the Stone tonight,” Harry said. “We have to warn Dumbledore.”

Hermione wanted to say something. To tell Professor McGonagall that Harry hadn’t been feeling well and was being paranoid. She must hear the desperation in his voice. Or to tell her all the strange goings on surrounding the Stone that were making him worry. But she just couldn’t think of what to say at the moment.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, “I don’t know how you found out about the Stone, but rest assured that no one could possibly steal it. It’s far too well protected.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling him, Professor,” Hermione said timidly. Harry and Ron both glared at her.

“But Professor—”

“You should listen to your friend, Mr. Potter. All of we teachers have taken the security of that Stone very seriously. Now I suggest you all go back outside and enjoy the sunshine.” An _or else_ was clearly implied.

And if Professor McGonagall’s warning weren’t enough, Professor Snape’s, when they ran into _him_ not two minutes later, was. “You shouldn’t be inside on a day this…nice…” the Potions Master said with a twisted smile, as if he could only guess what normal people would consider to be a nice day.

“We were just—” Harry started.

“You’ll want to be more careful, Mr. Potter. If you keep turning up in places you aren’t supposed to be, people are bound to think you’re…up to something.” Harry flushed bright red. “And you wouldn’t want to be expelled after only your first year, would you? Good day.”

“It’s definitely him,” Harry said. “He must know we snuck out with Norbert, too. He’s gonna try to steal the Stone tonight, and he’s trying to scare us off.”

“Harry, I still think you’re wrong,” Hermione said. “It’s probably just Snape being Snape. And besides, what can we do now?”

“We’ll split up and watch Snape and the forbidden corridor,” Harry said, as if it were obvious.

But that plan failed miserably after they were collectively told off by Flitwick, Snape again, and an irate McGonagall, who threatened them with a fifty point docking. It seemed that they were at least taking security against the students seriously.

“I’m sorry Harry, I did all I could,” Hermione said when they regrouped.

Harry grumbled at her, but she could tell he knew it wasn’t her fault. “There’s got to be something else we can do,” he muttered to himself. “Some way to stop Snape.”

“Harry, _please_ try to calm down,” she begged, grabbing him by the shoulders. He flinched at the contact. “I keep telling you Snape couldn’t possibly get through all the obstacles. Maybe you heard Quirrell talking about something else.” Harry looked nervous, but as unconvinced as ever.

“Y-yeah, mate, Quirrell’s scared of just about everything,” Ron said, though he didn’t look too sure himself. “Now I think about it, that could’ve been about anything.”

“I know what I heard.” Harry screwed up his face and pushed Hermione’s hands aside.

“Look, Harry,” she tried. “If you’re that worried, we can go talk to Professor Vector. I’m sure she’ll at least _listen_ , but I’m also sure she’s going to say the Stone is perfectly safe.”

Harry stopped and thought for a moment. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Let’s go.”

They managed to get to Professor Vector’s office without running into any other teachers, although they would have at least had a decent cover story this time.

Of course, when Professor Vector opened the door and saw who was there, she immediately said, “I’m afraid I don’t have your grade yet, Miss Granger.”

Hermione couldn’t completely suppress her sigh this time. Was she really that obsessive? “It’s not about that Professor.”

Vector cracked a forced smile. “Is there a dragon involved?”

“No, but it is important. May we please come in?”

“Alright, come on in,” she said, shutting the door behind the trio. “Now, what is this about?”

This time, Harry spoke up: “Professor, we think—ow!” Hermione stepped on his foot. “ _I_ think someone’s going to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone tonight.”

If Professor Vector had been carrying a load of books, she would have dropped them. “So…you figured out what’s in there,” she said with just a little hostility. “And why, pray tell, do you think someone is trying to steal it, Mr. Potter?”

“Because I heard…some people talking about it, and today one of them said he’d figured out all the traps…”

“I see…I won’t ask you who you supposedly overheard, Mr. Potter, since it doesn’t matter. I don’t know what you _think_ they said, but I assure that the Philosopher’s Stone is too well protected for anyone to steal it.”

“I know, but…I heard…it wasn’t students,” Harry blurted.

Vector’s eyes widened a bit. “You believe a teacher is going to steal the Stone?”

Harry nervously nodded. “I…We know most of the teachers did something to protect it, so…”

“Mr. Potter,” Vector said threateningly, drawing herself up, “if you are trying to get me to tell you what sort of obstacle _I_ placed—”

“We’re not!” Hermione jumped in. “I’m sorry, Professor. It’s just that Harry’s been acting paranoid about this for weeks. Ron and I keep trying to tell him the Stone’s safe, but he won’t believe us.”

“Hermione!” Harry protested.

“Well, it’s true. We just wanted to try to convince him. He’s more nervous than ever because Professor Dumbledore’s gone, and Professor McGonagall didn’t have the patience to explain. I just thought—without giving it away—if you could tell him how well protected it really is…”

Vector sat down and sighed. She’d dealt with children with emotional issues before, most recently Hermione herself, but this level of paranoia was something she hadn’t seen since the war. “Miss Granger, I appreciate you trying to help your friend,” she said softly, “although there comes a point where Madam Pomfrey might be better to minister to something like this. I hope it does not come to that, however. Mr. Potter, you may find this difficult to accept, but we teachers have very good reasons to believe that the Stone is safe. My obstacle alone is probably adequate. I have told no one but Professor Dumbledore how it works, and I assure you that no one could possibly get through it without a special key that Professor Dumbledore keeps on his person at all times. There is only one key, which I gave directly to him, and not even he could get through without it. Professor Babbling’s obstacle is at least as strong as mine, and I’m sure the others are more than adequate as well. So I hope you understand that even a Hogwarts teacher would have no hope of getting through them all.”

Harry looked down at his shoes. He looked pretty well defeated. But even as Hermione thought he was about to sulk away, he set his face with a determined expression and tried one last line of attack. He looked Vector straight in the eye and said, “Professor, my scar’s been hurting.”

Hermione gave a small gasp.

“Excuse me?” Vector said to the non sequitur.

“My scar,” Harry repeated. “The one Voldemort gave me.”

Vector hissed at the name, and Ron yelped softly.

“It’s been hurting for the past few weeks,” Harry continued.

“Then you should see Madam Pomfrey.”

“I don’t think it’s a normal headache. I think it means danger is coming. It started happening when those unicorns were killed in the forest.”

“How did you—Hagrid,” Vector groaned.

Harry kept going before she could say anything else. “I think Sn…I—I think it’s Professor Snape, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? I think whoever is it is working for Voldemort, and he’s going to steal the Philosopher’s Stone so he can bring Voldemort back so he can kill me.”

“Will you stop saying that name, Harry!” Ron yelled.

Septima Vector tried to force her nerves down and wondered if her day could get any more surreal. Here was the Boy-Who-Lived—she hadn’t thought of him like that so much, but she couldn’t ignore it now—sitting in her office, lost in a child’s nightmare. It had to be hard for him, she thought, having lost his parents to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—she still couldn’t help but flinch every time he said that name. It was anybody’s guess whether he’d gone into fits like this before or if this was the first time, but she could actually understand it a little. It must be very nerve-wracking growing up with that kind of history, and paranoia wasn’t a totally unexpected result.

“Mr. Potter, I really do think you should see Madam Pomfrey about your headaches,” she finally said. “But I _will_ ask Professor Dumbledore to speak with you personally about your concerns when he returns. I know this probably isn’t the answer you were hoping for, but I think it is highly unlikely that You-Know-Who is involved in any of this. In the meantime, I’m sure you’re very stressed after finishing your exams, and I think you’ll feel much better if you get some sun.” _Now._

“Yes, Professor,” Harry said dejectedly. He stood up and weakly walked out of the office. Ron went with him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Hermione started to follow her, but Professor Vector called her back for a moment. Leaning down close to her, she said, “Hermione, I fear that your friend may need professional counselling.” Hermione nodded knowingly. She was starting to worry about that as well. “I will do what I can to make sure he gets the help he needs, but in the meantime, please try to take care of him.”

“Yes, ma’am, I will,” Hermione said quickly. That was the least she could do for him after that Halloween night.

Harry consented to being led outside, but he was irritable and fidgety the rest of the day. It was becoming clear that their chat with Professor Vector hadn’t had the desired effect. It didn’t help that he claimed his headache was getting worse, even though Hermione thought by now that it might be all in his head. He didn’t seem to want to talk to her all afternoon, and even his conversations with Ron seemed forced. As the day wore on, Hermione started to get a very bad feeling about that night, and Ron seemed to have the same idea because he asked Harry if he was going to bed multiple times, and the smaller boy just shook his head.

They both stayed up watching him until everyone else had gone to bed, which was when Harry finally closed the book he’d been reading, stood up and said, “Well, that’s it then, isn’t it?”

“That’s what?” Hermione asked warily, rising to her feet.

Harry pulled out his invisibility cloak.

“Whoa, mate,” Ron said.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Hermione demanded. She stepped in front of the portrait hole, and Ron followed suit.

“I just _know_ Snape’s going to go after the Stone tonight,” he said. “So I’m going to go down there and try to steal it first.”

“You’re mad!” Ron said.

“Harry, you can’t,” pleaded Hermione. “You heard what all the professors said.”

“I don’t _care_ about being expelled,” Harry said, his voice rising. “Don’t you understand? If Snape gets a hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! The points and the cup and getting expelled won’t matter then. He’ll flatten Hogwarts, or turn it into a school for the Dark Arts. He killed my parents, remember? I’ll die whether I get caught or not if I can’t stop him, and then he’ll probably go after the other Gryffindors, too.”

“But he’s not going to get a hold of the Stone!” Hermione screamed, and prayed she didn’t wake anyone—or maybe hoped she did. “No one’s going to get through those obstacles.”

“He will! I can _feel_ it.” Harry pressed the heel of his hand to his scar. “He’s going to get through.”

“Harry, let’s just say you’re right,” pleaded Hermione. “Say Professor Snape _is_ going to try to steal the Stone tonight _and_ knows how. You _must_ know you don’t stand a chance against him.”

“I’ve got to try,” Harry insisted. “Nobody else will.”

“She’s right, mate,” Ron said. “You’re only a first year—”

“Well, you two _could_ help me instead of just standing there,” he said angrily.

“We’re only first years, too!” said Hermione. “Don’t you remember the troll? One professor was miles ahead of all three of us together, and the obstacles are designed to be too tough even for them. Look, if I thought we had the slightest chance, I’d be right there beside you—if only to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed—but we’re only twelve. We’re so far out of our depth here…”

“Well, I guess I’m going alone, then.” He took a step toward them. As one, Ron and Hermione closed ranks

“Get out of my way,” Harry ordered.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Hermione said with tears in her eyes. “We can’t let you with this.”

“Ron, tell her to move.”

Ron shook his head. “Mate, I know you’re scared and all, but I’m not too dumb to see that there’s no way you can stop Snape _or_ get through the traps. Bill’s told me the kinds of things he works with. He’s nearly been killed a couple times, and he’s had training for it.”

“I don’t care. Move.”

“Harry, stop. Really,” Ron stammered. “We just don’t want you to get hurt. We’ll…we’ll fight you if we have to.” He raised his fists and looked to Hermione.

 _Fight him? With fists? Maybe Ron, with his five older brothers. But me? I_ _’ll need magic,_ Herimone thought.

Harry shook his head and turned to her. “Hermione. I’m really, really sorry about this,” he said.

Her hand went for her wand.

But Harry was faster. “ _Petrificus Totalus_!” he cried.

Hermione’s eyes went wide with shock that Harry even _knew_ that spell, and she registered just which book Harry had been reading earlier. That moment’s hesitation cost her dearly, as her arms snapped to her sides, her legs together, and she toppled over painfully against the wall, unable to even speak.

“Hermione!” Ron yelled. She wanted to tell him to look behind him as he ran over to her, but she couldn’t, and while he was distracted, Harry pulled on the invisibility cloak and vanished through the portrait hole.

“Hermione,” Ron said again, sparing only a moment to look up at the closing portal. “What did he do to you?” He drew his wand. “What do I do? What do I do?”

Unable to move anything but her eyes, Hermione did the one thing she could and repeatedly jerked her gaze toward the chair where Harry had been sitting. After an agonisingly long time, he made the connection.

“The book!” He ran over and picked up _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._ “Come on, come on…” He flipped through the pages. “Perri…Petro…Petrine…” After an even longer time (though miraculously quick considering this was Ron trying to find an answer in a textbook), he managed to find the Full Body Bind and its counter-curse. A simple _Finite Incantatem_ would work, of course, but would need a lot more power. He pointed his wand at Hermione and said, “ _Chalaro Soma_!”

Nothing happened.

“ _Chalaro Soma! Chalaro Soma_!” he said frantically.

Hermione’s mouth snapped open, and she gasped for breath. Her arms and legs remained stuck.

“Hermione?”

“Chala- _ro_ Soma.”

“What?”

“It’s Chala- _ro_ Soma,” she wheezed.

“Chala- _ro_ Soma,” Ron incanted.

Hermione’s limbs came unstuck—not completely, but enough that she could shake off the rest of the jinx. “Thanks,” she said as he helped her to her feet. She picked up her wand where it had fallen. “I can’t believe he got me,” she said angrily.

“Sorry.”

“I could take him easy in a fair duel,” she insisted.

“Well, maybe you’ll get your chance,” he said. “We’ve got to go stop him.” He started to open the portrait hole.

“No, Ron, we have to tell a teacher.”

“What? Are you mad? After what Snape said, if they catch Harry trying to get in that corridor, he’ll be expelled!”

“And if he tries to get through all those traps on his own, Harry could get _killed!_ And yes, Ron, that _is_ worse!” Ron shut his mouth and nodded weakly. “We’ll go to Professor Vector. She doesn’t think Harry’s bad; she just thinks he’s sick—you know, mentally. I don’t know if he is or not, but I think she’ll go easy on him.”

“Are—are you sure…? We don’t have the cloak. What if someone else catches us?”

“We’d have that problem anyway. We’ll tell whoever catches us and hope they listen. I’ll go get my map so I can at least find places to hide.”

“Okay, but hurry.”

A few minutes and many stairs later, they were out in the corridors, following Hermione’s map to Professor Vector’s apartment. Hermione lit her wand dimly to see the paper.

“You know where all the teachers sleep?” Ron whispered.

“The ones who sleep in the castle,” she confirmed. “Each apartment is behind a portrait of a famous witch or wizard in their field.”

“Cool, so where—?”

“Shh!” Hermione strained to listen. “Someone’s coming,” she breathed. “ _Nox_.” She grabbed Ron by the wrist and felt around for an unused room that was marked on the map nearby, one that Sonya had said you could only get into if you had your eyes closed. She opened it, and they ducked inside. She grabbed the small jar from her pocket and placed it against the door, pressing her ear to it to listen, though she could barely hear anything over her pulse pounding in her ears. Only when the footsteps passed by and vanished from her hearing did she whisper, “All clear,” and open the door again.

“Wow. I never thought _you_ _’d_ be sneaking around here like the Twins,” whispered an awed Ron.

“Yeah, and they’ll probably think they have to prank me again just to get back on top,” Hermione whispered back flatly. “Come on.”

They made it to the portrait of Bridget Wenlock without meeting anyone else, and then Hermione threw caution to the wind and pounded on the frame. “Professor Vector!” she yelled.

Bridget Wenlock woke up. “ _Tawht areh tho doaeng_?” she shouted.

“Madam Wenlock, please tell Professor Vector to let us in. It’s an emergency. Professor Vector!”

“ _Stoadents areh not toe bay given occess toe thay apartments! Stoadents areh not toe bay oot pawst curfiu_!”

“Please! It’s an emergency! Our friend could die! Professor—!”

Finally, a surprisingly dishevelled-looking Professor Vector opened the door, wearing a green nightdress, and glared at the two students. “Hermione, what’s wrong? What are you doing out of bed?”

“It’s Harry, Professor. He’s still convinced Professor Snape’s trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, and he’s gone in there to try to steal it first. We tried to stop him, but he jinxed us and got away!”

Professor Vector’s glare vanished as the colour drained from her face. “What? Is he mad? The dog—”

“He knows how to get past the dog. We figured out you have to play music to it from an old muggle story, and Hagrid let slip we were right.”

Vector went even paler. “You’re certain?”

Both children nodded emphatically.

“But if he can get past the dog, then…oh, no, the Devil’s Snare! I have to stop him! Go back to your dorms now. I’ll reverse any punishments if you get caught. I’ll get Potter.” She grabbed her wand and took off running in her slippers.

Ron and Hermione watched her go in amazement. Neither of them spoke for a moment. “So…what do you think,” Ron finally said.

“I…” Hermione glanced at the still-angry portrait behind them. “Away from her,” she hissed. They jogged down the corridor out of earshot. “What do you mean,” she asked.

“I still want to go after him,” Ron said.

“But Professor Vector said she’d bring him back.”

“I’m just kinda worried. What if he _is_ right?”

“Oh, Ron, not you too!”

“I’m just saying to take a look, and if something happens, we’ll be able to get more help.”

Hermione wanted to protest, but it had been like pulling teeth all day to get _anything_ sensible done, and even being the child of dentists couldn’t make that any easier. She was just too tired of it. “Oooh…” she whined. “Fine. But if we get eaten, I’m _haunting_ you.”

They started off again, heading down to the third floor with the help of Hermione’s map.

“Do you know what Devil’s Snare is?” Ron asked on the way.

“It’s a plant that likes the dark and damp and tries to strangle you with its vines if you stumble into it.”

“Oh, _lovely_. So how do you get _out_ of it?”

“Um…lemme think, uh—dark and damp…Of course, fire. So we just need some wood, and—” She stopped herself and tapped her wand to her head twice before Ron could make fun of her for her mistake.

A little farther down, Hermione had to pull Ron into a broom cupboard ( _there_ was something she didn’t think she’d have cause to do with anyone for a few more years, if ever) to avoid another teacher patrolling the corridors, and they barely managed to slip by Peeves, but somehow, they made it to the forbidden door. They looked at each other once.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Hermione whispered. The door clicked open.

There was Fluffy, growling at them, just as big and terrible as they’d remembered, but this time, they had a secret weapon. Hermione licked her lips and began to whistle as loudly as she could. She was only an average musician, but the simple tune caused the dog to step back and lay down, and its six eyes closed two by two.

They walked up to the trapdoor. It was already open. Hermione shot Ron a look as she kept whistling. “ _Lumos_ ,” he said. But they couldn’t see the bottom by wand light, it must be a long way down. But she and Ron could both do the proverbial math on this. Professor Vector said that anyone who got past Fluffy would run into the Devil’s Snare. And that meant they had to survive the fall first. She motioned to Ron.

The unfortunate boy took a deep breath, made an unpleasant face, and jumped into the hole. After what seemed like ages, but was probably only long enough for him to fall to the sub-basement, she heard his voice calling back up, “It’s okay! It’s a soft landing.” She had already jumped down the hole when she heard his next sentence: “But I don’t like these vines!”

FLUMP! Hermione landed on something squishy and writhing. She felt uncomfortably like Indiana Jones in the den of snakes. But she had remembered to hold her wand arm aloft to keep it free. Wasting no time, she swung it down and said, “ _Lacarnum inflamari_!” The blue flames made short work of the strangling plant, and they moved on, noting a single broomstick leaning against the wall as they approached the lone door in the darkened room. Apparently, the teachers were considerate enough to provide a way out if someone got stuck down here. They reached the door and opened it, not having any idea what they would find.

The next room looked like a war zone. It seemed to have been a bare, empty chamber save for a few torches along the walls, but now, it was filled with rubble. Huge chunks had been blown out of the ceiling. There were long, black scorch marks on the walls and deep gouges in the floor that were still glowing an angry red. The source of all this damage was clear. The wall at the far side of the room was completely filled with runes in at least a dozen different languages. Many of the runes were scorched, slashed, or blasted off the wall, but Hermione could still identify Norse, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Arabic, Sanskrit, Chinese, hieroglyphics, and cuneiform, and there were a few others she didn’t know. She couldn’t even begin to guess what most of the runes _did_ , but she presumed they were a mixture of locking spells and defensive spells. In fact, among the Latin runes, she did see some powerful curses written, like _DIFFINDO_ and _REDUCTO_.

Her pulse quickened. Had Harry got caught in this devastation? But Harry was nowhere to be seen, and he certainly couldn’t have got past this on his own. Most of the runes looked to be damaged beyond repair by powerful curses shot back at them, presumably through heavy magical shields and interlocking booby-traps. (Ron’s brother could probably understand it.) More to the point, the single door in the middle of the far wall was standing open.

“This must be Professor Babbling’s obstacle,” Hermione said in amazement.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “And it looks pretty nasty, too. I hope Snape at least got cursed good when he broke through it.”

Hermione chose to ignore Ron throwing his lot in with Harry’s Snape theory and just said, “Come on, let’s go.”

They walked forward slowly and carefully, stepping over the glowing gouge marks on the floor, ready to beat a hasty retreat if things heated up again. But the runes seemed to have been completely disabled. A few were glowing or flickering, but not shooting spells. They reached the door and stepped through to see what was, on closer inspection, an even more worrying sight.

This chamber was also something close to a bare room. The only feature was a door in the far wall, and two stone statues standing on either side of it, holding a pair of wicked-looking battle axes crossed in front of the door. The statues were human shaped, if a little larger than life, except for huge bug eyes that seemed to be made of glowing crystals, which were continuously pulsing flashes of coloured light back and forth to each other. It was obviously some kind of code, Hermione thought, which meant that this was almost certainly Professor Vector’s trap.

But this room was not empty. There were already two people in here: Harry Potter and Professor Vector herself. And both of them were chalk white with fear, and with good reason. They, too, had seen that Snape—or someone—had got through the previous door, and was no longer here.

That meant that he had also got through Professor Vector’s trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chalaro Soma: based on the Greek for “loosen body.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter modulo seven is JK Rowling.
> 
> These chess game in this chapter uses the same endgame that was created for the film of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by International Master Jeremy Silman. None of that game made it into the final film in any way that the viewers could see, which is unfortunate because it would have made for a far more dramatic scene with the White Queen as a minor villain. With Ron showing off his chess skills in this story, I just had to include it here.

“Professor?” Hermione said tentatively.

Professor Vector whirled around in shock at the two new first years who had come into the chamber. “Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley! What are you doing here? I told you to go back to your dorms.”

Hermione paled under her teacher’s glare and looked to Ron. “Uh, we wanted to make sure you were okay,” the boy said nervously. “We were gonna go get help if something had gone wrong.”

Vector rolled her eyes. “That was very thoughtful of you two, but very foolish,” she said. “I’d dock quite a few points if we didn’t have bigger things to worry about.”

“The obstacles…” Hermione breathed. “Harry…?”

By now, she and Ron had both noticed their dark-haired friend glaring at them from Vector’s side. “I told you so,” he said.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry.” Hermione said. “I never imagined the Stone was in real danger. All the teachers were so sure their protections would work.”

“But they didn’t,” Harry said plainly. He sounded very calm, given the circumstances, but Hermione could see the anger and fear just beneath the surface.

“It’s not Miss Granger’s fault, Mr. Potter,” Vector said. “She made the best decision she could based on what she knew. Professor Babbling and I must both have made serious mistakes if our protections weren’t enough to stop the thief.”

“Do you think the others will be enough?” Hermione asked.

“I doubt it,” Harry said.

“I _hope_ so,” Vector countered, “but unfortunately, there’s no way to know, and no way to stop the thief since I can’t get through this door.”

“But this is your obstacle, isn’t it, Professor,” Harry protested.

“It is, but Professor Dumbledore has the only key. There’s no way in without it.”

“Well, then Snape must have found a way.”

“We don’t know who the thief was, Mr. Potter. But in any case, I still can’t open the door.”

“Well, do you know what went wrong?” asked Hermione. “Maybe we can replicate it.”

“I have no idea. I thought I had guarded against all modes of attack. The statues certainly don’t look physically damaged.”

“What are they doing, anyway?” Ron asked, looking up at the statues that continued flashing colours between their huge crystal eyes.

“Well, they’re sending pulses of light back and forth, so it must be some kind of code,” Hermione said. She tried to think about what Vector was likely to come up with. “Does it involve factoring large numbers, Professor?”

Vector actually smiled a little. “Miss Granger,” she said, “I confess my original plan was to build a combination lock for which the combination consisted of the prime factors of a six digit number…Then I met you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Your prodigious mental arithmetic inspired me to look for a more secure method of protecting the Stone. I contacted some fellow arithmancers and technomancers in America for advice and also began reviewing the muggle literature as best I could. It’s not really the kind of material I’m used to, but I was able to figure out something useful called a “key exchange.”

That was a new one. Usually, it was Hermione surprising Professor Vector with her knowledge, but Professor Vector knew about key exchanges? Those were only about twenty years old, even in the muggle world. That was pretty impressive considering most wizards thought muggle appliances ran on “eckeltricity.” “Diffie-Hellman or RSA?” she asked.

“Huh?” Harry and Ron said at once.

Vector started. “Of course _you_ would know about them. My obstacle uses a Diffie-Hellman key exchange.”

Hermione nodded. The Diffie-Hellman key exchange was a way for two people to communicate a secret code even if all their communications were being monitored. It relied on some relatively simple mathematics that turned out to be almost impossible to reverse, so an eavesdropper who didn’t have all the information wouldn’t be able to reconstruct it. But even from her limited dabbling with computer programming, she knew that there was almost always a way around these kinds of systems. She started to get an idea. “So, how exactly does it work?”

“ _Well_ , since we don’t seem to be going anywhere, Miss Granger…The two statues are Alice and Bob.” Now that she looked past the crystal eyes, Hermione realised that the statue on the left was a female warrior—she looked rather like Joan of Arc, in fact. Ron and Harry raised their eyebrows at the mundane names. “Every five minutes, Alice flashes a random prime number, p, between ten thousand and twenty thousand, and Bob flashes a random generator number, g, between one thousand and p. The flashes are coded like an abacus—red, yellow, green, blue, violet, and white are zero through five, respectively—most significant digit first.”

Hermione nodded again. “And then they each generate a random private key, raise g to the power of that number modulo p, and flash that number as their next message?”

Professor Vector’s face lit up with pride, despite the situation. “Quite right—at least if I understand your terminology. Each statue chooses a random secret number—a private key, as you say—which must also be between one thousand and p. But the resulting exponents are repeated every ten seconds for the five minutes, and if something goes wrong, the cycle immediately starts over.”

By now, Harry and Ron were looking back and forth between the two witches as if it were a tennis match. “So, is that some kind of advanced Arithmancy?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Is that even English?” Ron suggested.

“It’s modulo arithmetic,” Hermione said. “It’s like…it’s like doing math on a clock. You can add and multiply and stuff, but whenever you get to twelve, you have to start over at zero—except with a much bigger clock, and it’s a lot fancier.”

That was something of an understatement, Hermione knew. Professor Vector tried to explain it to the boys and did a little better, although it was hard, since they weren’t used to the idea of letters standing in for numbers. The two statues shared two numbers, p and g, and they each picked a secret number, raised g to that power, divided it by p, and took the remainder. Then they flashed that number to the other statue, which raised g to the power of _that_ number, divided by p, and took the remainder. When it was over, the mathematical rules meant that each statue ended up with the same new secret number.

“If you flash that new secret number with your wand, it activates the statues and opens the door,” Vector finished. “But there’s no way to calculate what that number is fast enough. The only way through is with Professor Dumbledore’s key, which is connected to the statues by a Protean Charm.”

Harry and Ron still looked pretty well lost, but it all made perfect sense to Hermione, except for how someone had managed to get through it.

“Well, the thief certainly couldn’t have brute forced it,” she said. “It would take a minimum of four hundred arithmetic operations to figure out what the code is. Even I can’t do discrete logarithms that fast, even with a calculator.”

“Then it ought to have worked, since besting your skills was precisely my goal,” Vector said.

“Hmm…well, if he didn’t brute force it, the next most obvious answer is that it was a man in the middle attack.” Hermione stepped forward and stood in between the two statues. “He could have stood here, flashed his wand, and pretended to be Alice talking to Bob and Bob talking to Alice at the same time. Then he could just feed them the code he wanted.”

“But I thought of that, Miss Granger. I hope you don’t think I would be fooled by a simple man in the middle attack. That’s why Alice and Bob only wait ten seconds to flash their exponents the first time—that’s the fastest I could get the mechanism to compute them. Anyone who wanted to try such an attack would only have ten seconds to set it up.”

Hermione’s face fell. She worked through the procedure in her head and realised that even that would take twenty operations on four-digit numbers. There had to be a way to make it work, though. The thief had to have figured it out. Sure, maybe he’d just overpowered the statues with magic, but she felt like she was missing something—like there ought to be some way to make it easier—to do it with just a few calculations…

“Of course!” she yelled. “Harry, give we your wand.”

“What?” he said. “Uh…okay?”

Hermione took Harry’s wand in her left hand and ran back between the two statues.

“Miss Granger—” Vector started.

“ _Lumos_!” Hermione cried. To her delight, both wands lit up. She pointed one of them at each of the statue’s faces.

Vector stopped short, her eyes wide. Two-handed casting was no easy feat in general, and especially for a first year.

But Hermione was just getting started. Professor Flitwick had taught them how to make coloured flashes of light in Charms Class, but at the time, it had just been a fun diversion. Now, she actually had a good use for it. “ _Gules, gules, gules_!” she said. Both wands flashed three pulses of red light, or triple-zero, which scrambled Alice and Bob and forced them to start the cycle over. Hermione got ready to do some of her fastest mental math, and ten seconds later, it started.

First, Alice flashed her prime number, p, with the sequence _yellow, yellow, white, blue, white, blue, white, green,_ which Hermione immediately translated to 11,887.

Bob’s number was next, the generator number, g: _blue, violet, white, blue, yellow,_ or 3,481.

And then Hermione knew what she had to do. She had to square 3,481, divide the answer by 11,887, take the remainder, and translate it into colours, all in less than ten seconds. It was near the limits of her skills, but just in time, she managed it: 4,508. Keeping the two wands aloft, she yelled out, “ _Argent, Purpure, Argent, Gules, Gules, Argent, Azure_!”

Time seemed to stand still as Alice and Bob processed this input. Even trying to wield Harry’s wand left handed, the colours had thankfully come out right, but she had no idea if the statues would accept them.

Then, Alice and Bob flashed a new pair of numbers: their exponents. Alice flashed _white, violet, white, yellow, green, white, yellow,_ or 9,626, and Bob flashed _yellow, yellow, blue, white, violet_ , or 1,139. Of course, Hermione didn’t know if those numbers were in response to her or to each other’s numbers, but she had to try.

It was a hard task, though. She had to do the same maths operations as before twice, all while still flashing her original number every ten seconds. She did her best to ignore Harry and Ron muttering to each other about how they had no idea what was going on and Professor Vector watching her sceptically as ten, twenty, thirty seconds passed. Finally, just after the forty count, she had the answers. If she was right, Alice’s password was 711, and Bob’s was 1,638.

Hermione lowered her left hand and kept her own wand raised toward Alice, praying this would work, and said, “ _Argent, Vert, Or, Or_!” Then, she lowered her wand and pointed Harry’s toward Bob and said, “ _Or, Argent, Or, Azure, Argent, Azure_!” She just barely avoided tripping over that last tongue twister.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and a grinding sound behind her. Professor Vector gasped loudly, and Harry and Ron started grinning. Hermione spun around and saw Alice and Bob lifting their crossed battle axes into an upright position, and the heavy stone door beyond slid open.

“Hermione…How…?” Vector said in disbelief.

“Easy,” she replied. “I just used _two_ as my secret number. It’s not in the allowed range, but Alice and Bob wouldn’t know that unless you coded in a billion-entry lookup table, or they could perform discrete logarithms themselves.”

Professor Vector thought about how the maths on this worked out for a moment, and then hung her head. “You’re right, Hermione. I admit I hadn’t considered that possibility. But I _thought_ I had also charmed the statues to only accept the light from the crystals for the exponents, so that attack still shouldn’t have worked.”

“Snape must’ve found a way around it, then.” Everyone jumped, as it was Harry who said this.

Vector sighed. “While I’m still not convinced of the identity of our thief, Mr. Potter, I’m afraid I have to agree with you on that. Some sort of spell must have allowed him to feed in his own number, just like Hermione did—and it would take more than a simple Confundus to do that.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go,” Harry insisted, starting toward the door.

“No!” Vector said. “I will go on and do what I can to stop the thief. You three need to go back at once and warn the castle. You’re small enough—the broomstick should carry all three of you.”

“No, I’m going with you,” Harry said.

“You most certainly are not.”

“I am, too!” said Ron, running up to Harry’s side. “I’m not leaving Harry behind again. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, mate.”

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, I am ordering you and Miss Granger to go back.”

“Then you can expel us later, Professor!” shouted Harry. “No one believed us before. You were the only one who would even listen. We’re the only ones who can stop the thief.”

“They’ll listen if you give them a good reason. Miss Granger, go to Professor McGonagall’s apartment—I assume you know where it is—and tell her we reached…” Professor Vector stepped forward and looked through the door, trying to make sense of what she saw. “Yes, tell her we reached the chessboard. This will be her obstacle. She’ll listen to _that_.”

“Chessboard?” Ron said excitedly.

“We have to play across?” asked Harry.

“Almost certainly. That’s just the kind of obstacle she would design.”

“Then you’re gonna need Ron,” Harry said.

“I doubt that Mr. Potter. You haven’t seen Professor McGonagall play chess. It’ll be hard enough for me to beat her. And if you remember your lessons, the transfigured pieces will be as smart as she is.”

“ _You_ haven’t seen _Ron_ play chess, ma’am. You need Ron. And I’m coming with him. Hermione, are you in or out.”

Hermione went pale as all eyes turned to her. Should she continue to be the voice of reason? But things had gone so mad already, what _was_ the voice of reason anymore? “I…” she started fearfully. “Ma’am, we can always go _back_ without any trouble, right?” she asked. “We could go for help anytime?”

“Yes,” Vector admitted. “Professor Dumbledore insisted that we not allow anyone to become trapped down here.”

“And he was okay with the ‘very painful death’ at the start?” Ron demanded.

“Well, it’s not that hard to escape,” Hermione said. “We got away from it the first time.”

“When did you…” Vector started. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Look, I don’t like this, but we’re going to have to reach a compromise. _I_ have to go on, and quickly. I can’t force you three to go back because I won’t be able to get back through this door on my own. There should be three or four more obstacles, including the chessboard. I’ll permit you to help me work through those if you can, but I want you to promise me that if we run into the thief, or if things become too dangerous, you’ll go back _immediately_ and call for help.”

“I promise, ma’am,” Hermione said at once.

“Yeah, Harry and I will, too,” said Ron.

Harry was frowning at the three of them.

“Harry, you _know_ how much better a fighter Professor Vector is than we are,” Hermione reminded him. “You’d only slow her down. Besides, if it _is_ you he’s after, you’re better off getting away and letting someone older handle it.”

Harry looked like he really wanted to tell off his friends. It made him all the more annoyed that he couldn’t fault her logic. “Fine,” he grumbled. “We’ll do it.”

“Harry, I really _am_ sorry,” Hermione repeated. “I never thought we could get this far.”

“Yeah, me either,” Ron added. “I had no idea what was going on back there with the arithmancy stuff. I don’t know if even Bill could’ve made sense of it.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said halfheartedly. “Let’s just stop Snape.”

They walked forward into the next chamber.

“What _is_ this place?” Hermione whispered.

It was another torch-lit room, this one considerably dimmer, since there was so much stuff in the way. They were behind the black pieces of a huge chessboard, which stretched from wall to wall. The pieces were life-size and larger, with the pawns being about five-foot-six, and the two kings at least seven feet tall. Far across the board, all the white pieces were glaring at the intruders. There was a large gap behind each end of the board, but the strangest part was the ceiling. The ceiling was completely covered in razor-sharp stalactites, which hung down nearly to the pieces’ heads and were constantly waving back and forth with a soft grinding sound like upside-down grass in the wind. There was certainly no room to get through above or around the board, and, to top it all off, there was a heavy feeling of magic in the air.

Professor Vector waved her wand for a moment and then put it away. “The charms in here are very thick,” she said. “I believe Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall worked together on this obstacle. We’re very limited in the magic we can do safely.”

“Makes sense if have to play,” Ron said. He walked up to the Black King. “Do we, er, have to take your places to get across?” he asked.

The King turned around and nodded, and then all of the King’s Side pieces turned and walked off into the gap behind the board.

“Alright, then.” Ron squared his shoulders. “Professor Vector, I think you should be the king—”

“No, I think _you_ should be the king, Mr. Weasley,” she countered. “It’ll be safer for you that way.”

Ron should his head. “No, you’re the one who needs to go on, right?”

“Yes, but you have to able to finish the game.”

“Professor,” Hermione said, “What happens when a piece is captured?”

“I don’t know, other than that they won’t be able to go on. You’ll have to be careful about captures, Mr. Weasley. If it’s too dangerous, we’ll have to turn back.”

Ron nodded. “Uh huh, but you still need to be the king, Professor. The game doesn’t end in this room. If you’re the one going forward, you’re the most important piece to protect.”

Vector considered protesting again, but she stopped herself. The logic was sound. “Very well. I will take the king’s square.”

“Good,” Ron said. “Harry, you take the bishop’s square. I’ll be the knight. Hermione—the castle…Let’s play.”

No sooner were they all in position, than White’s d-pawn, a life-sized armoured knight with a sword on his hip, confidently strutted forward two squares.

Ron nodded at the move and then called out, “Pawn to d5!”

An identical black pawn strutted forward two squares, coming nose to nose with the white one. The human players noticed that, unlike normal wizard’s chess, the pieces were all silent. Then, White’s c-pawn also moved two squares forward.

Ron turned to Hermione when he saw the new position. “Queen’s Gambit,” he said. “What do you think, accept or decline?”

“Or something else?” Hermione replied. “I don’t know; you’re the better player.”

“I suggest decline,” Professor Vector said. “We need to play a defensive line, and that’s one of the strongest ones.”

“Hmm…good idea,” Ron agreed. “Pawn to e6!”

The e-pawn moved forward one square. Then, a little to Ron’s and Hermione’s surprise, McGonagall’s pieces continued playing the Orthodox Line to their Queen’s Gambit declined, with one of the White Knights moving to c3. Ron, however, decided to take the game off the Orthodox Line. “Harry, e7,” he said. Harry moved one square forward along his diagonal.

White took advantage of the opening, and the white c-pawn stepped forward to make a capture. The human players all gasped as he bent down and grabbed their d-pawn by the wrist and ankle, lifted the statue that must have weighed five hundred pounds high in the air, swung him around for a full revolution, and then _threw_ him over the heads of the other pieces, the stalactites folding out of the way, until he slammed into the back wall of the room behind them and slumped to the floor as if unconscious.

“ _That_ …doesn’t look good,” Hermione squeaked.

“Nothing for it, though,” Ron said grimly. “We’ve got to keep playing.”

“Professor?” Hermione said nervously.

Vector thought for a long moment. “Given the seriousness of the circumstances, I suppose I’ll allow it. But do be careful. That doesn’t look _lethal_ , but it will probably put you in the Hospital Wing should you be unfortunate enough to be captured.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am,” Ron said determinedly.

They played on. It was a conservative game for a while, mostly deploying pieces, making a few captures on both sides. But then, it Harry’s turn to capture a piece.

This was a problem they hadn’t thought of before. The White Pawn didn’t move as Harry walked up to it, standing on the corner of its square. “Well, move!” he ordered, but the statue remained motionless with its arms folded across its chest.

“Maybe we have to throw it, somehow, like the other pieces do,” Hermione suggested.

“But I can’t do that!” Harry protested. “Shouldn’t the magic take care of it or something?”

“Not on its own,” Vector said. “I suspect that’s part of the challenge. But a Levitation Charm might work. I think the charms on the room may allow it.” She pointed her wand at the White Pawn, and said, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” With a great effort, she lifted the statue up into the air and tipped it on its side. Sure enough, the waving stalactites folded out of the way, giving her room to move it over the heads of the other pieces. She clutched her wand in both fists as the weight of it took its toll. With her arms shaking and sweat dripping down her forehead, she finally released her spell, and the pawn fell to the floor behind the board with a mighty crash. She slumped in her square, barely keeping her feet. “Phew. Let’s hope we don’t have to do that too many times.”

But a few moves later, Ron had to capture a bishop—a nasty looking creature with a real Cardinal Richelieu look. Standing six feet tall plus the full clerical robes and mitre, it was quite a bit heavier than the pawn. Professor Vector still tried to lift it, as before. She stood on her square, huffing and puffing and clutching her wand tight, but she could only make the Bishop rattle from side to side, lift a couple inches in the air, and then crash back down onto its feet. The statue smirked at them silently.

“I’m sorry. It’s too heavy,” Vector said. “I don’t know how else we can move it.”

“Wait!” Hermione jumped in. “Remember the troll? We can lift it if we work together. Everyone cast the spell at once. One…two…three…”

The Bishop got a satisfyingly dismayed look on its face as it lifted into the air. It _was_ hard to lift. Hermione’s legs were wobbling from the effort, and Harry started sweating so much his glasses looked like they might slide off his face. Hermione could feel why Professor Vector had so much trouble as she felt the energy drain out of her, but they managed to move the Bishop off the board.

“Blimey, that was tough,” Ron exclaimed. “I hope we don’t have to do that with the King.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hermione wheezed.

The game seemed to get even tougher after that. Ron needed a long time to consider his moves. Hermione and Professor Vector offered bits of advice at times, but they could see that Professor McGonagall and Ron were both out of their league. _“A transfiguration can only do as much as the caster can visualise,”_ McGonagall had drilled into them. Unfortunately, _she_ could apparently visualise a lot when it came to chess.

“Harry, there’s something I’ve been wondering,” Hermione said to pass the time as she watched from her spot on the back row.

He turned around to look at her. “What’s that?”

“How did you get past the Devil’s Snare?”

At that, to her surprise, Harry actually smiled. “Well, the vines grabbed me,” he said. “And I didn’t know what they were, but I didn’t like the look of it, so I just thought, “What would Hermione do?’”

Hermione turned bright red. “And…?” she said nervously.

“I used that blue fire spell you’re always using.”

“The Bluebell Flames?” she gasped, and then smiled herself. “Harry, I didn’t know you could do that spell.”

“Uh, yeah…me either.”

“Oh…” Hermione said. “Well…it’s a good thing you got it, then.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, indeed, Mr. Potter,” Professor Vector said. “When I didn’t see you before I reached the Devil’s Snare myself, I feared the worst for a moment.”

“Hmm…Professor,” Hermione said curiously, “Since ordinary fire repels it, Devil’s Snare doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle to an adult wizard, now that I think about it.”

“That’s because it wasn’t an obstacle. It’s there to provide a soft land to anyone trying to enter legitimately. When dried, Devil’s Snare makes for excellent matting.”

“Oh.”

There was a loud crash as Ron directed their other castle to make a capture.

It was a tough game. They lost the Black Queen while managing to capture both of the White Bishops. Hermione was a little annoyed that Ron seemed to be holding her back. She was still stuck on the back row, facing down a White Rook on her diagonal.

Hermione was also starting to really dislike the White Queen. Well over six feet tall and cast in gleaming marble with an elaborate crown and flowing royal robes, Hermione thought she would fit perfectly as the White Witch from _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_. She also looked more and more smug and condescending each time she picked up a pawn and threw it like a rag doll behind the board.

And then, Hermione realised, Ron stood one move away from an easy checkmate, but unfortunately, it was on the wrong tempo. The White Queen noticed this, too and she stepped forward and threw yet another pawn behind Hermione’s head, attacking the square where Ron needed to go. Worse yet, Harry was on the same row and was also under attack.

“Uh, Ron…?” her friend said nervously.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” the redheaded boy said.

Hermione surveyed the scene. They needed to block the White Queen’s attack on Harry and reopen their line of attack to the White King—and be wary of the consequences. This was a tough problem. She wasn’t certain she could work that many moves ahead correctly, but one look at Ron’s face as it grew more and more grim told her all she needed to know. There were only two choices, and she knew which one he’d make.

“Ron,” she said worriedly, “please tell me you’re seeing something I’m not.”

“No, “fraid not,” he replied.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“We can win, but…” Hermione started pointing at the pieces. “Our other rook goes to c3, queen takes rook, knight checks king…queen takes knight, bishop checks king, queen to e3, bishop takes queen and checkmates.”

Harry could barely follow that, but he saw where Hermione’s finger was pointed in the middle of that sequence. “Ron, no, you can’t!” he yelled.

But Ron shook his head. “It has to be done. You’ve got to make some sacrifices in chess.”

“But—”

“Do you want to stop Snape or not?”

“Ron—”

“Are you quite sure, Mr. Weasley?” Professor Vector asked, although she was pretty sure she could see the same thing.

“Definitely.”

“I’m sorry, but he’s right, ma’am,” Hermione answered. “The only other choice is rook c3, queen takes rook, _bishop_ checks king, queen takes _bishop_ —” She was pointing at Harry. “—knight checkmates.”

“I’ll do it!” Harry said at once.

“No!” Ron stopped him. “Harry, I told you the game doesn’t end in this room. You keep saying if You-Know-Who…” he gulped. “If he _does_ come back, he’ll come after you, and you’ll be better off if you’re not the one stuck in the Hospital Wing. Just remember, once I check the king, all of White’s moves are forced. You’ll have to play it out.”

“Mr. Weasley, I will _try_ to cast a Cushioning Charm on you,” Vector said. “Unfortunately, I can’t be sure that it will work. Be sure to brace your head with your arms.”

“Thanks, Professor,” said Ron uneasily. “Rook to c3!”

The Black Rook moved forward two squares, interposing itself between Harry and the White Queen. But the White Queen just flashed a wicked smile, lifted the Rook up, and threw it behind the lines before gazing down at Harry triumphantly.

Ron took a deep breath. “Well, here I go…”

“Wait!” Hermione yelled. “We win in three moves! Stand aside!”

Nothing happened.

“It was worth a shot.”

Vector drew her wand and pointed it at Ron. “ _Pulvinus_ ,” she said, but it wasn’t clear if it did anything. “That’s the best I can do, Mr. Weasley. I only hope it’s enough.”

Ron nodded. He was shaking as he stepped two squares forward and one to the left.

The White Queen whirled around as if she’d been offended and angrily strode toward Ron. The boy started screaming, and the other children weren’t far behind as she picked him up by one wrist and one ankle, swung him around in a circle, and threw him toward the back wall hard. And then, something happened that they didn’t expect: the door back into Professor Vector’s chamber slid open, and Ron flew straight through it. There was just enough time for them to hear a thud and an anguished scream of pain before it slammed shut again.

“Ron!” Hermione yelled. She started to move.

“Don’t move!” Harry ordered. “We’re still playing!” He pulled back to c5 to check the White King. The White Queen, looking distinctly nervous now, moved into Harry’s line of fire—her only legal move, if a futile one. Harry moved toward her spot on e3, glaring at her. But then, as he drew his wand, he realised there was a problem. The Queen was even heavier than the Bishop, and there were only three of them now. “D’you think we can lift her?” he asked. A mocking grin appeared on the White Queen’s face at his uncertainty.

“We’ve got to try,” Hermione said. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

Two other spells joined her own, and the White Queen started to rattle on her feet, but stayed in place. Her grin grew even wider. Hermione was tiring fast. She was putting so much power into the spell that it felt like she was sprinting flat out, and it wasn’t enough. She dropped to one knee, both her hands gripping white-knuckled, and poured out all her anger at what the White Queen had done to Ron into her wand. Distantly, she saw Harry also drop to his knees, and Professor Vector looked like she was wavering. But finally, the White Queen lifted into the air, a look of horror crossing her face. The trio pushed with all their might, and she flew back behind the enemy lines and crashed to the floor.

“Take that!” Hermione choked out.

Harry was panting hard as he pushed himself to his feet and took his place on the e3 square. Praying they wouldn’t have to do that again, he faced the White King and yelled, “Checkmate!”

To everyone’s immense relief, the White King took his crown from his head and, with a frustrated expression, threw it at Harry’s feet with a loud thud, and both the white and black pieces stepped aside to let them pass.

“Yes!” Harry whooped, pumping his fist in the air. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Harry, what about Ron?” Hermione called from behind him.

Everyone looked at each other. “He was alive—and conscious. I don’t think he landed too hard,” Vector said, though she didn’t sound too certain. “But just the same, one or both of you should probably go back to help him.”

“But what if the other obstacles need all three of us again,” protested Harry.

Everyone was silent for another moment.

“How many more are there, Professor?” Hermione said slowly.

“There should be two: Professor Quirrell’s and Professor Snape’s. I know Professor Quirrell brought in another troll.” (“Eep!” said Hermione.) “I don’t know what Professor Snape did.”

“Quirrell didn’t use an anti-dark magic spell?” Harry said in surprise.

“He might have done. If he’s any kind of competent—though I’m not convinced of that—he’ll have charmed the troll to be resistant to magic. Now, if you two _insist_ on coming along, let me look first, please.” Vector walked unsteadily to the door, pushed it open slowly, and peaked inside. Then, she sighed with relief and turned around. “The thief’s knocked it out. That should just leave Professor Snape’s obstacle…So I’ll let you come and take a look. If we can solve it, I’ll go on, and you two go back. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” both children replied.

“Good. Come quickly.”

They walked into the next chamber, still shaking a bit from their ordeal on the chessboard, and were immediately hit with a familiar and very disgusting odour. They held their noses as they tiptoed across the room past a mountain troll that was probably a good fifteen feet tall and even uglier than the one they had met on Halloween, thankfully out cold with a bloody lump on its head.

To their surprise, the door at the far side of the troll’s chamber was not closed. Instead, as soon as they walked through the archway, bright blue flames sprang into existence behind them, filling the doorway from floor to ceiling. At the same moment, black flames that seemed to emit darkness and not light appeared in the doorway on the other side of the room.

“We’re trapped!” Harry said.

Hermione tentatively reached out a hand toward the blue fire behind them. “Bluebell Flames,” she said with relief. “We can get back alright.”

“Not forward,” Professor Vector said. “That’s cursed fire and very hot.” It was true—they could feel the heat radiating from it. The only other thing in the room was a table with seven potion bottles and a roll of parchment on it.

“This must be a clue,” Hermione said, and she opened the parchment. “ _Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind_ …” She read over the poem. “Oh, it’s a logic puzzle! Three bottles are nettle wine, three are…poison, and one will protect the drinker to move ahead. Yes, that’s brilliant. Snape’s always saying how a lot of the greatest wizards haven’t got an ounce of logic. This should be easy, then. Just give me a minute…” She started muttering to herself and pointing at the bottles. It wasn’t long before she said, “Got it. It’s this one.” She pointed to the third bottle in the row.

“Are you sure, Hermione,” Vector asked.

“Positive.”

“No. I don’t think so,” Harry jumped in.

“What…?” Hermione said in disbelief. He hadn’t even seen the riddle. “Why not?”

“It’s too easy. Even if most wizards couldn’t figure it out, and even if Snape’s _not_ the thief, do you really think he’d make it that obvious? It must be a trap.”

“Harry, I know you and Snape have had problems, but I still think you’re overreacting.”

“Actually, Hermione, I have to agree with your friend on this one,” Vector said, to her dismay. “That _is_ the sort of thing Professor Snape would do. And besides, there’s always the danger that the thief mixed up the bottles.”

Hermione deflated. “Then how do we figure out which one is safe?”

“I dunno,” Harry said grimly. They were so close, he thought. There had to be a way. “Is there a way we can test them with magic?”

Vector shook her head. “Not with what we have here.”

Harry sighed. Was there another way? Had Snape thought about if someone legitimately tried to get in, and the bottles had been mixed up if? Did he even care? He looked around the room for anything that might be useful, but there was nothing. The room was empty.

Wait, no! There _was_ something. With his Seeker skills, he noticed some things fluttering around the blue flames behind them, and several more of them lying motionless on the floor beside the door.

“That’s it!” he cried. He ran back to the door and jumped up in the air, as if snatching for a Snitch. Then he seemed to catch something and ran back and dropped his prize on the table: a very dazed gypsy moth. “We can test the potions on these.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. She didn’t much care for animal testing, but under the circumstances, she could make an exception. “Harry, that’s brilliant! We just need a drop of each bottle. Quick, try to catch some more. I’ll test the potions.”

Professor Vector watched with interest as the two children became like a well-oiled machine. Harry put his Quidditch skills to good use while Hermione picked up the first bottle and tipped it carefully, letting a single drop of potion fall onto the moth. The insect immediately collapsed and lay still.

Hermione frowned, but quickly moved on to the second bottle, since Harry already had another moth ready. She was soon very grateful that he had thought of the idea to test the potions as not only the first three, but the first _five_ bottles she tested, including the one that was supposed to send the drinker forward, turned out to be poison. On the sixth bottle, one of the ones that Hermione had thought was poison, the moth shuddered, but kept beating its wings when the potion was dripped on it. So that wasn’t poison. Now, how to test it in the fire?

But Harry already had the answer: “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” The moth beat its wings futilely against the magic. Hermione grimaced as Harry directed it forward through the air until it passed into the cursed flames. But when he pulled it back, the creature was still fluttering and not even singed.

“Well, that’s it then,” Vector said solemnly. She picked up the potion bottle. “Mr. Potter—Harry, I owe you an apology. I didn’t think it was possible, but it seems all these obstacles were not as secure as we thought.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said reluctantly. “Just be sure to stop Snape—or whoever it is.”

She nodded. “Hermione, there are not enough points to take away for how reckless you were in coming here tonight.” Hermione paled considerably. “And there are not enough points to give back for your displays of brilliance here—that goes for you _and_ your friends. Please pass that along to Ronald for me.”

“I will, ma’am,” she said, flushing.

“This is where I must take my leave of you. Go back, help your friend, and get all three of yourselves out of here. Them find Professor McGonagall, tell her whatever you have to to make her listen, and owl Professor Dumbledore.”

Harry nodded in understanding. Hermione’s lip trembled, and she suddenly dashed at her favourite teacher and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Professor, please be careful,” she sobbed.

“Always…Now, go!”

Septima Vector watched as the two children turned and passed through the blue flames with a silent prayer that they would make it back alright. Then, she swallowed the protective potion and felt its icy tendrils flowing through her body. She took a deep breath, drew her wand, and stepped forward through the cursed fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gules, Or, Vert, Azure, Purpure, and Argent: from the Old French for “red,” “gold,” “green,” “blue,” “purple,” and “silver,” as used in heraldry.
> 
> Pulvinus: based on the Latin for “cushion.”
> 
> In case you were wondering, Alice’s secret number was 11,869, and Bob’s was 2,574.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The kernel of the map of Harry Potter is JK Rowling.

The thief was there, standing in front of an ornate mirror in his purple turban.

“Quirrell!” Septima Vector hissed.

The man whirled around, and to her surprise, he was smiling rather than twitching with fear.

“I should have known,” Septima said. “It’s always the Defence Professor.”

“Why, Septima, what a surprise.” Not only was Quirrell not stuttering, but his voice was smoother than it had ever been as the Muggle Studies Professor. “I was rather expecting to meet young Harry Potter here.”

“And you might well have, with the way you left half the doors open. Fortunately, his friends are _slightly_ more responsible than he is.”

Quirrell laughed at that. “I would not have expected that, given his house. But no matter, my Master will deal with him soon enough.”

Septima paled. “Your Master?”

Quirrell’s smile curled wickedly. “Oh yes, Septima, you and our other colleagues _did_ do good work. I could never have got through all those obstacles on my own. But of course, how could you have stopped me when I had Lord Voldemort on my side?”

It was all Septima could do to keep from screaming. Potter was right? It _was_ He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who wanted the stone? She tried to focus on anything else to not lose her head. “H-h-how did you get through mine, then?” she asked.

“Ah, that was the most difficult one.” He said. “Some sort of muggle code, I’m sure. You always were far too enamoured of them. Luckily, my master found a very obscure charm to make the statues colour-blind. And even that didn’t work by itself, but changing the colour-blindness from grey to red did the trick.”

 _Which would have been interpreted as all zeros,_ Septima thought. _And then the code zero would open it. But I didn_ _’t think something like that was even possible. Almost any red filter should have changed the blue and violet to near-black._

“I assume _you_ simply had a key, since the charm _should_ have worn off by now,” Quirrell added.

 _And it nearly had_ , Septima realised with a start. _But their vision was still just distorted enough for Hermione to fool them._ “S-s-something like that,” she lied.

Quirrell nodded. “Of course, I set an easy task for myself.”

 _Of course he did_. “So it was all an act, then?” she said, her anger rising. “The stuttering, the incompetence, being scared of your own shadow, all of it?”

Quirrell’s smile turned condescending. “Of course. After all, who would ever suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?”

“And the troll at Halloween?” she made the connection. “That was just a distraction?”

“Certainly. Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around, Snape still had the presence of mind to stop me. But enough of this nonsense. I need to examine this interesting mirror.” He began tapping around the mirror’s ornate frame. “I know the mirror is the key to finding the Stone. Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this. I need to get the Stone to my Master before he returns.”

And that was enough for Septima. Drawing on her boiling anger and pushing aside her fears of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, she raised her wand and yelled, “You son of a bitch! You nearly killed my favourite student! And if you want that Stone, you’ll have to go through me! _Stupefy_!”

If this were Stuttering Quirrell, Septima thought, she could have beaten him easily. But this Quirrell proved to be supremely competent. He whirled around and deflected the Stunner with a single wave of his wand.

Septima hadn’t duelled in ages. She’d been fairly good at it in her youth, like most good arithmancers, but she was long out of practice. She threw up shields and cast standard hexes to capture and incapacitate, but she was no match for Quirrell, who was throwing out dark curses like candy. It was barely have a minute before a Bludgeoning Hex got past her shield and threw her into the wall, and then everything went black.

* * *

“Ron!” Hermione and Harry ran across Professor Vector’s chamber where their redheaded friend was sitting and clutching his right arm.

“Ron, are you alright?” Harry asked.

“No,” he winced. “I think my arm’s broken…I don’t think that Cushioning Charm worked…where’s Vector?”

“She went to stop the thief,” Hermione said quickly. “We got her past the rest of the traps, but we have to get help.”

“Can you walk?” said Harry.

“I think so…Ow! I think I’m just…bruised everywhere else.” He staggered to his feet. He was limping slightly and had a nasty bruise on his wrist where the White Queen had grabbed him, but he laid his good arm on Harry’s shoulders for support.

The trio high-tailed it back to the room with the Devil’s Snare where the lone broomstick rested against the wall.

“Up!” Harry ordered. The broom sprang into his hand, and he straddled it. “Ron, get in the middle so you can hold on. Hermione, will you be okay in the back?”

 _No_ , she thought. “Do I have a choice?”

Ron climbed on the broom, again wrapping his good arm over Harry’s shoulder. Hermione got on the back and wrapped her arms tight around Ron’s waist. The boy winced in pain again, but sat still.

Then Harry kicked off and tipped the broom nearly vertical, sailing up toward the trapdoor high above.

“Oh, no—I don’t like this! Oh, I really don’t like this—Ahhh!” Hermione screamed, but the flight was mercifully short, although it was probably only Fluffy’s surprise that kept him from snatching the broom out of the air with his massive teeth before they managed to open the door.

“Phew, that was close,” Harry said.

“You’re telling me,” Ron added.

“Harry, please put us down,” Hermione pleaded.

“There’s no time. Where’s McGonagall’s apartment.”

Hermione pulled her map from her robes and checked it over. “Sixth floor, right below Gryffindor Tower, but—Aaaiiieeeeee!” She screamed much louder than before as Harry started flying _through the corridors_ at blatantly unsafe speeds.

“Snape!” Ron yelled as they zoomed through the fourth floor. And it _was_ Snape. Harry nearly flew into a wall when he realised the Potions Master wasn’t the thief. Snape shouted words Hermione had never heard a teacher utter before and started shooting spells after them as they passed, but Harry was too fast for him.

On the fifth floor they blew past Filch and Mrs. Norris. Filch was also too slow to catch a broom, but the scrawny cat was hot on their tail. Then on the sixth floor, Harry very nearly ran them into a sight they had never expected and were overjoyed to see. Professor McGonagall was already out in the halls, speaking with none other than Professor Dumbledore.

“Professor!” they all yelled as they skidded to a stop. Of course, the moment they landed, McGonagall blew her top.

“What the blazes is the meaning of this!” she shouted. “Fifty points each from Gryffindor and detention the rest of term!”

At this point, they completely ignored the punishment, and not only because Professor Vector would (they hoped) reverse it. Harry jumped off the broom and turned desperately to Dumbledore, saying, “Professor, someone’s trying to steal the Philosopher’s Stone!”

“What!” Dumbledore and McGonagall both exclaimed.

“Professor Vector’s still down there,” Hermione cried.

But before anyone could respond, there was another shout, and a dark figure ran toward them, his black robes billowing behind him. “Potter! Weasley! Granger!” Snape roared. “Fifty points each from Gryffindor and detention the rest of term!”

“I already said that, Severus,” McGonagall snapped. “And if you three are on about that blasted Stone again—”

“Were not lying, ma’am!” Hermione said. McGonagall started talking again, but she yelled over her. “Professor Vector went in the last chamber. We got past the chessboard, and Quirrell’s troll, and Snape’s cursed fire and everything!”

The three professors all stopped cold.

“You know about the chessboard?” McGonagall whispered.

“ _And_ the cursed fire?” Snape said most suspiciously.

“I think you had all better explain exactly what happened,” Professor Dumbledore said gravely.

Harry took a deep breath. “Ron and I heard Quirrell talking to someone about stealing the Philosopher’s Stone—” He carefully left out who he’d thought that someone was.

“And none of you lot would believe us,” Ron said, before shrinking back nervously.

“So I went and tried to stop him,” Harry added.

“And we went to Professor Vector and tried to stop _Harry_ —” said Hermione. And they went back and forth, quickly summarising what had happened until they got to the part about Professor Vector going into the last chamber. As they spoke, all three professors grew increasingly pale, even Dumbledore. It seemed that none of them had considered the Stone to be at any risk either.

“Enough,” Dumbledore said, with visible apprehension. “Take Mr. Weasley to the Hospital Wing. I must stop the thief. _Fawkes_!” Suddenly, there was a blinding light. Something big and winged and seemingly made of pure fire flashed into existence above the Headmaster’s head. Then, the fire seemed to engulf him, and in a wink, he was gone. Hermione marvelled at what she was pretty sure had been a real live phoenix, while McGonagall and Snape stood still with shock.

“Well…you heard him…” McGonagall said, tight-lipped. “Hospital Wing.”

The two professors escorted the three children to the Hospital Wing. Harry kept taking nervous glances at Snape over his shoulder. When they reached the Hospital Wing, McGonagall quickly alerted Madame Pomfrey, who looked quite displeased to have to be dealing with an injury as this hour. But she’d barely got to looking at Ron, when the great golden flame flashed into existence again, depositing Professor Dumbledore on the floor with a beautiful red and gold bird on his shoulder as he knelt over a semi-conscious Professor Vector.

Hermione gasped and squeaked, “Professor!” and rushed to Vector’s side.

The arithmancer slowly blinked awake. “Hermione…?” she said feebly.

“Albus, what happened?” McGonagall said fearfully.

Dumbledore offhandedly levitated Vector onto a bed. “She’d been attacked in the Philosopher’s Stone’s chamber,” he said quickly. “The thief, whom I’m almost certain was Quirrell, had already left, and he’d taken the entire mirror with him.” McGonagall gasped. “He was already out to the third floor and gone when I got there. We must search the castle at once, Minerva. Rouse the other teachers, and inform all the ghost and portraits. Quickly!” The three professors started to leave.

Hermione got an idea. “Wait, Professor—”

“Miss Granger, there is no time—”

“Please, sir, what kind of mirror is it?”

Suddenly, Professor Vector coughed and rasped out, “Big…heavy…” Hermione leaned close to her. “Eight feet…bronze frame…”

“Perfect! That means it’ll slow him down, and it won’t fit out the windows.” She pulled out her map and spread the pages out across the next bed, where Ron was sitting.

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall snapped, even more impatiently.

“Wait look! I’ve been exploring the castle all year. There’s only two ways out into the grounds from the West Wing, here and here. And there’s only four ways into the East Wing. And with all the stairs around here—”

“There. The Clock Tower,” Ron pointed. “If he came out on the third floor, that’s the only exit on that level.”

“Of course. Excellent deduction,” Dumbledore said. “Severus, come with me to the Clock Tower. Minerva, rouse the teachers to cover the other exits.”

The three professors turned to leave.

“You-Know-Who!” Vector coughed.

McGonagall stopped cold. “What?” she gasped.

“Quirrell…working for…You-Know-You…”

“I suspected as much, Septima. Get some rest,” Dumbledore said, and he was gone, followed by his two colleagues.

“I knew it!” Harry said. Hermione sighed and hung her head.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said. “I thought I had everything figured out. All the professors were so sure, and there was no reason to think your scar meant anything until…well…I’ll try to not dismiss what you say from now on.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron added, still cradling his arm. “We’re sorry we thought you’d gone nutters. I guess you know your dark lords, huh.”

Madam Pomfrey had also paled at Vector’s revelation, but she remained professional: “Lie down, Mr. Weasley. I’ll get to you in a moment.”

Hermione stood by Vector’s side as Madam Pomfrey continued mending her ribs. “Professor, what happened?” she asked.

Vector tried to take a deep breath and grimaced in pain. “Bludgeoner to the chest,” she whispered. “Knocked me out cold. Must have run for it, then…” She smiled a little. “That really was great work, Hermione.”

“Thanks,” she said absently. “But why do I feel like I’m missing something?”

Everyone frowned. _Was_ there something else? Harry was sitting on a nearby bed pondering the same question, then it came to him: “Hey, if that mirror was so big, how did Quirrell get it up through the trapdoor?”

Something ice cold clenched in Hermione’s chest. “Oh, Merlin! He couldn’t have done—not before Dumbledore caught him. And we took the broom. He must have had another way.” She started frantically flipping through the pages of her map looking for any other way out. “Come on, come on, come on…Ron, you’re the chess master. If you were Quirrell, what would your strategy be for getting something big and heavy out of the castle without someone noticing if you were stuck below ground?”

“Huh? I don’t know,” Ron said, sounding a little dazed. “Er…however he got the troll _in_?”

“Drainage tunnels.” The words came from Professor Vector.

“What?”

“Quirrell was getting the trolls in through the drainage tunnels under the castle,” she whispered.

“Of course, that’s the perfect way, isn’t it,” Ron said proudly. “No one ever goes there, so we wouldn’t think of them like the regular exits. And he’s already down there.”

Harry leaned over her shoulder and looked at the map. “Where are the tunnels?” he said forcefully.

Hermione flipped to the page for the dungeons and tried to remember where anything was that might go down from there. “Um…the plumbing all goes into the lake…they must come out there, next to the boathouse,” she said.

“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry snatched the page out of her hand and ran out the door.

“Harry? Harry stop!” she yelled, running after him. But he wouldn’t answer, and he was faster than she was. “Will—you—stop—that—oh, _Locomotor Wibbly_!”

Harry went down hard, and she finally caught up with him. “Hermione!” he shouted angrily.

But she snatched the page from her map back and grabbed him hard by the wrist as she cancelled her Jelly-Legs Jinx. “Will you _think_ for once, Harry? Professor Vector got clobbered down there. You can’t stop him by yourself. We have to warn Dumbledore. Come on, the Clock Tower is closest, anyway.”

Harry glared at her, but allowed himself to be dragged along as she ran off in the other direction. With her excellent knowledge of the castle, they were at the exit in record time…

Only to be blocked by an angry wall of Snape. “What is it _now_ , Potter,” the Potions Master growled.

“Professor, we were wrong,” Hermione said, a phrase that made Snape blink in surprise, coming from her. “Quirrell couldn’t have flown the mirror out of the trapdoor. It’s too big, and we took the only broom. He has to be in the drainage tunnels. You have to send someone to where they let out.”

“Oh my word,” Dumbledore said from behind Snape. “How could we have missed that? Severus, stay here. I will go. _Fawkes_!” The Headmaster vanished in another rushing blaze of fire, leaving the children and Snape staring at each other.

No one moved for a moment.

“Are you quite finished?” the Potions Master grumbled.

Hermione and Harry nodded slowly before turning and walking back to the Hospital Wing. Harry was definitely sulking, Hermione saw, but it was better than him charging off into danger _again_. It was true that he was the only reason they’d found out Quirrell—and she was still having trouble believing it was poor, stuttering Professor Quirrell—but ultimately, all this was the fault of the teachers, as much as she hated to admit it. She hoped there would be a good explanation for everything when it was all over.

* * *

Quirinus Quirrell did not like the wet, musty drainage tunnels underneath Hogwarts Castle, but he certainly seemed to spend a lot of time here. Guided by the light of his wand, he dragged the Mirror of Erised over the rough ground, being careful not to let it tip over, just as his Master had ordered.

His plan was simple: follow the drainage tunnels to the end, steal a boat from the boathouse, and sail across the Black Lake outside of the anti-apparition wards so he could get the damn thing out of the area. No one would find him down here. His Master had a good deal more sense than most wizards.

Unfortunately for him, Albus Dumbledore was not most wizards. For there he stood silhouetted again the tunnel’s exit, wand drawn. “I’m very disappointed in you Quirinus,” he said simply.

“Dumbledore!” Quirrell hissed. “How—?”

“When I reached London to find that no one had actually summoned me, I took a more expedient way back. Surely you must have anticipated such.”

Quirrell dashed behind the edge of the Mirror to use it as a shield. He knew there was no way he could face Dumbledore in a fair fight, and so did his Master. It was only by using the Mirror and the Stone inside as a cover that he would have a chance to get away.

“Please reconsider, Quirinus,” Dumbledore said calmly. “You do not need to serve Lord Voldemort.”

“But I do,” he hissed. “He has bound me to him. I cannot disobey. I must have the Stone for him.”

“Then I am afraid that Voldemort will be disappointed. I am ashamed to say that we allowed you to get much closer than we ever expected. But I cannot allow you to take it.” Then Dumbledore did something Quirrell had not expected. He stepped forward and gazed directly into the Mirror. A moment later, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red crystal. “ _I_ have the Philosopher’s Stone, Quirinus. If you turn back now, I may yet be able to help you.”

Quirrell’s blood ran cold. Dumbledore had the Stone in hand, and would certainly never let him near it again. He had failed!

At the same moment, the other presence in Quirrell’s head evaluated the situation with a rarely-felt emotion: fear. The Stone was out of his reach, likely permanently. Quirrell was not strong enough to face Dumbledore, and Dumbledore was too fast to let him escape. There was only one chance left, and a slim one at that: his secondary target—something more valuable to Dumbledore than the Stone itself to offer in exchange. But he could never get there fast enough with that damn songbird on the old wizard’s shoulder. However, Lord Voldemort was nothing if not crafty, and he had a plan.

“ _Kill the bird_!” The voice was only a whisper—a high pitched hissing from under Quirrell’s turban that Dumbledore hopefully wouldn’t be able to make out, even if he knew who it was.

“Master, I can’t—” Quirrell whimpered.

“ _Do it_!” And then, propelled by a will not his own, Quirrell’s arm pointed at Albus Dumbledore’s left shoulder, and he incanted, “ _Avada Kedavra_!”

There was a sound of rushing death, and a green light shot from Quirrell’s wand. In the cramped tunnel with nowhere to hide and nothing to shield with, Dumbledore tried to dive to the side and conjure a barrier at the same time, which would have worked just fine—had Quirrell been aiming for his chest. Instead, momentarily distracted by the motion, Fawkes took the full force of the curse. He burst into flame and then flopped onto Dumbledore’s sleeve, small, wrinkled, and, most importantly, flightless.

“ _Run_!” the voice ordered.

Quirrell banished the Mirror of Erised at Dumbledore and took off running. Without Fawkes to carry him back, the old wizard would not be able to catch him. He ran through the tunnels back to the castle proper, discarding his outer robes to run faster and get out of range of Dumbledore’s spell fire.

The voice beneath his turban hissed one more time: “ _If you wish to redeem yourself, you must do one thing: find Harry Potter_!”

* * *

Septima Vector lay in a Hospital Bed, heavily bandaged, but stubbornly refusing a Dreamless Sleep Potion until the situation was resolved. She was engaged in a deep arithmantic conversation with Hermione about just how she had built her Diffie-Hellman Key Exchange puzzle and how Quirrell had got around it, which went right over Harry’s and Ron’s and even Madam Pomfrey’s heads. Hermione was dismayed that she hadn’t fully solved it, but Vector assured her that her solution was still brilliantly devised and executed.

Ron and Harry were both sitting on the adjacent bed, speaking to each other in hushed tones. Harry was understandably still very nervous and would be until he was sure the Philosopher’s Stone was safe from Voldemort. Ron tried his best to reassure him, but for his own part was mostly annoyed that Madam Pomfrey was keeping him overnight. His broken arm was mended, with just a couple of drops of Skele-Gro administered, as was standard, to make sure the bone healed just as strong as before, but he was still pretty banged up.

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside. With a loud bang, a figure burst through the doors: Professor Quirrell, clad in his uniform shirt and trousers, the sash of his turban trailing behind him. Before Madam Pomfrey or Professor Vector could react he took one look at Harry and yelled, “Potter!” At the same moment a high, sibilant voice hissed, “ _Seize him_!”

Harry jumped off the bed in terror, but Quirrell was too fast for him. With an energy and determination that the children had never seen from him, he rushed forward and grabbed Harry by the arm.

But then, both of them screamed in pain, and they fell apart. Harry was clutching at his forehead, where, to Ron’s and Hermione’s horror, his scar had turned red and inflamed. Quirrell was even worse, clutching his hand, which looked like it had been burnt.

But the hissing voice yelled louder, “ _Seize him! SEIZE HIM_!” Quirrell lunged again, this time, wrapping his hands around Harry’s throat. Both of them began screaming again. Harry flailed with his hands and knocked Quirrell’s turban off, revealing quite possibly the most disturbing thing Hermione had ever seen, and after everything that had happened this year, that was saying something.

There was another face on the back of Quirrell’s head—a face with glowing red eyes, chalk white skin, and mere slits for a nose. The face was screaming. Vector, Pomfrey, and Ron all screamed, too, and Hermione let out a terrified whine as she realised that that face, somehow, must belong to Voldemort himself, the wizard whom most wizards feared even to name.

Quirrell pinned Harry to the ground with his knees and pulled his burning hands off the boy’s neck. Harry’s scar was _bleeding_. “Master—my hands! My hands!” Quirrell whimpered.

“ _Stun him, you fool_ ,” Voldemort’s face ordered.

Quirrell drew his wand, but Harry reached up and grabbed his face. Both of them screamed even louder, and it was then that Hermione realised what she had to do. Maybe everyone else was too scared of Voldemort to move, but Harry had him pinned as much as he had Harry. Hermione grabbed her wand from the bedside table, angled to get a clear shot, and screamed, “ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

Quirrell went stiff as a board, and as he did, Harry pushed himself out from under him with the last of his strength. Hermione ran to him and started pulling him away.

“Ron, help me!” she cried. A little to her surprise, Ron snapped out of his terror and helped her to lift Harry onto a bed. The boy groaned and squinted around to see what had happened.

Then, just when they thought things couldn’t get any worse, a black mist rose up from Quirrell’s body and shaped itself into a semblance of a human form. It flew towards the trio, but it couldn’t seem to touch any of the three while they were touching Harry, although Hermione felt Harry’s arm get strangely hot under her fingers. But then, there was a blast of light from the door, and the dark form was banished, streaming through the window like a ghost.

Everyone turned to see Professor Dumbledore, his wand raised high, panting in the doorway. Professor Snape stood over his shoulder, and there was a tiny peeping sound coming from the Headmaster’s pocket.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry breathed. “Thank God, that was close…It was—it was—”

“Voldemort, Harry, I’m afraid so.

Vector, Pomfrey, and Ron again squeaked in horror.

“Sir, the Stone—!” Harry said.

The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched upward, and he delicately pulled a large red gem from his pocket. “The Stone is safe for the moment, Harry,” he said. “Severus, I think we should see to Quirinus. I don’t think Poppy is quite in the condition.” Indeed, Madam Pomfrey was slumped against the wall, trying to get her hands to stop trembling.

All eyes turned to the prone Defence Professor, his extra face gazing up lifelessly. But even as Dumbledore and Snape rushed over to investigate, the Body Bind broke without warning, and Quirrell’s petrified limbs flopped to the floor. Snape jerked his hand back as if he’d been burnt, Dumbledore’s breath hitched, and Hermione made of horrified “Eep!” sound. She knew she’d cast the spell better than than that. There was only one reason for it to suddenly fail. “Is he…is he…? She squeaked.

“I…I’m afraid so…” Dumbledore breathed.

“Dead…?” Harry whispered, clutching at his chest. Ron gasped. “But you mean I…I killed him?” Harry stammered.

 _Harry?_ Hermione thought. _But no,_ I _did it!_ I _was the one who cast the Body Bind and made_ _…whatever happen._

But Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes snapped towards both of them and seemed to bore into them. “No, Harry!” he said sharply, though Hermione could tell he was addressing her as well. “It was Voldemort who killed him. He possessed Professor Quirrell, and that alone was enough.” His features softened, and the Headmaster suddenly looked older and more tired than they had ever seen him. “I’m very sorry you had to see that, children,” he said grimly as he levitated the professor’s body to the bed at the end of the row and covered it with a sheet. “You are far too young to bear such a burden. Please believe that none of you bears any responsibility for his death. He was already lost to us. You were merely protecting yourselves and your friends in any ways you could.”

“Professor…” Harry said weakly. He was starting to cry, and Hermione wasn’t far behind. Ron was still frozen with horror.

“I think a Calming Draught and a Dreamless Sleep Potion for all four of you.” He motioned to Vector. “And perhaps a large, steaming mug of hot chocolate in between. I find that always helps me in trying times. We will reconvene in the morning to discuss precisely what happened and what went wrong. There will be no punishments for what happened tonight. You have all, I think, acted as well as could be expected, given these very difficult circumstances. For now, just get some rest.”

Hermione downed her Calming Draught quickly before she could completely break down and drank the hot chocolate and then the Dreamless Sleep Potion almost as fast. She had never thought she would be so glad for a mind-altering substance.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling in all languages including but not limited to ancient runes.
> 
> Well, here it is: the end of first year. Things are definitely starting to diverge from canon by now, and they will continue to do so as arithmancy becomes more important. Hermione will be learning spell analysis and some spell reversal next year and proper spellcrafting the year after that, although she can work ahead to some extent. Remember, if you have an idea for a spell that you want to see, PM me or write it in a review.

The meeting that convened in the Hospital Wing after breakfast the next morning was impressive. In additional to the three children and Professor Vector, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Snape, and Babbling were all there, along with Hagrid, sitting in a large circle. Madam Pomfrey was tut-tutting in the corner at her space being so invaded. Hermione and Ron were all mended and sitting up in chairs, but Harry and Professor Vector were still stuck in bed. Harry and Ron were worried about the Quidditch final tomorrow, but Madam Pomfrey told Harry that if he behaved himself, he’d be able to play. Hermione couldn’t fathom how the boys could be worried about Quidditch after everything that had happened, but she knew enough about Harry by now to realise that for some strange reason, that was how he dealt with stress.

“I believe that I should elaborate on the announcement that I made at breakfast,” Dumbledore began. “The full story of what happened is that Professor Quirrell was, sadly, possessed by the spirit of Lord Voldemort.”

All of the other adults plus Ron flinched. Snape discreetly rubbed his left arm.

Hermione only half-listened as Dumbledore described the events of the previous night, but she clutched at the arms of her chair as the images flashed through her mind. She was sure that the Dreamless Sleep Potion was the only way she’d got any sleep at all. Even now, she could see Quirrell’s body slumping to the floor if she closed her eyes.

_I saw a man die!_

She pushed the thought into the background as best she could and tried to focus on the conversation.

“Have you informed the Minister that You-Know-Who is back, Albus?” McGonagall asked nervously.

“I have, Minerva. However, it seemed to me that Cornelius did not want to listen,” he said flatly. “Fortunately for us, Voldemort’s confrontation with Harry left him badly weakened. I do not believe he will show himself against for some time. But back to the matter at hand: we must understand exactly what went wrong with our protections.”

The teachers went around the circle, each explaining as best they could how their obstacle had failed. The main problem seemed to be that they had underestimated their enemy. No one seemed to have expected that Voldemort would risk coming into the castle personally.

Snape, however, seemed to be more surprised that Vector, Hermione, and Harry had got past his trap. As he put it, “A know-it-all like Miss Granger should have ‘solved’ the riddle in one minute flat and then promptly drunk the Draught of the Living Death.”

 _Oh, so_ that’s _what that was_ , Hermione thought. Professor Vector looked like she was about to tell off Snape, but Hermione forced down her own anger and said, “It was Harry, Professor. He thought the riddle was too easy and decided it was a trick. _And_ he was the one who thought to test the potions on the moths.”

A look of real surprise crossed Snape’s face, and he appraised Harry carefully, before it turned back to his usual scowl. “Well, Mr. Potter,” he ground out. “I can hardly believe it, but you have shown more common sense than ninety-nine wizards out of a hundred. If only this diligence could carry over to your class work.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Dumbledore cut him off. “That will do, Severus,” the old wizard said. He then went on to explain his own trick of hiding the Philosopher’s Stone in a mirror where Quirrell could not get it out. Unfortunately, Quirrell just responded by stealing the mirror. They then heard Professor Vector’s account of last night, followed by Dumbledore’s confrontation with Quirrell in the drainage tunnels, and finally Quirrell running back up to the Hospital Wing, where his last attack failed, and Voldemort left him to die.

_I saw a man die!_

_I can_ _’t think about that right now. I have to get through this meeting._

“My scar hurt really bad,” Harry said timidly as he described that final confrontation. “And my hands, but it was like I burned Quirrell when I touched him…Why couldn’t he touch me, Professor?”

“Because he was possessed by Voldemort, Harry,” Dumbledore explained. “Your mother died to save you from Voldemort, and such a great act of love leaves its own mark—not a scar, but a protection of love in your blood and in your skin, a protection that works specifically against Voldemort to this day. For if there is one thing he cannot understand, it is love, and he could not bear to touch someone marked by something so good in opposition to him.”

“So then I did—”

“You did not kill Quirrell, Harry, though you did, in self-defence, injure him rather severely. Nor did you, Hermione,” Dumbledore added, as if he was reading her thoughts. “You cast a simple charm to incapacitate in defence of your friend, nothing more, and Voldemort would most certainly have killed Quirrell in any case as soon as he had outlived his usefulness.”

Hermione digested that. It wasn’t enough to make the sense of guilt completely go away, but it helped, though she was still left with the plain horror of what she had seen.

_I saw a man die!_

_I saw a man_ murdered!

_By Voldemort!_

_And I hexed Voldemort!_

_I had to do it. He was trying to kill Harry—or hurt him, anyway._

She tried to think what she might have done differently, and she couldn’t come up with anything. It was just a bad situation, and she did what she had to do. But she was still a nervous wreck right now.

They backtracked a bit, and Professor Snape explained his suspicions about Quirrell from the beginning of the year—suspicions that, unfortunately, he had never been able to substantiate. Harry fell clean out of his seat when he learnt, amidst much grumbling, that Snape had tried to _save_ him from Quirrell’s jinx at the first Quidditch match, not the other way around. Hermione was mortified as she remembered setting his robes on fire, but luckily, the trio all managed to keep their mouths shut about that.

They were safe now, Dumbledore assured them when the meeting ended. Voldemort had been banished from the castle, and he would not be able to pull that possession trick over on anyone again. The Philosopher’s Stone would be removed, and he would have a long talk with the Flamels about whether to keep it around at all. A new Defence Professor would be hired as soon as he could find one brave enough to apply for the job. He and the other teachers left Ron and Vector to get some rest. Most of the room look relieved that they wouldn’t have to keep listening to him say Voldemort’s name.

Only Professor McGonagall lingered behind. “I must apologise to you three,” she told the children. “I’m afraid that, in my overconfidence, I was guilty of ignoring the concerns of my students. I hope you can forgive me for failing in my duty to serve you as your head of house. You three made better Gryffindors than I did last night.”

Ron’s eyes went wide. This was sure to be a story to tell his family. Harry just gave McGonagall a reassuring look and slowly nodded. Hermione also nodded, even though she didn’t think she deserved the praise. She’d spent most of last night trying to drag Harry _away_ from doing dangerous and Gryffindor-ish things.

“And Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall added sternly before leaving the room.

Ron gulped nervously. “Yes, Professor?”

“I demand a rematch.”

Ron laughed nervously.

McGonagall left, and Hermione slumped in her chair between Harry’s and Professor Vector’s beds, not really interested in going anywhere else. She felt exhausted, and being left alone with her thoughts was only making it worse. She felt…strange, wrong. She wasn’t even sure if she should be crying. She’d cried a lot over a lot less in the past year, but this wasn’t exactly an apples-to-apples thing. Part of her wanted to, just to work it out of her system, but the tears didn’t come. She just felt this awful hollow feeling in her chest, right behind her breastbone. All she could think was that she shouldn’t have to deal with something like this.

_I_ _’m only twelve!_

It took a minute—it was only when she looked around and saw all eyes in the room were on her that she realised she had screamed it out loud instead of just thinking it.

“Sorry,” she squeaked. She could feel her face flushing and looked down at her feet.

“No, Hermione,” Professor Vector said. “It’s perfectly understandable.” She pushed herself, with difficulty, back into a sitting position and swung her feet over the edge of the bed to face her.

“I just…How did something like this happen?” Hermione burst out. “How…?” She choked as she finally started crying.

She wasn’t aware of Ron looking away in embarrassment, or the uncomfortable look crossing Harry’s face. They were affected just as much as she was, but being boys, they had their own ways of dealing with it. She was only aware of a hand laid gently on her shoulder. She practically jumped at the touch and heard a grunt of pain as she bowled into her teacher, but she soon felt Professor Vector’s arms wrap around her, and she just cried into her shoulder for a while.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Vector said softly. “You should never have been involved in this. If we had really been doing our jobs right, you wouldn’t have had to. Unfortunately, sometimes these things just happen, and you can’t escape them…I know. I’ve seen times when it was much worse. I saw a lot of children hurt very badly in the war, and I lost friends myself. Hardly anybody didn’t…Look, I won’t pretend it’s an easy thing, or a quick one, but you’ll get through this. You’re stronger than you think, Hermione. Yes you are,” she added when the girl tried to shake her head. “It took a true Gryffindor to do what you did last night.”

Hermione shook her head again and looked up. “I was just trying to stop Harry from getting hurt,” she sniffed. “I only did it because I had to.”

“Now, I _know_ you’re smarter than that, Hermione.” Vector smiled weakly. “That’s the real meaning of Gryffindor courage—doing what you have to, even when it’s frightening. Do you think just any first year could have faced that chessboard? I’m ashamed to say few of my own house would risk getting in as much trouble as you did just to leave your dorm after hours.” _And hexing You-Know-Who himself_ was left unsaid. “The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason, and you’ve proved that’s where you belong. You’ll get through this in time, and you have a lot of wonderful friends and family around you to help you.”

Hermione shuddered once and started to relax. The hollow feeling in her chest started to fill in. But then, there was something else she had to worry about.

“Professor…What am I going to tell my parents?” she said, sitting back in her chair.

“You’re still going to tell your parents?” Ron cried from across the room. “Are you nuts? I’m not even gonna tell _my_ parents.”

“I think you should, Mr. Weasley,” Vector said. “While the Headmaster may want some degree of secrecy as to what happened, the rumours are going to get out. I think your parents would much rather hear it from you than from somebody else.”

Ron shut up and looked down nervously.

“I…I don’t want to lie to them,” Hermione said. “And I told them I wouldn’t keep things from them, but this…they were really freaked out by the troll incident. I think they would have rathered I transferred instead of coming back here.”

“Well…I told you my feelings on the subject after Halloween,” Vector said. “And I will add that your parents will be receiving a form letter informing them that Professor Quirrell has died, though not one mentioning any details or your own involvement in the incident. Sadly, Quirrell isn’t the first Defence Professor to die in recent memory—many people believe the position is cursed. Your parents will likely want a further explanation.”

Hermione whined softly. “ _That_ _’ll_ be a cheerful letter,” she said bitterly. “Dear Mum and Dad, remember how I said an evil psychopath wasn’t going to get into the school and try to kill somebody?”

Vector made a small snort that sounded like she was choking down a laugh, then sighed. “If you like, I can help you again in dealing with your parents,” she said. “Actually, perhaps it might be better if you were light on details in your letter, and then I can sit down in person with you and your parents after the term ends to tell them the whole story.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You’d do that for me, Professor?”

“That much and then some, Hermione. I can honestly say I have no idea where you’re going with that mind of yours, but I certainly don’t want to miss it.”

Hermione pounced on her teacher again. “Thank you! Thank you, Professor! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could get by.”

* * *

Hermione gave the Gryffindor girls a brief account of her ordeal that night—as much as she was comfortable talking about. This was more than enough to evoke squeals of horror and as much frightened sympathy as she could handle. It was hard enough for some of the other girls just hearing about a teacher’s death, let alone an eyewitness account.

She dutifully attended the Quidditch final the next day. Harry was still reeling from the Quirrell incident himself, but flying seemed to be the one thing that gave him real joy, so she wasn’t about to take that away from him. It was a close game. Ravenclaw’s Chaser squad had a leg up on Gryffindor, but Harry caught the Snitch in time to win. There was a big party in the Common Room that night. After all, Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup for the first time in six years, and, if they could hold on to their ten-point lead for the next two days, they would take the House Cup for the first time in seven years. They managed that, too, which made for another party following on the end-of-year feast.

Hermione did her best to join in the fun, egged on by her friends, but the points seemed a lot less important now than they had at the start of the year. Truth be told, she was in a bit of a daze for the rest of the term, even though Ron, at least, seemed to have bounced back quickly from their ordeal. (Harry was just hard to read.) She spent quite a bit of time visiting Professor Vector, discussing calculus, arithmancy, and life in general. In the end, though, her professor was right: it was hard, and it would take time, but she was slowly getting better.

Harry and Ron decided to spend their time lounging in the sun in the remaining days of the term while they waited for their exam results to come out, and Hermione joined them, though she brought her calculus book with her. They’d all earned it. That much was sure. Harry, predictably, was not at all looking forward to going home again, while Hermione, like most of the students, decided it would be nice to be home again, except for the not being allowed to use magic part.

Meanwhile, with all the chaos and parties, it was the day after the House Cup was awarded when Fred and George finally caught up with her.

“Hermione,” they said, leaning on either side of her chair.

“We’ve been looking—”

“—everywhere for you.”

“Sorry,” she sighed, not sparing the energy to react to their usual bizarre selves. “I’ve been kind of out of it lately.”

“Oh, dear, you sound kind of out of it, too,” George said sympathetically.

“Where’s our regular unbridled enthusiasm Hermione?” asked Fred cheerfully.

“She’s in therapy,” Hermione groaned. “She should be back in the fall.”

“Ah, I think I see a spark of something in there,” Fred replied with a grin.

George, however, turned uncharacteristically serious. “Look, we don’t want to bring up painful memories, but Ron’s been telling us some pretty wild things about what happened with Quirrell.”

“Come to think of it, so’s Alicia and some of the other girls,” Fred chipped in.

“Right. So you were really there when Quirrell…” George trailed off.

Hermione took a deep breath. “Yeah, I was. I…I saw the whole thing,” she said shakily.

“Wow,” George sounded awed. “We’re sorry about that.”

“Yeah, you didn’t deserve that,” Fred added. “Still, was Quirrell _really_ possessed by…” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “…by You-Know-Who?”

Hermione shuddered and nodded once. “Yeah, there was…an extra face growing out of the back of his head.”

“Wicked! So is it true that you used a Body-Bind on him?”

“Uh huh. He was attacking Harry. It was the only thing I could think of.”

“Okay, so this might be not the kind of thing you want to hear right now,” George said, “but just to be clear, technically, that means you hexed You-Know-Who to his face.”

“Don’t remind me,” Hermione replied. She leaned back and covered her face with her hands. She still felt her heart race every time she thought about it. Hexing the most feared and vicious dark wizard of the past half century should not be on a first year student’s resume. But then, a thought struck her: “Wait a minute, remember that snowstorm in December? When you kept hitting the back of Quirrell’s turban. Technically, you repeatedly hit You-Know-Who in the face with a snowball.”

Fred’s and George’s eyes went saucer-sized instantly, and they looked like they might faint. “We hit You-Know-Who in the face—” Fred started.

“Repeatedly—” George said.

“With a snowball.”

“I don’t know if that makes us the kings of pranksters or dead men walking.”

“Or both. Especially once Mum gets involved.”

“Bloody hell, we haven’t even heard from her about Ron’s part in all this yet. She must _really_ be flipping out if it’s taking her this long.”

“Better be prepared for that one, George. Anyway, Hermione, Ron also told us some interesting things about your skills at sneaking around the castle at night.”

“Um…”

“Oh, yes, something about pulling our little brother into a broom cupboard.” George wagged his eyebrows.

“Oh, no,” Hermione groaned.

“And at only twelve years old, too. They certainly start early these days.”

“Can we just not mention that?” she pleaded.

“Oh, no, this is too good to pass up, isn’t it Fred?”

“I should say so.”

“Or how about you don’t mention that, and I’ll pretend it really _was_ Peeves who booby-trapped all the doors on the sixth floor with dungbombs,” Hermione threatened.

“You wouldn’t!” Fred gasped.

“How did you—?” George started.

“Sonya and I noticed when we were exploring. Did you know Professor McGonagall’s apartment is on the sixth floor?”

The twins stared at each other so intently that Hermione wondered if they were communicating telepathically. “We did,” Fred replied, “and I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised that you do, too.”

“Well then, Hermione, it seems you’ve outwitted us again,” George said. He was trying to sound offended, but his face was cheerful.

Hermione smiled. “In the muggle world, that’s called ‘mutually assured destruction.”

“You know, you’re scary sometimes,” George said.

“Yeah, brilliant, but scary,” Fred finished.

“You know something else,” George continued. “We thought it would be great if you could come and stay at our house for a few days this summer.”

“Yeah, Ron thinks so, too,” said Fred. “We’ll invite Harry, too, while we’re at it.”

“Really?” Hermione squeaked. “But your Mum—”

“Ah, she’ll come around. She loves house guests. And Dad’ll bring her around if she gives any trouble.”

“Dad’ll probably want your folks to stay, too. Mad about muggles, he is.”

“Well, that…that would be great!” She’d never been invited to stay at a friend’s house overnight before. “I’ll ask my parents if I can come.”

“Excellent—”

“We’ll send our owl—”

“If he doesn’t keel over first.”

“Um, sure, thanks.”

* * *

Hermione may have been excited, but the coming summer was still weighing heavily on Harry, to the point where, the next day, she found him sitting alone in a shaded part of the Common Room, working feverishly with his wand and quill over some scraps of wood.

“Come on, come on, _Initium_!” he muttered. He picked one of the wood scraps up and let it go. It clattered to the table. He groaned in frustration.

“Harry?” Hermione said.

Harry jumped and tried to cover up what he was working on until he saw who it was. “Oh, Hermione, it’s you.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” she said.

“I…I was just…” He looked down guiltily.

“What?”

“Well, it’s like when Professor Babbling told us how runes can store spells to use later. I was trying to enchant something so I could use spells this summer.”

“This summer? Harry, you mustn’t. We’re not allowed to use magic over the summer.”

“I know, but I thought…I know we’re not supposed to use our wands, but Ron’s allowed to fly and stuff, so I thought if I could enchant something with a spell so that it’ll activate without using a wand, I could still use it.”

“I don’t think you should,” she said, even as she started wondering about the same possibility herself. “What if you get caught? You could get in big trouble.”

“I have to try it, though.” Harry started writing another combination of words. In the seminars, Professors Babbling had taught them to use “INITIUM” and “FINIS” runes to activate and deactivate a spell using wand taps, but most activation patterns that didn’t use wands were much more complicated.

“But what for?” Hermione pressed. “You weren’t going to hex your relatives, were you?”

Harry looked even guiltier. “Not bad,” he said. “Just enough to scare them a little. My aunt and uncle don’t know I’m not allowed to use magic outside of school, but they might get suspicious if I don’t use any all summer.”

“But…but…but wouldn’t your aunt know from your Mum?”

Harry stopped and looked up. “I…I don’t know…She talked about my Mum doing magic at home, though. Maybe they just give us a warning the first time, or something.”

“Hmm…well, I still don’t like it. I think you should talk to Professor McGonagall about your problems.”

“I don’t want to bother her about it,” he muttered. “Come on, _Leviosa_!” The runes again failed to activate.

“It’ll bother her more if you get in trouble.” He didn’t respond. She leaned in closer and whispered, “Harry, I didn’t want to bring it up before…but if your relatives are abusing you, someone in charge needs to know about it.”

Harry nervously looked her in the eye again. He seemed to consider this for a moment, but he whispered back, “They’re not. We just can’t stand each other. They don’t hit me or anything—well, Dudley does, but he’s a bully to everyone.”

“But even if you just can’t stand each other, that’s not a good situation to be in,” Hermione insisted.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Harry said. “I can take care of myself.”

Hermione sighed and stood up. “I do worry about you, Harry,” she said. “A lot of us do, even if we don’t say it. And even if this works, it’s not going to solve your problems.”

Harry just shrugged at that. Hermione gave up talking to him and made for the portrait hole. She gave him one last look before leaving the Common Room and whispered, “I’m sorry Harry,” too quietly for anyone but her to hear it.

She walked straight to Professor McGonagall’s office.

“Miss Granger, the exam grades will be out tomorrow,” McGonagall said when she opened the door.

Hermione gave her an exasperated sigh. _Why_ did everyone always think that was want she wanted to ask about? “It’s not about that, Professor.”

“Oh. My apologies. How may I help you?”

“I…well, it’s kind of sensitive, ma’am.”

“Please come in, then. Have a seat.” She closed the door and at across her desk from Hermione. “Miss Granger, I know we haven’t got on as well as I would like this year,” she said, “especially with my being your Head of House. But I hope you know that you can confide in me, and I will do the best I can to help you with whatever you need.”

“Thank you, Professor. I do know that. But this is actually about Harry.”

McGonagall’s face fell. “Has he gone and done something else, now?”

“No! Well, sort of, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you. He’s trying to make some of those rune-based spells that Professor Babbling taught us to use at home, and I want to make sure he won’t get in trouble.”

McGonagall’s mouth became a thin line. “Did Mr. Potter say _why_ he wished to attempt this sort of magic?” she asked sternly.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about…” Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m worried about Harry’s life at home, Professor.” A very knowing look of concern crossed McGonagall’s face, and Hermione told her what Harry had said over the past year: that his aunt and uncle didn’t like magic and thought it was “freakish,” that they blatantly favoured his cousin over him, that she was a little worried that he didn’t get enough to eat there, and, most tellingly, that Harry talked like he was absolutely miserable there and wanted to jinx his relatives just to scare them into treating him better. When she finished, McGonagall made a noise like an angry cat.

“Miss Granger, I wish you would have brought these concerns to me sooner. I had some worries of my own, but I had very little to base them on until now,” she said. “I can’t tell you much of what I would like to for confidentiality reasons, but I promise you that I will speak to the Headmaster about this and see if we can’t do something to help Mr. Potter this summer.”

Hermione sighed with relief. “Thank you, Professor. I know I should have told someone sooner. It’s just that Harry doesn’t like to talk about his home life, and—”

“That’s not uncommon in these kinds of situations. I do understand. However, please write to me at once if anything leads you to believe that Mr. Potter is in danger at home.”

“Yes, ma’am. What about those spells, though? I don’t want him to get in trouble for using magic.”

McGonagall seemed to wrestle internally for a bit on that one. Finally she muttered, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt…Alright—I’m only telling you this because I know you to be responsible, Miss Granger. I won’t ask you not to act on it because both you and your parents are far too intellectually curious for that. But I must urge you to be careful and to respect the Stature of Secrecy. And that goes doubly so for Mr. Potter.”

Hermione nodded intently.

McGonagall laid the cards on the table: “The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery is one of the most poorly-written and poorly-enforced laws in the wizarding world, and deliberately written with many exceptions that benefit pureblood wizards. Obviously, accidental magic is not restricted, since you cannot control that. But the use of magical artifacts is also not restricted because many magical children play with magical toys, do chores with magical cleaning implements, and of course ride brooms—though those fall under a separate provision. I doubt that the pureblooded wizards who wrote the law considered the possibility that a muggle-born would _buy_ such artifacts, must less make them, but while it may go against the _spirit_ of the law, these rune spells would not go against the letter, and moreover, there is no enforcement mechanism to deal with them.”

“Really?” Hermione said, wide-eyed. “So Harry—or I—could do magic with these runes, and it would be okay?”

“That is correct. As long as you don’t use your wand over the break, you would not be disciplined. However, I will stress again that you must obey the Statute of Secrecy. If you fail to do so, you could easily be charged on both counts.”

“I understand, ma’am. Thank you.”

Much relieved by her conversation, Hermione reported back to Harry what she had learnt about the runes, and her curiosity got the better of her regarding his little project. She roped in Ron, who was eager to have some way to get back at Fred and George after their mother inevitably confiscated their wands, and the trio put their heads together. Just in time for the end of term, they got it. Ron worked out that the most important words they needed were “SOLVO” (release), “LOQUITUR” (speak), and “TENET” (hold); and Hermione figured out a circular pattern to use them in. When they were done, they had a runic circle that would store one spell written in the middle with the _Potentia_ incantation, plus the one Professor Babbling had shown them to empower control runes, and release it when the person holding it spoke the name of the spell. At least that was the theory. Hermione warned that it probably couldn’t store very powerful spells, and it might lose its “charge” over time, like a battery. But when they tested it with a Hardening Charm, it successfully turned a soft cushion stiff and starched—not perfect, but it was enough for Harry, who thanked them both profusely.

“I’m going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer,” he said.

* * *

The day before the Hogwarts Express returned to London, with the packing mostly done, and Hermione’s own repertoire of runic spells ready to show off to her parents, there was just one thing, in her mind, that was left to do.

“Oof, how do you climb through this place all the time?” Ron demanded as the the trio crawled up the tiny staircase off the Great Hall.

“Honestly, Ron, it’s not that hard,” Hermione said from up front. In truth, she had got pretty good at navigating the elves’ living space by now.

“I don’t see why we have to do this anyway,” he complained. “They’re just house elves.”

“They’re not _just_ house elves, Ron. They cook all that food you love so much. The pick up the rubbish, and they do your laundry—and _that_ _’s_ got to be pretty brave of them’

“Hey!”

“They don’t get much contact with humans, and it’s only friendly to say goodbye for the summer,” she finished.

“Makes sense,” Harry said. “It’d be nice if I got some thanks for doing all the chores at home.”

Ron grunted and kept climbing.

Soon they came out into the long hallway that led to the elves’ Common Room. As they crawled down it, a small elf came out of one of the bedrooms and spotted them.

“Hermione Granger!” he squeaked. “And Harry Potter! Harry Potter!” The elf ran down to the Common Room, calling, “It’s Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter!”

The trio stepped out into the square, yellow Common Room to what looked like a heroes’ welcome. The elves were jumping up and down and reaching to shake their hands more eagerly than they had since they first met. Hermione soon spotted a familiar pair of cobalt blue eyes as Sonya pushed her way through the crush.

“Miss Hermione Granger! Is it true, miss? Is it true?” the blond elf squeaked.

“Er, sorry, Sonya?” Hermione said.

“We have heard tell that Harry Potter and his friends met He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named here in the castle—” The elves all shuddered. “—and they escaped him alive.”

“Oh, right,” Harry said. “Yeah, we did. He was possessing Quirrell.”

The elves all shuddered again.

“Harry Potter and his friends are valiant and bold to face such dangers, miss,” Sonya said.

“Well, we were just doing what we had to do,” she insisted.

“Miss Hermione Granger is too modest,” sounded a creaky voice they had not heard before. Silence fell over the other elves, and they parted to let the newcomer step forward: a wrinkly old female elf with white hair growing more from her ears than her head. She wore a tea towel toga that was fancier than all the others and carried herself with the closest thing an elf could have to a regal bearing.

“I is Flory, the head elf,” the old elf said. “I is being most pleased to meet Harry Potter, sir, Hermione Granger, miss, and Ronald Weasley, sir. We elves is owing you our thanks. You has done a great service to all magical Britain by banishing the Dark Lord from Hogwarts.

“Well, thanks,” Harry said. “But Professor Vector and Dumbledore helped, too.”

“Yes, sir. It is very good to see wizards standing against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named before he becomes strong again.” The other elves chirped in agreement.

“Will you tell we elves what happened, sir?” Sonya asked reverently.

“Erm, I guess,” Harry said.

They sat down and relayed most of the story of what had happened that fateful night, excepting only the most sensitive parts, from Harry’s initial suspicions to Quirrell’s death. All three children still quivered at bit at the last part, especially Hermione.

“It was pretty awful,” she said. “I’ve…I’d never seen…”

“Miss Hermione Granger and her friends are very brave,” Sonya assured her.

Then, to her surprise, Tilly reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “It is hard to be seeing death, miss,” the grey-eyed elf said. “We elves see much of it. We live longer than wizards, and we can feel our masters’ magic. Since we is bound to the castle, we all felt when Professor Quirrell died, even the elf children. But we takes comfort in our families, miss, be they wizards or elves. It will be different for witches and wizards, but it helps we elves to have someone else to care for. And you should not be letting fear or pain keep you from what you care about, miss.”

That was news to Hermione. That had to be pretty bad when the little elf children felt a professor die. And her advice was actually pretty good, allowing for the species difference. “Thank you Tilly. I’m sure I’ll feel better after the summer,” she said.

“You is leaving for the summer tomorrow, miss?” Sonya asked.

“Mm hmm. We just wanted to visit you one more time, since we won’t be back till September.”

Many of the elves squeaked at that. “Miss Hermione Granger and her friends are very kind. Other wizards never visit we elves in our home.”

“I should really introduce the more of the muggle-born students to you,” Hermione replied. “I think some of them would be interested. Muggles think it’s important to learn about other cultures.”

“Maybe…” Sonya said timidly. “Maybe you could teach the other wizards more about that.”

Some of the older elves looked a little scandalised at the presumption, but Hermione thought it was a good idea: “Yeah, they could probably use it if all those goblin rebellions are any indication.”

They spoke a little longer about their plans for the summer—or rather Hermione and Ron did. Harry didn’t have any plans. Then, they said goodbye to the elves, and before they knew it, it was the next day, and they rode the boats back across the lake to the train station. A few hours after that, they were back at King’s Cross, saying goodbye to each other. (The train had pulled in twelve minutes late by Hermione’s watch, but, of course, right on time according to the station clocks.) Hermione caught a glimpse of Ron’s mother and little sister, both as redheaded as he was, and Harry’s family: a large, purple-faced man who eyed Harry contemptuously, a scrawny, horse-faced woman who gave Hedwig a disgusted look, and a very fat blond boy who, to Harry’s delight, looked terrified of his wizard cousin.

Then, she spotted her own parents and ran over and hugged them tight. Now that she finally saw them again, it was all she could do to keep from breaking down crying.

But she was saved when Professor Vector came over to meet them (on Hermione’s advice, wearing a muggle dress, if an antiquated one). “Mr. and Mrs. Granger, a pleasure to meet you again,” she said.

“Likewise, Professor,” Mum said. She and Dad both shook the professor’s hand.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am in Hermione’s performance this past year,” she continued as Hermione turned quite pink. “Highest marks in the class by a considerable margin.”

“Well, thank you, Professor,” Dad said. “But your letter—”

“Yes, as I said, the incident that led to the unfortunate death of our Defence Professor—Would you permit me to buy you dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Granger? I think we may need to have a _long_ conversation.”


	23. Second Year, Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: #include 
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Minerva McGonagall paced the Headmaster’s office like a caged tiger while the students were on their way back to London, for she had recently heard some very unsettling words about one of her charges.

“Did I not tell you Albus, eleven years ago and again last year, that those muggles are wholly unsuitable as guardians?”

“You did, Minerva,” Albus Dumbledore replied with aggravating calm. “And as I told you on both of those occasions, I am aware that it is not an ideal environment, but there are circumstances which require Harry Potter to live with his mother’s blood relatives.”

“And just what circumstances are those?” Minerva snapped. “I think it’s time you levelled with me and explained just what is so important that you would place a young boy with guardians who, at best, strongly dislike him. And may I add: you’d better have a pretty good answer to convince me that I shouldn’t take this up with the Ministry.”

“Very well,” said Albus. “The reason is Voldemort.” Minerva let out a tiny yelp. “And the fact that he has once again appeared in Britain makes this all the more important. You should remember well from the war that Voldemort could get through almost any wards if he made a concerted effort. Harry could not reasonably be raised under a Fidelius Charm, so I used the next best thing. Lily’s sacrifice made it possible to place blood wards on the place where her blood dwells through her sister and nephew. No wizard intending Harry harm can hurt him there, and Voldemort himself cannot breach them. He must at least be there to recharge them each summer so that we can send him there in case of an emergency.” And here, Albus spread his hands wide. “If you know of another way that young Harry can be kept as safe, I would be happy to hear it.”

Minerva deflated and sat down. Of course she didn’t know any other way—not unless she could pull enough strings to let Harry stay at Hogwarts over the summer, and that would be a long shot. Besides, Albus could think circles around her on that sort of thing. The question was whether this protection was worth it, and…well, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _was_ right there in the castle not two weeks ago.

“Very well, Albus,” she said. “I will continue to trust your judgement on how to keep Harry safe, _for now_. But I will not continue to ignore him in that house, as we have _both_ been guilty of doing for the past eleven years. I asked Miss Granger to inform me if she feels the boy is at risk, and I will pay him a personal visit if she does so—and perhaps even if she doesn’t.”

She was happy to see Albus nod in support. “Of course, Minerva,” he said. “I think that is a fair point. And do inform me if you learn anything more.”

“I certainly will.”

* * *

Daniel Granger took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then said, “I need another drink.”

Septima Vector poured him another shot of Firewhisky, which the two elder Grangers described as tasting “like Scotch mixed with hot sauce and gunpowder.” It was a mark of how serious the situation was that it was Vector who recommended the Firewhisky when she bought the family dinner in a private room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Dan downed the shot with a grimace and immediately followed it up with a gulp of water. Emma was leaning heavily on his shoulder while Hermione held her free hand. “So, just to review,” Dan said harshly, “your Defence Professor was possessed by the disembodied spirit of a wizard so evil that you fear to speak his name. He let the troll into the castle on Halloween as a distraction to try to steal the Philosopher’s Stone to bring this evil wizard back to life. Then, he recently tried again, and you, Hermione, and her friends tried to stop him—and I understand you tried to keep the children away from the action—but this incident ended with her friend being attacked and that teacher…” He hesitated to repeat it in his daughter’s presence. “…being murdered in front of them…Did I miss anything?”

“No,” Hermione said softly. “I think you got it.” There was one thing she had left out of the story, not least because she wasn’t too sure of it herself: it very well might have been the case that Voldemort had tried to possess _her_ (or Ron) but couldn’t touch them because of the protection on Harry. That would certainly explain why his skin felt blisteringly hot for a moment. But she wasn’t sure she believed it, and she certainly didn’t want to, so she didn’t mention it.

“So do you want to tell us again why we should trust your school to keep our daughter safe?” her father said.

Septima licked her dry lips and glanced down at the table for a moment. “Simply put, Hogwarts’s safety record is still quite good, despite this incident,” she explained. “I told you after Halloween that these sorts of incidents are very rare, and I still stand by that.

“However, when I told you about Hogwarts’s strong safety record, I admit that wasn’t _entirely_ accurate. What I did not mention before is that bad things tend to happen to Defence Against the Dark Arts Professors in particular. This isn’t anything intrinsic to the class, mind you, and it hasn’t affected the students before, but it’s increasingly believed that the job was cursed by You-Know-Who in order to weaken his enemies. No Defence Professor has been able to teach for more than one year since my first year as a student. They always seem to be involved in some scandal, or they sustain an injury, or they have to leave the country suddenly, or they’re just incompetent and get sacked. Some of them _have_ died in the post, although this incident is the first murder on the grounds. There were a couple of war deaths over summers, and the others were accidents and illnesses—the Dragon Pox epidemic of 1979 claimed two in a row, in fact.

“I tell you this because I hope you can understand that despite these problems, the students at Hogwarts have been kept quite safe. This year was the first year since I began teaching that any students were seriously endangered by anything other than their own foolishness. In addition, Headmaster Dumbledore will be taking greater pains from now on to ensure that people who are possessed are unable to get into the castle.”

Dan and Emma gave Septima a hard look. “You’ll forgive us if we don’t feel so confident about that without seeing some results,” Dan replied. “After all, we were told that the troll was an isolated incident.”

“I understand your concern,” she replied. “Not having any family myself, I can only really say that I myself have no reservations about continuing to work at Hogwarts, in spite of what’s happened.”

“We do appreciate your opinion, Professor,” Emma said. “But please understand this is still a difficult decision for us…Now, Hermione, what do _you_ have to say for yourself in all this?” she asked her daughter with a stern look that made Hermione think she would rather face McGonagall’s White Queen again.

“What?” she said nervously. “I…I was just doing what I had to.”

“I understand you felt like you had to help your friends, but was cavorting around at night like that really the best way to do it?”

“Mum, I tried. Harry didn’t give us much choice.”

“Mrs. Granger, please don’t be too hard on Hermione,” Septima interrupted. “She’s been through a difficult time, and…well, frankly, your daughter is a hero. She saved her friend’s life possibly as many as three times that night—no mean feat, even if her friend hadn’t been Harry Potter. And she may very well have helped us stop He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from returning to power and prevented a war that would have devastated the magical world. She tried to act responsibly throughout her ordeal. I consider her only really questionable decision to be coming down after us instead of returning to her dorm, but even that may well have helped to stop Quirrell from stealing the Stone.”

Emma backed off and blinked back a few tears. “I’m sorry, Hermione,” she said. “It’s just hard to see our little girl…caught up in something like this. We sent you to school to learn magic, and here you’re having to save your friends from evil wizards…”

Hermione squeaked and hugged her mother tight. Dan wrapped an arm around both of them.

Finally, Emma broke away and made a futile attempt to smooth out her daughter’s hair. “Look, we’re…we’re proud of you. We are. From the sounds of it you did really well…But can you honestly say you want to go back to Hogwarts after everything that’s happened?”

“I do, Mum.”

“But—”

“Mum, a friend of mine told me that I can’t let fear and pain keep me from what I care about. I care about my friends, and I care about Hogwarts—I love it there when there’s not a psychopath involved. This past year has been the best year of my life. Please don’t make me start all that over at a different school.”

Emma cupped her face with one hand: “Oh, Hermione…when did you grow up?”

“I think it was about four years ago, and we didn’t want to admit it,” Dan said with a weak smile. “Hermione, we don’t have to decide just yet. Actually, Professor, what is the deadline to decide where she’ll be going?”

“Normally, you have until the end of July, although under extraordinary circumstances, a transfer could be made even in the week before term starts.”

“Okay, we’ll decide for sure by the end of July, then,” Dan said. “And I know we all would have preferred to meet under better circumstances, but it does mean a lot to us that you took the time to come down here and explain things.”

“Yes, and thank you for dinner, too,” Emma added.

“It was really no trouble, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I sometimes think a more hands-on approach would benefit a lot of our students. Now it’s getting late, and I know you need to—what is it, drive home? Hermione, I do hope I will see you again in the fall.”

“I’ll do my best, Professor,” she replied.

Dan and Emma exchanged a look that said, _We_ _’re doomed, aren’t we?_

“Good night, Professor,” Dan said, shaking Septima’s hand.

“Good night.”

They said their goodbyes, and the Grangers piled in the car for the drive back to Crawley. As they drove along, Hermione waited a while until she felt it was safe enough to mention her other news.

“Mum, Dad, you know how that letter said I’m not allowed to use magic outside of school?” she asked.

“Yes,” her parents said warily.

“Well, I talked to Professor McGonagall, and it turns out that’s not precisely true…”

* * *

Harry Potter explored his room, looking for someplace to hide his school books. Uncle Vernon had locked his school trunk, containing his books, robes, wand, cauldron, broomstick, and runic spells, in the cupboard under the stairs the minute he’d got home. All of the spells he was hoping to use to get some concessions out of his relatives were in there—almost. Luckily, he’d anticipated this possibility and kept one small scrap of wood with Latin runes inked on it in his pocket.

After a careful inspection, he discovered a loose floorboard under his bed that opened into a space large enough to keep his books in. Then, he just had to wait. A few days later, when Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all out in the yard, Harry snuck down the stairs, took the scrap of wood out of his pocket, held it up to the cupboard door, and whispered, “ _Alohomora_.”

The spell was released from the runes, and the lock clicked open. Harry grinned with satisfaction. As quick as he could, he grabbed his textbooks, ink, quills, and parchment, and the other scraps of wood on which he had written runes, and carried them upstairs. He didn’t have many of these spells on hand, but he hoped they would be enough. He left his wand—he couldn’t use it anyway—though he hoped he wouldn’t come to regret that decision.

The one problem was Hedwig. She’d been padlocked in her cage to prevent Harry from sending any letters to his friends. He only had two more _Alohomoras_ —he should have made more—and he suspected he would need one to get the rest of his things back when he left for Hogwarts. That meant he could let her out at night once, but she’d be locked up again as soon as Uncle Vernon found out. He hated to see her cooped up in her cage, but he decided he would only use that spell in case of an emergency.

Oh well, at least his relatives were too scared to try anything so far. And he could get his homework done.

* * *

“So all you have to do is hold up the rune circle and speak the name of the spell—at least in theory.”

“In theory?” Emma Granger said nervously.

“Well, I don’t actually know if it’ll work for you,” her daughter replied. “Some magical artifacts work for muggles, and some don’t.”

“Oh…okay, then, but it’s not gonna, I don’t know, explode or something?”

“I don’t see how. The worst that could happen is that maybe it would backfire, but it’s only a Levitation Charm, so what harm could it do?”

Hermione had had to sit her maths A-level exam three days after returning home, which she found challenging, but quite manageable. Now, she only had her summer homework from Hogwarts to worry about while she waited for the results to come in August. With her schedule freed up, she began showing her parents the limited bits of magic she could do at home. But this, she thought, was the most interesting test of it: whether her parents could, themselves, cast spells with the use of the runes.

Her mother looked uneasy as she held up a square of wood with a runic circle written on it, but she was willing to try. She waved it at a small book sitting on the table and said, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

The book hopped up and hung in midair, shakily following the motion of her hand. Emma was so surprised that she nearly dropped the rune, but she squealed like a little girl with excitement, “It worked! It worked!”

“You did it, Mum! You did magic!” Hermione said, and they both started laughing.

“Brilliant, Hermione!” her Mum said, kissing her on top of her head.

“Well, I never thought I’d see the day,” Dad said as he watched. “So how many more of those things do you have?”

“A few,” Hermione said, and she retrieved another rune for him to try.

* * *

“Aunt Petunia…I have a question for you.”

The response to this was just about what Harry expected: slowly turning around from preparing lunch and glaring at him. Harry had waited until a time when Uncle Vernon was at work and Dudley was out with his friends to confront his aunt, but he was still breaking one of the most important unspoken rules of Four Privet Drive: don’t ask questions.

“Just one question,” he added, as Aunt Petunia looked about to tell him off.

She glared at him a little longer. “Well, spit it out, boy.”

“Did my mother ever tell you there was a war going on?”

The colour drained out of Aunt Petunia’s face so fast that it couldn’t be healthy. She staggered back against the counter. “Wh-wh-what?” she said fearfully.

“Did my mum tell you and your parents there was a war going on in her world? That people were dying left and right? That she was being specifically targeted because of her ‘normal’ family? Why she and my dad had to go into hiding?”

“That’s enough!” She forced her trembling hands to stay still and did her best to collect herself. “If you _must_ know, boy…no. Lily mentioned some bad things going on—I suppose there might have been enough to piece together that there was a war. But no, we never knew how bad it was until they dropped _you_ on our doorstep with nothing but that letter telling us what happened.”

“And I don’t suppose you ever bothered to _ask_ her, did you?”

“I said that’s enough! Go to your room!”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Strangely enough, Harry wasn’t mad. Even though he’d probably miss lunch, now, it was worth it. He had a lot to think about. He’d have to tell Hermione once he actually got a chance to write to her.

* * *

“Now, you have to be careful with this stuff,” Hermione warned. “It’s like concentrated hydrochloric acid to most things. It’s drain-safe, but you have to flush it with a lot of water.”

“And they let eleven-year-olds handle it?” Dan asked.

“Believe it or not, it’s safer than having untrained witches and wizards try to use their wands on potions.”

It had taken a special trip to Diagon Alley to buy potions ingredients to be able to do this at home. There were only a handful of potions that could be made without the use of wands (how Hermione wished she’d thought to make some runes with potion-making spells), but why waste the opportunity? The few that could be made this way were rather like cooking or chemistry, aside from the strange ingredients, and her Mum was eager to try it out after the rune demonstrations.

At Hermione’s direction, Emma carefully added bundimun secretion to the cauldron that was simmering on the stove, crushed the snake fangs, stewed the horned slugs, and so on, all using Hermione’s potions kit, so as not to get magical grime all over the kitchen.

“Good. Now turn off the heat _before_ you add the porcupine quills. Neville messed that up and…it didn’t end well.”

“Right. Burner _off_ …” The porcupine quills went in and slowly dissolved into the mix.

“It’s just so weird seeing things dissolve that normally shouldn’t,” Emma mused. Hermione just shrugged. By now, it looked pretty normal to her.

It wasn’t much longer before they reached the final step. “Good, good,” Hermione said. “Now, just mix in the blueberry paste. That neutralises the corrosive effects.”

“If you say so.”

The potion thickened as Emma stirred and turned a soft light blue, a little bit greyer than the sky on a sunny day, just the colour the textbook said it should be.

“That means I got it right?”

“Yes…Well, Mrs. Granger,” Hermione imitated Snape’s acerbic voice. “I _suppose_ you’ve exceeded expectations on the assignment.”

“Ugh. He’s not really like that all the time, is he?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I don’t think he even likes teaching…or children.”

“So why is he teaching children?” Dan asked.

“I wish I knew. Anyway, we need to be careful cleaning up, too. Bad things can happen if the ingredients get contaminated.”

* * *

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I_ _’m getting worried about Harry. It’s been a month since the end of term, and I haven’t received any letters from him, even though I wrote him three times. Ron says he hasn’t heard from him either. I think his relatives might be keeping him from writing. Could you please check on him and make sure he’s alright? Thank you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

 

Minerva patted the note in her pocket as she walked up to the door of Number Four Privet Drive. It was entirely possible that Harry was being lazy about writing or was otherwise occupied, but her instincts said no. If there was one thing she had noticed about that boy, it was his dedication to his friends. Either way, she would get to the bottom of this.

She rang the bell, and a few moments later, a very large blond boy opened the door. “Hello?” he said.

“Good morning. You must be Dudley,” she said. “I would like to speak to Harry Potter.”

Dudley Dursley got a terrified look on his face and ran away yelling, “Mum! Dad!”

Minerva sighed. She had a feeling she would need a dram or two after this visit.

In a few more moments a horse-faced woman and her over-sized husband stormed up to the door. “You!” the woman spat. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“As hospitable as ever, aren’t you Petunia? I’m checking up on Harry. I’d like to see him right away, if you please.”

“And what gives you the right—” Vernon Dursley growled.

“Vernon, please, she’s one of _them_ ,” Petunia whispered, tugging on his arm.

“I won’t have any more of them in my house.”

“Vernon, you won’t get rid of her,” Petunia insisted. “They won’t take no for an answer. It’s the same as those dratted letters.”

Vernon paled as he remembered Hagrid’s dramatic entrance last year. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But make it quick.” He stomped over to the stairs and hollered up, “Boy, get down here!”

There was a thud and a scrambling sort of sound, and soon, Harry Potter appeared at the base of the stairs. “Professor!” he said in surprise. He ran over to the door. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

“Only if something is wrong here, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said gently. “Your friends have been growing worried about you. They haven’t heard from you all summer.”

“Well, Uncle Vernon won’t let me let Hedwig out…but it doesn’t matter. Ron and Hermione haven’t sent me any letters, anyway,” he said gloomily.

“What? That’s not true, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger has informed me that she wrote to you three times. Are you saying you haven’t received any of her letters?”

“No, I haven’t heard from anyone.”

Minerva whirled on the Dursleys. “Have you been keeping Harry’s mail from him…again?” she added, as a good guess of what had happened last year.

But Vernon shook his head emphatically. “We haven’t seen any bloody owls besides his. It’s not our fault if they can’t find their way here.” And he grumbled under his breath about his dislike of “freaks’ sending post by owl.

“And the regular post?” she pressed. “One of Harry’s friends has been writing by _your_ post system.”

“Nothing’s come for Harry,” Petunia insisted. “You think we wouldn’t learn our lesson after last year?”

Minerva frowned. She was far from convinced of such a thing, but still, there was no reason for the owls not to go through. She drew her wand.

Dudley screamed and hopped away backwards with his hands covering his large bottom. Petunia also took a few steps back, but Vernon shouted, “Now see here! I won’t have you doing any of that…that…in my house!”

“I will do what I please, Mr. Dursley, thank you very much,” she shot back. “And if your post system is being disrupted, I should think that would interest you, too.” She waved her wand around the door and muttered some incantations, looking for any spells or wards that would interfere with the mail, but she found only Albus’s blood wards. “Hmm…very strange,” she said as the Dursleys sputtered. “I don’t know why your mail hasn’t been delivered, Mr. Potter, but hopefully your own owl will be able to carry letters both in and out of the house, and you will at least be able to contact your friends.” Then, she turned back to the Dursleys: “It’s very unhealthy to keep an owl confined for this long, and there’s really very little trouble that Harry and his friends can cause by their correspondence, so I implore to allow him to let her out.”

Vernon looked like he was gearing up for another rant, but Petunia managed to hold him back. “Fine, we’ll do that. But there’d better _not_ be any trouble. Was there anything else?”

“That depends on Harry, Mrs. Dursley. Mr. Potter, have you been having any other problems?”

“Er, no,” he said hesitantly. “I’m doing alright.”

Minerva just gave him a stern look and said, “Very well. Please don’t hesitate to write me if you need anything. Good day to you all.”

Uncle Vernon continued the grumble after the professor left, but soon enough, he stomped up the stairs to unlock Hedwig’s cage, muttering about “no-good, nosy freaks’ the whole way.

“And you’d better only let it out at night, when nobody can see,” he warned Harry.

Harry just smiled when he was left alone in his room again. He patted a very eager Hedwig on the head to calm her down and started writing his letters to Ron and Hermione.

* * *

A week later was Harry’s birthday. Hedwig was out for the night—he hoped collecting presents from Ron and Hermione. For his part, Harry was being thoroughly ignored, as usual. He was expected to be _not_ seen and not heard while the Dursleys entertained some big name clients of Uncle Vernon’s. That was fine by him. He didn’t care for those sorts of disingenuous, over-the-top dinner parties, anyway. As he climbed up to his room, he figured he’d spend a quiet evening reading. There was just one complication.

There was a house elf standing on his bed.

Harry thanked Merlin that Hermione had introduced him to the elves at school, or he probably would have cried out and ruined everything in that moment. This wasn’t a Hogwarts elf, though. He was dirtier, his wrists were bandaged, he had a couple of scars on his face, and he appeared to be wearing a pillowcase instead of a tea towel. His nose was very long, and his eyes were precisely the shade of green of tennis balls.

_“Er—hello,” said Harry nervously._

The elf hopped down off the bed and bowed so low that his nose touched the floor. _“Harry Potter!” said the elf in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir…Such an honor it is…”_

“Th-thank you…um…Dobby…” Harry replied. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

“Dobby has a message for you, sir…it is difficult, sir…” The elf started pulling on his ears.

“Look, Dobby,” Harry whispered, “it’s nice to meet you, but this really isn’t a good time. Can you at least, you know, make it quick?”

Dobby looked discouraged, but he replied, “Yes, sir. Dobby has come to give Harry Potter a warning, sir. His masters must not know, but Dobby must warn you, sir… _Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts._ _”_

_There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon_ _’s voice._

_“W-what?” Harry stammered. “But I’ve got to go back. You don’t know what it’s like here._ The only friends I have are at Hogwarts. And besides, Hermione says it’s already too late to switch schools for this year.” To his delight, Hermione had managed to convince her parents to let her return to Hogwarts in September.

 _“No, no, no,” squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped._ “Not too late for Harry Potter, sir. Harry Potter is famous. Any school will teach him. He must go to another school, where he is safe. _He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger._ _”_

_“Why?” said Harry in surprise._

_“There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,” whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. “Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!”_

_“What terrible things?” said Harry at once. “Who’s plotting them?”_

_Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall._ “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” he shouted.

Harry sprang forward and pulled the struggling elf away from the wall. “Stop! What are you doing?” he hissed. He forced him to sit on the bed.

Dobby looked at Harry cross-eyed and said, “Dobby had to punish himself, sir. Dobby almost revealed his family’s secrets, sir…”

“Punish yourself?”

“Yes, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself, sir. Sometimes, his family is reminding him to do extra punishments. If they knew Dobby was here, sir…” He shuddered like he was about to run at the wall again.

“But that’s horrible,” Harry said. “The Hogwarts elves never do that—”

Dobby’s eyes grew wide. “You is knowing the Hogwarts elves, sir?”

“Yeah, my friend Hermione likes to visit them. They’re pretty nice—”

To Harry’s horror, Dobby burst into noisy tears.

“I’m sorry!” he hissed. He thought he heard the voices downstairs falter. “Please be quiet. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Offend Dobby?” the elf choked. “Dobby has heard of Harry Potter’s greatness, sir, but never his goodness. Harry Potter is even a friend to the house elves.”

“I’m not that great—all that’s just exaggerated stories,” he said. “Hermione’s way better at magic than I am—But Dobby—do all wizard families treat their elves like that? Aren’t there rules or something?”

Dobby started pulling on his ears again. “Elves is property, bound to their families, sir,” he whined. “Each family can manage their elf as they sees fit.”

“And what family do you serve?”

The elf shuddered and then leaped up and banged his head against the wall again.

Harry sprang into action and pulled him back. “Stop that! They can’t know you’re here.” He pointed at the floor. “Look, maybe you should go see my friend. Her name’s Hermione Granger. I think she lives somewhere in Crawley—hang on, I’ve got her address.” He ran over to his sock drawer and pulled out Hermione’s recent letter. He showed Dobby the return address. “See, this is where she lives. She knows loads more about elves than I do. Maybe she can help you.”

A moment later, Harry rather wished he’d kept his mouth shut as Dobby burst into wails of gratitude. He really must be in bad shape compared with the Hogwarts elves, the way he kept carrying on. “Please be quiet,” he begged. “I’ll be in big trouble if the Dursleys hear anything. Look, I’m sorry, but you really can’t be here tonight. Hermione’ll be more useful to you—probably more useful on that mortal danger thing, too.”

Dobby stopped crying and sat very still, his green eyes bulging. “Oh, no, sir,” he squeaked. “This danger is too great for Harry Potter, sir, and his friends. Dobby has heard tell of their great deeds, but this danger is far too great. Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts.”

“But I can’t leave my friends—” He looked down again at the envelope in his hand. “Wait a minute. Were you the one stopping my letters?”

Dobby looked down at his dirty, bare feet. “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby,” he said. “Dobby thought that if Harry Potter’s friends had forgotten him…Dobby tried to stop Harry Potter’s mail, sir, but his friends were worried about him and told the Professor to check on him.”

“Well, you see, I’ve got good friends at Hogwarts. Hermione saved my life last term. I’m not going to leave them to face mortal danger on their own. Besides, Dumbledore said he’s stepping up security. Nothing’ll get past him.”

_Dobby bowed his head._

_“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir” — Dobby’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper — “there are powers Dumbledore doesn’t…powers no decent wizard…”_

_And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry_ _’s desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps._ And then it all went downhill from there. Harry managed to stuff Dobby in the closet for long enough to deflect Uncle Vernon’s anger, but no sooner had he left the room than Dobby started arguing with him again not to return to Hogwarts, and when he refused to listen, the little elf dashed downstairs and ruined Aunt Petunia’s prized pudding, then vanished. Then, an owl swooped in and dropped a letter onto the head of Mrs. Mason, who just happened to have a phobia of birds, and worst of all, that letter was a warning from the Ministry of Magic about his using magic outside of school. His cover was blown, and he didn’t even do anything.

Uncle Vernon was beyond furious when he saw that letter. Indeed, he got a mad gleam in his eyes like a very fat cat that had just cornered a mouse, and he started laughing like a maniac: “ _Well, I_ _’ve got news for you, boy…I’m locking you up…You’re never going back to that school…never…_ We’ll shoo that bloody bird of yours away from the house, and we’ll tell those freaks from the school you ran away. And you can’t magic yourself out, or they’ll expel you!”

Harry knew the jig was up. He had just once chance to scare them off now. His hand dove into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of wood he kept there for emergencies. “Oh _can_ _’t_ I?” he said threateningly. He held up the rune to Uncle Vernon. “ _Flipendo_!” he roared.

Nothing happened.

“Damn.”

Hermione had warned him it might not hold a charge that long. Unfortunately, that stunt earned him a good, hard punch in the stomach, and Uncle Vernon picked him up and threw him into his room instead of just dragging him. A padlock went onto to window to keep Hedwig out, and the bedroom door was locked from the outside.

Harry stayed awake late that night, waiting until he was sure the Dursleys were all asleep. Then, he pulled up the loose floorboard and found the two Unlocking Charms he had kept in reserve. The Knockback Jinx might have lost its charge, but there was a chance these hadn’t. If either one of them still worked, he could get out of his room and sneak out to somewhere he could send for help, maybe intercepting Hedwig when she got back.

“ _Alohomora. Alohomora_.”

It was no good. Both of the runic circles had lost their charge. He was trapped.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling has written the same number of books as Gilderoy Lockhart—probably better reading, though. As such, she owns Harry Potter.
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Dobby did not go to see the great Harry Potter’s friend, Hermione Granger. He had been away from his masters for too long already. But Dobby had memorised Hermione Granger’s address. Harry Potter had said, “She knows loads more about elves than I do. Maybe she can help you.” Maybe she could help him. But no, Dobby couldn’t do that. Not yet. If Dobby went to see Hermione Granger, she might become suspicious and help Harry Potter go back to Hogwarts again. No, Dobby would wait until Harry Potter was safe, and then he would talk to Hermione Granger.

* * *

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I think something_ _’s wrong. Hedwig returned my birthday present to Harry unopened, and she seems really agitated. I think she can’t get to him for some reason. Could you please check on him again. I’m worried he might need to get out of his relatives’ house. The Weasleys said they’d like him to visit this summer, so maybe he can stay there for a while._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

 

Minerva McGonagall was extremely uncomfortable having to wait two days after she received that letter to check on Harry Potter, and not just because Hedwig kept pecking at her. But Albus had insisted that by whatever bizarre means he had that he knew Harry wasn’t in serious (physical) danger and had strongly advised her to line up a place for Harry to stay before taking any action. To be honest, she was surprised he even agreed to that much. So Minerva had done some corresponding and found that the Weasleys were willing and eager to take Harry in for the rest of the summer if need be. At least that was good news.

She supposed she shouldn’t have been so surprised when the Dursleys opened the door to her, and Petunia said, “If you’re looking for the boy, he’s not here.”

Minerva’s eyebrows shot up. “Not here? Why ever not?”

“He ran away, the ungrateful whelp,” Vernon said far too smugly. “And I say good riddance. That boy’s been nothing but trouble from the start.”

“Ran away? I find that hard to believe, not after he put up with you for the first half of the summer. I would suggest you tell me where he really is at once.”

“We don’t know,” Petunia spat. “We can’t help it if he’s a brat who won’t do as he’s told. Tried to keep him in line for years and nothing worked.”

 _And just what did you try?_ Minerva thought, but that was a discussion for another time. “Mr. Potter would not leave without telling his friends first,” she continued. “His friends are quite worried about him. Their birthday presents were returned unopened, and his owl has been quite agitated for the past three days.”

“Well, better you than us,” Vernon grumbled. “That dumb bird of his kept trying to get back in. Took all day to make it go away.”

“Oh, _really?_ We have ways of locating an underage wizard, Mr. Dursley, and that ‘dumb bird’ is one of them, as your wife would know if she had ever paid attention to her sister. Post owls always know where their owners are, and Mr. Potter’s has indicated quite clearly that he is still here.”

Both of the Dursleys’ faces paled upon realising they’d been found out. Minerva tried to push past them, but Vernon launched into a tirade.

“He won’t be going back!” the large man bellowed. “He ruined our dinner with—with magic and lost us a top client. Got a warning letter from your lot and everything.

“And he tried to curse Vernon,” Petunia added. “We’re only lucky it didn’t work.”

“If you don’t mind,” Minerva said dryly, “I’d like to hear your nephew’s side of the story for myself.” She drew her wand. “Stand aside, please.”

The Dursleys shrank back in terror. Minerva swept her eyes over the room, looking for any sign of Harry’s presence. When she didn’t find anything, she started up the stairs. The upstairs had four bedrooms and a bathroom and looked, just like the downstairs, like quite a nice place, except that one of the doors was double-locked from the outside and, even more oddly, had cat flap installed. On a hunch, she waved her wand, and the door sprang open.

It was a sorry sight that awaited her. A small twelve-year-old boy was lying on a threadbare bed in a daze. The rest of the room was bare save for an empty owl cage, a broken-down dresser, and a dusty bookcase. The window, unlike the rest of the house, had bars across it, and she doubted it was to keep burglars out.

Harry Potter sprang upright at once when he heard the door open. “Professor! Am I glad to see you,” he said.

“And I you, Mr. Potter.” She watched with concern as he stood up. The boy looked skinnier than he had been in the spring, and he was no heavyweight to start with. He also looked very tired and unsteady on his feet. However, when she told him, “Pack your things at once. The Weasleys have offered to take you in for the rest of the summer,” he sprang into action with his Seeker’s speed. Minerva barely had time to blink before he dove under his bed, fumbled with something that sounded like a loose floorboard, and emerged with a heavily-laden pillowcase slung across his back.

“The rest is in the cupboard under the stairs,” he said breathlessly. Minerva noticed there were tears in his eyes.

The older witch nodded and led Harry back down the stairs. She continued to notice him walking unsteadily behind her, as if light-headed. “Mr. Potter, have you been eating?” she asked with concern.

“N-not as much as usual,” he replied timidly.

Minerva pressed her lips together. She suspected that the usual wasn’t much. “Well, not to worry. I’m sure Mrs. Weasley will give you all you want and then some,” she said stiffly.

They reached the cupboard, and she unlocked it and removed Harry’s trunk and his owl’s cage. As it happened, Minerva did not notice any signs that that cupboard had once been occupied by Harry himself. Vernon had been smart enough not to leave a mat inside, though if she had been in a state to look closer, she might have noticed a child’s scribbles on the wall. Harry loaded the pillowcase into his trunk while Minerva wheeled on the Dursleys.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I must say that your treatment of your nephew is atrocious, nearly as bad as what you’ve done to your own son.” She eyed the fat boy who was cowering in the kitchen. _Worse, more like, but this will offend them more._

“How dare you—!”

“I cannot fathom how Lily Evans was stuck with such a poor excuse for a sister. Mr. Potter will be leaving for the remainder of the summer, and if _he_ is quite lucky, he will need to see very little of you for the duration of his schooling.” The conflicted looks of anger and delight on the Dursleys’ faces at the prospect would have been amusing if they weren’t so appalling. “Come along, Mr. Potter.”

Harry ducked out the front door of Four Privet Drive behind his professor, and it slammed shut behind him.

“Thank you so much, Professor,” he said, his voice catching.

“No trouble at all, Mr. Potter. You aren’t the first student to have family difficulties.” Minerva walked out to the curb.

“Oh, Professor, I’ve just remembered,” Harry said. “I found out what happened to my mail.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, some weird house elf named Dobby was stealing it. He showed up on my birthday and tried to convince me not to go back to Hogwarts—said it was too dangerous—some kind of evil plot going on. Actually, he didn’t look too good. He was wearing a pillowcase, and he kept trying to “punish himself.” Do you know what any of that was about?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, that kind of treatment of elves is not uncommon among the darker families. As for the warning, it’s entirely possible this ‘Dobby’ was sent by his master to try to scare you out of returning to school. You may want to be watchful, but you should not put too much stock in it. Now, as for yourself, I understand you got a warning letter from the Ministry for underage magic?”

“That was Dobby!” Harry said quickly. “He used a Hover Charm on Aunt Petunia’s pudding. I used some of those runic spells we made at the beginning of summer and didn’t have any trouble with them.”

“What?” Minerva said in confusion. “The underage magic detectors triggered for a house elf? That would be highly irregular. How did this elf get in and out of the house?”

“Well, he just…appeared and disappeared like they do. Why didn’t that set it off?”

“Because it’s not supposed to. Elf magic is nearly unrestricted by law. If what you say is true, I don’t see why that Hover Charm would have been noticed.”

“Huh…Maybe Hermione would know.”

“Perhaps.” The Granger girl might know more about house elves than any other witch in Hogwarts by now simply by virtue of being the only one who paid them any attention, Minerva thought. Oh well, they had placed to go. “Now, since you’re underage and carrying luggage, Mr. Potter, your best option for travel will be the Knight Bus. I should warn you, though, that it’s…rather a bumpy ride.”

Harry didn’t have time to ask what any of that meant before his professor stuck out her hand to the street as if hailing a cab, and then—BANG! A giant, purple, triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere and screeched to a halt on Privet Drive. He looked around nervously to see how the Dursleys or the neighbours would react to such a thing happening in broad daylight, but no else one seemed to notice anything.

A man in a purple uniform leapt out of the bus and called out, “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard—” He noticed Minerva and took a nervous step back. “W-why, hello, Professor. Di’n’t “spect t’see you on the Bus.”

“I’m escorting a student, Mr. Shunpike,” McGonagall replied. “Two to the Burrow in Ottery St. Catchpole.”

“Tha’ll be twenty-two sickles, ‘less you want some snacks.”

McGonagall handed over a galleon and five sickles to the young man. Shunpike looked to be fresh out of school, though Harry didn’t remember seeing him around Hogwarts in the past year, and, judging by his reaction, he had been on the wrong side of the Deputy Headmistress a few times. Just then, he noticed Harry, and, predictably, his eyes flew straight to his forehead.

“Hey, Ern! Ern! Look “oo it is!” he yelled. “‘E’s ‘Arry Potter! I can see ‘is scar!”

“That will be _quite_ enough, Mr. Shunpike,” McGonagall said in a voice that made her former student quail. “We must be going at once. Come along, Mr. Potter.”

Harry sighed and dragged his trunk onto the bus. He was startled to see not the normal seats of a muggle bus, but a bunch of folding chairs set up on the floor. From the disarray they were in, he started to get an idea of what that “bumpy ride” was like, which soon turned out to be even worse than he expected as the Knight Bus BANGed all over the country, picking up and dropping off witches and wizards. Despite how hungry he was, he was glad he hadn’t gone for the snacks.

A harrowing hour later, the Knight Bus screeched to a stop on a hill at the outskirts of a grassy field in Devon. In the distance, Harry could see a very tall, crooked house that must have been held up with magic. Just the look of it seemed to say “Ron,” or maybe “Fred and George” would have been closer. He thought it looked perfect compared with the proper boxy accommodations on Privet Drive. Glancing around, down the other side of the hill was another tall house that looked like a chess rook, and there was a large, manor-style house closer to the village.

McGonagall led Harry down a winding path toward the Burrow, past a couple of sheds and a chicken coop and some piles of rubbish. The house itself was run down, patched up, had rooms built on at random, and looked more like a real home than anything the Dursleys could ever comprehend. Mrs. Weasley was standing at the door, smiling, and flanked by Ron and the Twins to complete the picture.

“I’m very pleased to see you, Harry, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said sweetly. “You’re just in time for dinner.”

Harry’s heart leapt at the prospect of his first quality meal in six weeks, and he bounded up the front steps. “Thank you so much for taking me in, Mrs. Weasley—” he started.

“Oh, no trouble at all, Harry. The boys have told us so much about you. Come on in. Come on in.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said as he stepped inside.

“Not a problem, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said. “Do keep me informed if you need anything else.”

Harry nodded and vanished into the Burrow. McGonagall smiled and turned to leave. Her work here was finally done—at least for this summer.

* * *

Life at the Burrow was the happiest time of Harry’s life, and considering he’d spent a year at Hogwarts, that was saying something. He had never seen before how a normal family—no, the last thing the Weasleys were was normal—but how a _loving_ family was supposed to operate. And unlike at Hogwarts, where he was mostly just admired for his fame, everyone at the Burrow actually seemed to like him. Well, there _was_ Ginny, who couldn’t say a word to him without it coming out as a squeak, usually accompanied by knocking something over, but he hoped she’d come around eventually. He tried not to laugh at her predicament.

His first night at the Burrow, Harry had been warmly greeted by Mr. Weasley, who peppered him with questions about the muggle world, and at dinner, he had shocked everyone by eating more than Ron. When asked how awful the muggles had been, he awkwardly muttered something about them keeping him holed up in his room without going into too much detail. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were spending equal time fawning over Percy, who had just been informed that day that he had received an astonishing twelve O.W.L.s. Percy himself looked mostly relieved and seemed much calmer and less high-strung than he had for the past year. Ron told Harry that night that he had, in fact, been very worried about him and confided that he had been considering rescuing him with Mr. Weasley’s flying car before Professor McGonagall had contacted them.

Over the next two weeks, Harry lived in comfort. He helped with small chores like de-gnoming the garden, but no one had to do all that much with so many people in the house to share the work. (What a novel concept!) He played Quidditch with Ron, Fred, and George, and he was regaled with tales of Mr. Weasley’s raids on misused muggle artifacts in the evenings. Soon, the Hogwarts letters arrived with their new book lists, mainly books by some famous dark creature hunter named Lockhart, but Harry had another reason to be excited: Hermione wrote them and told them she’d convinced her parents to let her stay at the Burrow for a week after they met in Diagon Alley on the nineteenth. Hermione was the one who had asked Professor McGonagall to save him from the Dursleys. He had a lot to thank her for.

Of course, his good luck had to run out sometime, and when they went to Diagon Alley, Harry managed to Floo himself into Knockturn Alley instead.

* * *

Hermione eagerly pulled her parents through Diagon Alley toward Gringotts on the nineteenth of August. Her parents were understandably uneasy. After all, they had never had a close encounter with wizards that hadn’t come off as strange, at best, though they were much calmer than they had been at the start of the summer. Hermione was very glad that her parents had made her see a counsellor over what had happened last spring. It had been a real job coming up with a story that got the gist of it across without mentioning magic, but talking with a professional about her trials had definitely helped her come to terms with what had happened, and the nightmares had mostly stopped by now. In any case, her parents her eager to meet her friends, who, to hear her tell it, were quite exceptional themselves: Ron Weasley, the chessmaster, and Harry Potter, the Quidditch prodigy. Granted, they were troublemakers with a knack for rushing into danger, but they were boys, so what did you expect?

However, at the moment, neither Harry nor any Weasleys were to be seen in Diagon Alley. They must be early. Mum and Dad decided to go up to Gringotts first to get some money changed before looking around for them. It was only as they were ascending the marble steps that Hermione turned around and happened to see a huge man with a wild, black beard and hair, and she stopped her parents in her tracks.

“Mum, Dad, there’s Hagrid,” she said. She looked closer. “And Harry! Harry! Harry! Over here!” she called, and she ran down the steps toward him. But she slowed as she approached. He was covered in dust and soot, and his glasses were snapped clean in two. “Harry, what happened to you?”

“Um…Floo Powder accident,” he muttered.

Hermione chose to let this go. “Oh, hello, Hagrid,” she said brightly. “It’s wonderful to see you two again. These are my parents—” She was aware that her parents were standing behind her, staring up slack-jawed at Hagrid’s enormous face.

“Harry—oh, thank goodness!” came a yell, and there was a commotion as a large mass of redheads came sprinting up the crowded street and immediately set upon Harry. “We thought you’d gone to the other end of the country!”

The Grangers all watched curiously as Mrs. Weasley brushed Harry off with a large clothes brush that she just happened to carry around while Mr. Weasley magically repaired Harry’s glasses. Through the confusion, it eventually emerged that they had all travelled to Diagon Alley by fireplace, like Hermione had read about, but Harry had mispronounced the location and come out in the seediest part of magical London by mistake. By coincidence, he had seen Draco Malfoy’s father selling what were presumably dark artifacts, something Mr. Weasley was very pleased about. Finally, they got everything sorted out so Hermione could introduce her family.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” she said primly, shaking the elder Weasleys’ hands. “I’m Hermione Granger, and these are my parents, Daniel and Emma.”

“And you’re muggles,” Mr. Weasley said delightedly. “Such an honour, it is. We’re very excited to have your daughter over for the week. The boys have told us so much about you,” he added to Hermione. “It sounds as if you’re even better at Arithmancy than our son, Bill, and he got an O on his N.E.W.T.”

“Well…” Hermione started, turning pink.

“It’s very generous of you have Hermione over,” Mum replied. “We’re glad she’s met such good friends at Hogwarts.”

“Well, anyone who can get Ron to buckle down and do his work…” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Oi, Mum!”

“In fact,” she continued, “we were hoping the two of you could come for dinner tonight. Then you can see where Hermione will be staying.”

“I—we—thank you,” Mum said in surprise. “If it’s not any trouble—”

“No trouble at all,” Mr. Weasley replied. “Molly loves having house guests. You can just Floo back to the Alley afterwards.” He saw all three Grangers cast a nervous eye at Harry. “Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s really quite safe if you pronounce your destination correctly.”

“Well, we’d be happy to come, thank you,” Dad said.

The large group split up after leaving the bank and wandered around the alley. Harry treated Ron and Hermione to ice cream as a thanks for getting him away from his relatives, and he explained his predicament with Dobby the house elf. Hermione agreed that it sounded very strange and suggested that they ask Tilly about it when they got to school. Hermione took care of her own shopping—she mostly just needed quills, ink and parchment, besides the books, and they met up with Fred, George, and Lee Jordan in the joke shop.

“Hello, Hermione,” George said. “Good to see you.”

“Uh huh. You, too,” she said.

“I take it you’ve been a good girl and stayed out of trouble this summer?” Fred said with a grin.

“Yes, I have,” Hermione said, turning up her nose a shade. “I take it you two haven’t?” She eyed the fireworks they were stocking up on suspiciously.

“Naturally,” Fred replied.

“As we’re not girls,” George added.

“Do we want to know—?” Mum started.

“No,” all of the students said at once.

Finally, they reached the book shop, where a surprisingly large crowd was gathered. A banner above the entrance explained why: _GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography MAGICAL ME today 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m._

“Gilderoy Lockhart?” Hermione squealed. “Mum, Dad, he’s the one who wrote all those defence books. He must be completely brilliant. We can actually meet him!” She eagerly pulled her parents into the line. She was so excited that she barely even noticed that most of the crowd seemed to be middle-aged witches. Mrs. Weasley seemed almost as excited as Hermione as she joined the line, but the boys all looked put off by the whole thing.

Gilderoy Lockhart slowly came into view. He was a handsome young wizard with wavy blond hair and a dazzlingly—perhaps magically—white smile. Hermione thought he looked dashing in his forget-me-not blue robes, with his pointed hat cocked at an angle, smiling and winking at the crowd, just like the pictures that graced his many book covers.

But as she drew near, it was Harry who grabbed Lockhart’s attention. Lockhart pulled him out of line, posed the dazed-looking boy for the _Daily Prophet_ , and took the opportunity to announce that he would be this year’s Defence Professor at Hogwarts. Hermione squealed even more loudly at the news and cheered along with the rest of the crowd. Quirrell may have been incompetent and possessed, but surely Lockhart would be an excellent Defence teacher. After all, who could be better than a teacher who wrote the books on defence? Harry, however, looked annoyed by the encounter, and he immediately handed his stack of books off to Ginny, who, unseen by him, froze wide-eyed at the gift.

But just then, Hermione heard a voice that made her blood run cold.

_“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter? Famous Harry Potter, can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”_

“Malfoy,” Hermione whispered to her parents, not taking her eyes off the blond boy.

“Is he the one who jinxed you?” Dad whispered back.

“Uh huh.”

Her father looked like he wanted to go over and give Malfoy a piece of his mind, but she put up a hand for him to stay back. It would be no good trying without magic, plus Malfoy’s father was sure to be lurking around somewhere.

_“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”_

_“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”_

Ron, Fred, and George all started toward Malfoy, but Harry, Hermione, and Mrs. Weasley held them back.

“And Granger,” Malfoy added. “I thought I smelled your stink around here.”

Her father grumbled something equally impolite and took a step towards Malfoy (and so did Ron), but he was interrupted by the arrival of a wizard with long, blond hair and an identical sneer to Draco’s.

 _“Well, well, well—Arthur Weasley,”_ Malfoy Senior said smugly.

_“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly._

_“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids…I hope they’re paying you overtime?” He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. “Obviously not. Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?”_

The Grangers hadn’t really expected anything different, but it was still jarring to see that Draco’s father was just as bad as he was. Hermione pushed her parents back a step as they watched the exchange.

_Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny._ _“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said._

_“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy._ He turned to face Hermione’s parents directly. Draco had surely told him they were muggles. _“The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower—”_

Hermione fumed at the insult, but she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut. She hoped that her parents would bear it, too, but the point was soon moot, since Mr. Weasley didn’t take so kindly to someone insulting his guests. He lunged at Mr. Malfoy, and they both fell back into a bookshelf. The Grangers all jumped back. There was confusion as Mr. Weasley’s children egged him on, while his wife tried to stop him, and more shelves toppled over. But suddenly, a deep voice boomed over the fray.

 _“Break it up, there, gents, break it up—” Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an_ Encyclopedia of Toadstools _. He was still holding Ginny_ _’s old Transfiguration book._

_He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice._ _“Here, girl—take your book—it’s the best your father can give you—” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop._

“Terribly sorry about that, you three,” Mr. Weasley apologised after brushing himself off and being thoroughly chastised by his wife. “You shouldn’t have had to see us fighting like that. Of course, you shouldn’t have to deal with people like Lucius Malfoy, either—think they’re better than everyone else, magic and non-magic alike.”

“Joke’s on them,” Ron spoke up. “Hermione got better marks than Draco Malfoy in every class.”

Hermione turned pink and said, “Yes, but that’s the reason he’s so mad at me.”

“Well, just don’t let him control your life,” her mother said. “That’s the best thing you can do about a bully.”

“I quite agree,” Mrs. Weasley said, giving sharp looks to her sons.

They reached the Leaky Cauldron, and the elder Weasleys explained how to use the Floo—more carefully than they had apparently told Harry. Mr. Weasley stepped through to set the wards for visitors, and then the rest of the party followed. Thankfully, this time, it went without a hitch.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Based on the findings of Rowling (1997) and subsequent publications, I do not own Harry Potter.

The Grangers arrived at the Burrow to find and even stranger magical environment than Diagon Alley. As the Weasleys stepped out of the fireplace, seven hands on a large clock shifted one by one from “Travelling” to “Home.” On closer inspection, each hand proved to have the name of one of the Weasleys on it. Two other hands, belonging to Bill and Charlie, were pointing at “Work.” There were moving pictures on the walls, a disturbing howl coming from someplace high above, and a mirror in the kitchen that verbally greeted the guests. A bird that looked more like a feather duster than an owl sat sleeping on a perch in the corner. The smell of baked chicken was wafting through the house.

They quickly hauled Hermione’s trunk up to Ginny’s room and then settled into the kitchen. It was a tight fit, but it seemed as if the Weasleys were used to it, as they set the table, laid out the food and took their seats like a well-oiled machine. (Not without a bit of complaining and quarrelling, but they really were practised at it.)

Before they sat down, Hermione whispered to Fred and George, “If you prank my parents, you will regret it. Remember, girls can get into the boys’ dorms at school, but not the other way around.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hermione,” Fred replied.

“Yeah, they’re guests in our house, after all,” George added.

“And they haven’t done anything to…provoke us.”

“Good,” Hermione said. “Let’s see it that it stays that way.”

Once everyone was seated around the table, Mr. Weasley declared, “Tuck in,” and that’s exactly what they did. The food was all extremely good. Ron had more than once boasted that his mother’s cooking was even better than the Hogwarts food, but Hermione hadn’t believed it. The Hogwarts food was always good quality, being made by dozens of house elves who were specifically trained in cooking and were the equivalent of professional chefs, so she’d no reason to believe Ron’s claims—until now.

“This is wonderful food, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione said.

“Mm hmm. Definitely,” her mother added. “How ever did you do it?”

“It’s simply magic,” Mr. Weasley said with a grin.

“Oh, Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley chided him. “Just a little something I threw together.”

It was more than “a little something,” though. Mrs. Weasley was modest enough about her cooking, but the Grangers (and Harry) were impressed. It emerged that she had slaughtered the fattest chicken that morning, plucked it, stuffed it, and baked it with vegetables and gravy especially for the occasion. All the other ingredients were kept as fresh as possible under preserving charms, and she surely _had_ used some more magic to prepare such an elaborate dinner for eleven in a single day and still have time for shopping.

Inevitably, the conservation turned to each other’s lives. It was quite rare for wizards to be able to catch up with muggles, even when their children were good friends. Mr. Weasley had an astonishing number of questions about how the muggle world worked. It was entertaining, but his level of ignorance was disturbing, especially for a wizard who was supposed to work with muggle artifacts. Then again, Hermione’s parents were just as ignorant about the magical world, although they had the Statute of Secrecy as an excuse.

“So, Hermione, what _have_ you been up to over the summer?” Fred asked interestedly.

“Well, one of the first things I did was take my A-level in maths. That’s like a N.E.W.T…I got an A on it,” she said happily.

Every one of the Weasleys gasped, from Arthur all the way down to Ginny. Clearly, her reputation had preceded her.

“That’s like an O at Hogwarts,” she clarified as Harry and her parents laughed.

“Oh,” they all sighed with relief. Hermione Granger getting a mere Acceptable in maths would be a disaster. Being happy about it would be a sign of the Apocalypse. Fred and George grinned and discreetly raised their glasses to her for that one.

“So are you done with muggle maths, now?” Ron asked.

“Oh, heavens, no. There’s loads more at university level.”

“Yes, she started right in on vector calculus after that,” Dan said, to no one’s surprise.

“But it’s been very good to have her at home,” Emma added. “Hermione’s even showed us how to make a couple of potions that don’t require a wand.”

That raised some eyebrows around the room. “You can do that?” Ron blurted.

“Sure,” Hermione said, “if there’s no wand work, all the magic’s in the ingredients…Although, actually, I think it might be possible for muggles to brew a lot of the standard potions using runes, since the spells are so standardised.”

The Weasleys looked on with astonishment.

“But you can’t—but that’s—” Mrs. Weasley stammered, but she couldn’t seem to think of an actual objection.

“Really?” Mr. Weasley said. “That’s quite interesting. I never really thought of it that way before. I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t work, though, if the runes can replace what the spells do.”

Then, to her surprise, Percy spoke up: “Hermione, if you can actually _demonstrate_ that, you should write it up. I’m sure _The Practical Potioneer_ would love to see new developments coming from a bright young student.”

“Really? She squeaked. “But I’ll only be a second year.”

“Professor Dumbledore was in all kinds of journals when he was still a student,” Percy said importantly. “And I think you have the potential to follow in his footsteps if you apply yourself to it.”

Hermione was in a daze at this compliment, but suddenly, Ron started laughing. She glared at him, but he said, “Merlin’s beard, can you imagine the look on Snape’s face if he sees your name in his journal. You _gotta_ try it.”

Hermione imagined it and laughed in spite of herself. He’d _have_ to give her points then…or else he’d find an excuse to take about fifty away out of spite. Harry, Fred, George, and even Ginny all thought it was hilarious.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley noticed Fred and George getting very interested looks on their faces and decided to nip that in the bud. “Don’t even think about it!” she said. “Whatever you’re thinking about, just stop it.” This caused the rest of the children to laugh even more.

“So what about you, Arthur?” Dan asked. “What is it that you do, exactly?”

“I work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic,” Mr. Weasley replied eagerly.

“Misuse of Muggle Artifacts?”

“Yes, you see, the regulations on enchanting muggle artifacts are actually quite strict because they could be accidentally sold or given to muggles, and my office is the one that enforces them. Of course, the big trouble is what we call “muggle-baiting.” Some wizards will deliberately sell an unsuspecting muggle prank items like vanishing keys or biting doorknobs, and, of course, a muggle who doesn’t know about magic would never tell anyone because no one would believe them.”

“Oh, I can see how that would be a problem,” Dan replied. “It’s good to know someone’s looking out for us, then.”

“Father recently successfully lobbied the Wizengamot to pass a Muggle Protection Act to more uniformly punish muggle-baiting and other crimes against muggles,” Percy said. He hadn’t shown that much pride in his family at school, but apparently even he thought that passing something through the Wizengamot meant something, and if it was anything like Parliament, the Grangers had to agree.

“Really?” Emma said in surprise. “That can’t have been easy. It sounds like you’re doing good work.”

“Well, I like to think so. Mind you, most of us are perfectly friendly people. There’s some who don’t think muggles are worth the trouble, but I do. And besides, I enjoy my work, and that’s really what’s important, isn’t it?”

“Of course, Arthur, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said sincerely.

“And what about you two,” Mr. Weasley asked Dan and Emma. “They boys tried to explain what you do, but I don’t think they quite got it.”

“Oh, we’re both dentists,” Dan replied.

“And what is a dentist, exactly?”

“We repair people’s teeth. You see, when someone’s teeth are damaged or rotted, we can’t just fix them with a spell…” This led into perhaps the strangest dinner conservation the Grangers had had with a non-dentist. Mr. Weasley looked fascinated as Dan and Emma explained the process of digging out the rotted part of a tooth and filling it in with metal. Fred and George also looked fascinated for what Hermione feared were more sinister reasons. The rest of the Weasleys, Mrs. Weasley especially, turned green at the description.

“That sounds rather painful, though,” Mr. Weasley said cluelessly. “Do people have trouble going to the dentist when they need it?”

“Oh, yes. A visit to the dentist can strike fear into the hearts of the strongest men,” Dan said, practising his “protective father” look on the boys at the table, who winced. “Unfortunately, that’s something of a drain on our business,” he added.

“I can imagine,” Mrs. Weasley said uneasily, before quickly changing the subject.

After dinner, the Grangers thanked the Weasleys again for hosting and said their goodbyes, and Mr. Weasley carefully led Dan and Emma back through the Floo, soon reporting, to Hermione’s relief, that they had made it to London safety.

By then, it was just about time for bed. Hermione followed Ron’s painfully shy little sister up to the third landing, where she would be kipping on a camp bed for the week. She was pleased to see that Ginny’s room, like her own, was not too pink and girly, though it was more oriented towards Quidditch than academics.

But the moment the door closed, an amazing change came over Ginny. She heaved a huge sigh of what seemed equal parts relief and exasperation, and then she seemed to relax and brighten for the first time all day. “It’s really good of you to come stay with us, Hermione,” she said quickly. “It’ll be nice having another girl around to talk to. There’s only Luna here in the village, and she’s a little—” She whistled a “cuckoo” sound.

“Um, sure, Ginny,” Hermione said. “I’m glad to be here. Um…Are you okay, though? You barely said a word all through dinner, and now…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I just get so nervous around Harry. I’ve wanted to meet him my whole life, and now he’s here, I can’t say two words to him,” she said frantically. “You’re friends with him. Can you tell me what he’s like?”

 _Famous Harry Potter again_ , she thought. Hermione marvelled at how _not_ shy Ginny was at all when her favourite celebrity wasn’t around.

“I guess, but hasn’t Ron told you all about him?” she said.

“Ron’s a boy. He doesn’t notice the important things.”

That much she could agree with. “Well, the first thing that comes to mind is…Harry is really impulsive. And stubborn. He took off on a broom after Malfoy when he was told not to, and he’d never even flown before. Then he went traipsing off to a wizard’s duel at midnight that same day. He was wandering the castle after hours on Christmas. And I had to stop him charging after a dangerous thief at the end of term.”

“But he actually stopped You-Know-Who? Again?” Ginny interrupted excitedly.

“Well, kind of by accident, but yeah—but Professor Dumbledore and I helped.”

“That’s amazing!” she squeaked.

“Not so amazing if you were there,” Hermione countered. “It was really scary.”

“Oh…but still, not many people have faced You-Know-Who and lived.”

There was an awkward silence. Hermione usually tried not to think about that.

“So…all my brothers say you’re really brilliant,” Ginny changed the subject.

Hermione blushed. “In Arithmancy, sure,” she said. “I mean, Professor Vector’s never had anyone test in early before. But—”

“But didn’t you get top marks in all the other classes, too?”

“Well, yes—”

“That’s really amazing. Bill and Percy did things like that. I hope I can—”

“I’m sure you will, Ginny. It sounds like it runs in the family.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” she smiled weakly. “Say…Can you…introduce me to your friends we I come to Hogwarts?” she suddenly sounded nervous.

“Sure,” Hermione replied. “Of course, you already know Harry and Ron—”

“Thank you,” the redhead sighed with relief. She seemed unexpectedly somber as she nearly whispered, “I…don’t really have any friends—just my brothers. They’re really great—well, some more than others—but it’s hard being the only girl in the family.”

“You don’t have any friends?” Hermione said worriedly. “But what about in the village?”

Ginny shook her head. “There’s so few magical children around here, there’s hardly anyone my age. And we can’t really bring muggles over with all the magic we use here.”

“Well, I suppose not. But you must have _some_ friends,” Hermione insisted. She couldn’t believe someone as outgoing as Ginny could be as lonely as she was all through primary.

“Well, Luna’s kind of my friend, but she really is a little nuts.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“No, I mean it. I’ll introduce you if she stops by, but I haven’t seen much of her since her mum died.”

“Oh—?”

“Yeah, it was really sad. Some kind of accident a couple years ago. She spends most of her time with her dad, now.”

“Oh my…Well, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make plenty of friends at Hogwarts.”

Ginny brightened at that, and they talked inconsequentially for a while longer. Finally, it was time for bed. Ginny put everything in its place and emptied out her shopping bags, taking care to stow her new wand in a place of honour on her dresser.

“Hey, is this yours, Hermione?” she asked as she went through her supplies. She held up and old, black, leather-bound diary.

“Nope, not mine.”

“Huh. Mum must’ve got it for me.” She put the diary back on her stack of books and was soon ready for bed. “Good night, Hermione.”

“Good night, Ginny.”

* * *

A couple days later, the boys decided to go practice Quidditch in a paddock hidden by the trees—except for Percy, that is, who claimed he was busy. Hermione was pretty sure he’d only come out of his room for meals since she’d arrived.

“Hey, Hermione, do you wanna play,” Ron asked on the way out.

“No thanks. You know I’m rubbish on a broom.”

“I’ll play!” Ginny said.

“ _No_ ,” Ron said. “You can’t even fly.”

“I can too. You just never let me play.”

“You’ve never been on a broom.”

“Harry had never been on a broom before, either, and he’s a great flier,” Hermione observed.

“Yeah, but he’s Harry.”

“ _Honestly_ , Ron. Ginny might as well get a head start. She’ll be learning at Hogwarts in a few weeks, anyway.”

“So let her learn it there.”

“You all learnt to fly before you went to Hogwarts,” Ginny said angrily. “Just because you never let me use your brooms—”

“That’s not very nice,” Hermione chided. “Maybe she’s a really great flier.”

“Let’s just go, guys. We don’t need her. She’s just a—” Ron started, but he wilted under Hermione’s death glare.

“A _what_ , Ron?” she practically growled. “A girl? You asked me to play, and in case you haven’t noticed, _I_ _’m_ a girl. And all the Chasers on the Gryffindor team are girls, too.”

“And don’t we know it,” Fred said suggestively. “But, really, Ginny doesn’t have any experience, and we’ve already got four without Percy.”

At this, Ginny gave Hermione a pleading look that she must have been practising on her parents and older brothers for years. It proved difficult to resist.

 _The things I do for my friends_ , Hermione thought. “Fine, I’ll play with you, too. Ginny can’t be any worse than I am, so it’ll be even.”

After that argument, the boys had no recourse but to grudgingly let the girls join them, though Harry, at least, didn’t seem to mind. He went to get his Nimbus Two Thousand, and then the rest of the group went to the broom shed, where they retrieved five brooms that looked even more beat up than the old brooms at school. Hermione was liking this idea less by the minute, but she bravely slung Bill’s broom over her shoulder and followed the boys out toward the paddock.

Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley came running out the back door. “And just where do you think you’re going, young lady?” she called.

“To play Quidditch with the boys and Hermione, Mum,” Ginny replied nervously.

“Ginny, you can’t fly!” Mrs. Weasley yelled frantically.

Ginny screwed up her courage and gave her mother a disdainful look. Then, without a word, she hopped on her broom and took off. Mrs. Weasley screamed. After three laps around the house that looked to be straining the ancient broom’s capabilities, she flew in close, flipped upside down for good measure, and came face to face with her mother, her long hair hanging below her head.

“Bloody hell!” Ron, Fred, and George all said at once. Harry and Hermione didn’t speak, but they were both thinking the same thing.

“Ginny…how…?” Mrs. Weasley stammered.

“I guess I’m just a natural flier,” she said. She flipped over and landed on her feet.

“Well…well…don’t go scaring me like that again!” her mother chided, but she looked too proud to be very angry.

“Yes, Mum.”

“Keep a _close_ eye on her, you three,” she told her sons.

“Ginny, why didn’t you ever tell us you could fly like that?” George said.

“Why didn’t you ever let me on a broom?” she replied defiantly.

“That was really great, Ginny,” Harry said softly.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. Ginny squeaked once and nearly tripped over her own feet. She found herself unable to speak for the rest of the walk. It was only when they had reached the paddock that she hung back and whispered, “Thanks, Hermione. I’ve been wanting to do that for years…I’m not really a natural flier. I’ve been sneaking my brothers’ brooms out since I was six.”

They had to fly low around the paddock to stay below the trees, which suited Hermione just fine. They also couldn’t play with real Quidditch balls, so they just tossed apples to each other, or, in Fred’s and George’s case, threw them at people when the fluidly shifting positions of the three-on-three game made them Beaters. Hermione regretted coming out here from the moment she was in the air. She could fly without hurting herself, and she really did try, but she was completely outclassed by all of the boys and Ginny. Granted, Ginny was inconsistent. She was a good flier in principle, but she froze up whenever she got close to Harry, which was bad where they were on opposing teams and downright dangerous when Fred and George tried putting them on the same team.

They’d been flying for about any hour, and Hermione was really wishing she could sit out the rest of the afternoon, when her prayers were answered: a tall, handsome boy with a nice, quality broom slung casually across his shoulders came strolling out of the trees.

“Cedric!” Hermione said excitedly and flew down to meet him. The rest of the players followed close behind.

“Hello, Hermione,” Cedric said. “You should have told me you’d be in the village.”

“Oh, you live around here? I didn’t know that.” _Blame the Weasley boys_ , she thought.

“Hey, Diggory,” Fred said when he landed. “What’s going on?”

“I just thought I’d swing by. Your dad mentioned to my dad that you had guests. Do you mind if I join your game?”

“Not at all! You can take my spot,” Hermione said quickly.

“Really? You sure, Hermione?”

“Yeah, really. I more of a ‘both feet on the ground’ type. Oh, have you met Harry, Cedric?” she introduced her friend.

“I haven’t had the pleasure, but I’ve seen you fly,” Cedric told Harry, shaking his hand. “You’re really good, Potter. Pleased to meet you.”

“Thanks. Um, you’re Hufflepuff reserve Seeker, right?”

“That’s right,” Cedric said brightly. “Or I was last year. I probably will be again this year, but I think I’ve got a good chance at Captain next year. Maybe then I can take you down on a real pitch.”

“Uh, sure…Looking forward to it.”

“Great. So, what do you reckon? Three on three?” he asked the Weasley boys.

Fred and George got calculating looks on their faces and whispered to each other. “Alright, Diggory,” said Fred. “How about you, Ron, and Ginny versus us and Harry,” they proposed, sticking him with (it was hard to deny) the two weakest players. But Cedric graciously accepted the arrangement, and the two teams took off while Hermione watched.

Yes, it was definitely more fun on the ground.

Despite Ginny’s inconsistency, Cedric was impressed with her flying skills. “You never told me Ginny could fly,” he said to the Twins after a while.

“Yeah, uh, we didn’t really know,” George replied.

“She really pulled one over on us,” added Fred.

“Serves you right for never letting me on a broom before,” Ginny said. Then, she laughed evilly and buzzed both of their heads at once with her feet.

They ducked, and Fred yelled after her, “Of course, you know that this means war!”

* * *

The day before she was to go home, Hermione was sitting out on the back porch, reading up on how to calculate tangents and normals to vector-valued functions. (It was a rather tedious and complex process that would probably be better done with a computer, but that was no good in the magical world.) Percy had finally come out of his room to ask her some questions about basic trigonometry, since he was studying up for sixth-year Arithmancy, and Ginny was de-gnoming the garden.

Tiny grunts of “Geroff me!” filled the air as Ginny tossed gnomes over the hedge. It seemed disturbing to treat a creature that could speak so callously, but despite their large heads and their ability to say “Geroff me!” in context, the one time Hermione had tried to speak to one of the potato-like creatures, it had just muttered at her incoherently and bit her finger, and she was forced to conclude that it had no more brains than a parrot.

They were all so engrossed in what they were doing that it took a while before anyone noticed a girl with long blond hair wandering up the garden path, looking around dreamily, as if she were watching for interesting shapes in the clouds, but once you noticed her, it was hard to look away. She was a dotty-looking little thing, wearing clashing colours and corks on a necklace.

“Hello, Ginny,” the girl said in a high, ethereal voice. And then, as if noticing the flying lumps for the first time, “Oh good, you have gnomes!” She bent down to pick one up.

Ginny looked up: “Oh, hello Lu—”

“Ouch!” the gnome bit the girl’s finger, and she shook it off.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, very much so,” she replied airily. “Gnome saliva is excellent for boosting creativity and musical talent.”

Hermione looked to Ginny for an explanation. She didn’t remember feeling especially creative or musically inclined after she’d been bitten.

“Hermione, this is the girl I told you about, Luna Lovegood,” Ginny explained. “She’s starting Hogwarts this year, too. Luna, this is Hermione Granger. She’s in Ron’s year—except she’s already taking fourth-year Arithmancy.”

Luna cocked her head to one side. “Hello, Hermione Granger,” she said. “I suspected that you might be academically gifted. Your excess hair should ward off wrackspurts quite well.”

“P-pleased to meet you, Luna,” Hermione stammered. “Um, what are wrackspurts?”

“Tiny creatures that float through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy. But they would get tangled in your bushy hair and learn to stay away from you.”

Ginny started giggling.

“I…don’t think there is such a thing,” Hermione said slowly.

“Just because you’re never seen one,” Luna said indignantly.

“So what are you doing here, Luna?” Ginny asked before Hermione could make a scene.

“I was following a blibbering humdinger, and it led me here,” Luna said dreamily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hermione stared at Ginny again. Ginny twirled her finger around her temple when Luna wasn’t looking. Hermione didn’t think that was very nice of her, but it was hard to disagree with that assessment. Luna wandered around the garden for the rest of the morning, and Hermione didn’t think she even once said something that fully made sense. Still, she seemed like a nice enough girl. She was probably just more isolated than Ginny was. Hopefully, for her sake, some normal social interaction would tone her down.

* * *

The next day, Hermione packed her things to go home for the last five days of the summer.

“It’s been wonderful having you over, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I know Ginny really enjoyed it. You’ll have to come again next summer.”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Weasley. I’d love to come back sometime.” Truthfully, Hermione had liked having Ginny around, too. Despite the Quidditch obsession and the even stronger Harry obsession, they seemed more alike than most of the girls she knew—although she wasn’t sure what Ginny was getting up to with that diary of hers the past couple of days.

“Yeah, um, thanks for coming,” Ron said awkwardly.

“Yeah…and thanks again for telling McGonagall to get me away from the Dursleys,” Harry added.

“I’m glad I could,” Hermione replied. “You know I’ll help you if I can, right?”

“And me too, mate,” Ron chipped in.

“Yeah, I know. I’m glad I have friends like you two,” Harry said simply.

In the corner, no one noticed Ginny looking on longingly.

“Alright, all ready to go, Hermione?” Mr. Weasley said as he stood by the fireplace.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley. I’ll see you all on Tuesday.”

“See ya.” The boys waved back.

And with that, Mr. Weasley escorted her back to Diagon Alley to meet her parents. Despite the mess at the end of last term, this was quite possibly the best summer she’d ever had.


	26. Second Year, Autumn Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling gets an A (A* these days) for writing skills, not so much for maths skills, sorry.
> 
> I’m aware that Hermione’s maths self-study is more in the American style of relatively standardised semester courses than in what I can gather is the British style of modules, but that’s what I’m familiar with, so I’m sticking with it. Please excuse any resulting errors.

Hermione got to King’s Cross Station on the first of September with plenty of time to spare. She found a compartment with Neville Longbottom and chatted with him about their respective summers. But as the minutes ticked by, it seemed the Weasleys were running very late. At ten fifty-five, she began to worry that they might not make it. In fact, it was ten fifty-nine—she could hear the steam puffing from the scarlet engine—when Percy, Fred, George, and Ginny came running up to the train and threw their trunks on board.

“I thought you were going to miss the train,” Hermione admonished.

“Yeah, that was a close one,” George said.

“We had to go back for Ginny’s diary,” added Fred.

“ _And_ your broomstick and fireworks,” Ginny shot back.

“So where’s Ron and Harry?” Hermione asked.

They looked around and saw the other boys were nowhere to be found. “Huh. Dunno,” Fred replied. “They were right behind us.”

“Hope they didn’t get left behind,” George said.

“Probably just found another compartment. They’ll turn up.”

* * *

“Why can’t we get through?” Harry hissed at Ron as he pounded on the solid barrier between Platform Nine and Platform Ten.

“The barrier’s sealed itself somehow,” Ron said. “I don’t get it. It’s never done that before.”

“How do we get through,” Harry said, pushing more frantically.

“I dunno…” Ron looked up at the clock. “Oh, no! It’s no good. The train leaves at _exactly_ eleven o’clock. We’ve missed it.”

“What’re we gonna do?”

“I dunno…” he repeated. “What if Mum and Dad can’t get back to us either? Do you have any muggle money.”

“Ha! No. The Dursleys never gave me pocket money.”

Ron pressed his ear against the barrier. “I can’t hear a thing,” he said.

Harry glanced around at all the muggles staring at the two boys and an owl who were behaving so strangely. “Uh, Ron, maybe we should wait by the car,” he said.

“The car? Harry, the car!”

“What about it?”

“Dad enchanted it to fly!” Ron whispered with a gleam in his eyes. “We can fly it to Hogwarts!”

“What? But we don’t know how.”

“I can work it out. Dad talks enough about it.”

“But—”

“Look, we’re stranded here, right? No muggle money, we don’t know when Mum and Dad’ll get back, and we have to get to school, right? This is an emergency.” He started off toward the car park.

Harry was about to protest again, but then, a brain wave hit him—a fragment of a memory spoken to him a month earlier: _stranded_ _…emergency…emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard._

He caught up and grabbed his friend by the arm. “Wait, Ron! I’ve got an idea!”

Harry led Ron past the car park and out to the street. Then, he braced himself, prayed this would work, and stuck out his right hand.

BANG! A purple triple-decker bus appears at the curbside, pushing several parked cars out of the way.

A moment later, to Harry’s delight, a young man in a purple uniform jumped out and said, “ _Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor today_.”

“That’s bloody brilliant!” Ron said. “You can take us to Hogwarts, then?”

“‘Ogwarts?” Stan Shunpike said, looking confused. “Why don’ ‘choo take the train?”

“We missed the train,” Ron said.

“‘Choo miss the train for?”

“We didn’t miss it on purpose,” Ron replied testily. “Can you take us or not?”

“Course we can. Might take a while, tho.” Busy day today. That’s eleven sickles each, but for fifteen, you get a peanut butter an’ jelly san’wich.”

“I’ve got it,” Harry muttered, pulling out the correct change.

“Great. Let’s go,” Ron said.

* * *

“Fred, George, I don’t think Harry and Ron are on the train,” Hermione said in exasperation. “They must have missed it.”

Draco Malfoy seemed to be thinking the same thing. He had wandered in around lunch time to needle Harry and instead found a perfect opportunity to gloat over his supposed expulsion from school, but Fred and George quickly chased him out.

“Well, it’s not that bad, is it?” said Fred. “Mum and Dad’ll take care of them—once Mum’s done yelling at Ron.”

“They’ve probably Flooed straight to Hogsmeade by now,” George said.

“They’re probably having a grand old time sipping butterbeer—”

“Eating fish and chips—”

“Chatting up Madam Rosmerta.”

“I’m sure they’re doing just fine.”

“Well…if you say so,” Hermione said.

* * *

“AHHHHHH!”

Harry and Ron screamed and dove for cover as the Knight Bus zoomed treacherously along the very edge of the Cliffs of Dover for the benefit of some deranged magical sightseer. BANG-ing around the country like this all day was making them both terrified and nauseous, so much so that even Ron didn’t have the stomach for his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Next time, we’re taking the car,” he yelled to Harry. “At least that way, if we crash, it’ll be our own fault.”

By now, Harry was starting to agree with him.

* * *

“Firs’ years this way!” a familiar voice cried. In the dusk, a dark figure with a lantern towered over the students. The first years nervously moved towards Hagrid as they gazed up at his huge form. Hermione remembered how awed she’d been the first time she saw him.

“Well, that’s me. Wish me luck,” Ginny said, clearly trying to sound more confident than she was. She walked over to join the crowd. Luna Lovegood came and stood next to her, watching Hagrid with a serene smile.

“All righ,” Hermione?” Hagrid called over to her. “Where’re the other two?”

“They missed the train,” she said. “We thought they’d be waiting for us here.”

“Ah, probably gone up teh the castle already. Yeh’d better go on ahead.”

“Well…okay, see you later, Hagrid.”

“Or else Ron drank too much butterbeer,” Fred suggested.

“Come on, you two. Let’s get a carriage,” said George.

The Twins led Hermione and Neville a short way up the road from the station to where several dozen stagecoaches stood to take the students up to the castle. But the two younger children froze when they came close, staring that the things that were pulling the stagecoaches. They looked like horses, but they were scaly and skeletal. They had dragon-like heads complete with sharp teeth and huge, bat-like wings folded against their sides. Their eyes were solid white, but they appeared to be looking around as if they could see. They had an eerie, otherworldly aura about them that made Hermione and Neville shiver.

“You okay?” George asked.

“What are those things?” said Hermione, pointing at the unsettling animals.

The Twins looked where she was pointing. “What things?” asked Fred.

“Pulling the carriages.”

The Twins looked confused. “There’s nothing pulling the carriages,” Fred told her.

“Yeah,” George added. “The carriages pull themselves. Always have.”

“You pranking us, now?” asked Fred.

“No—What are you talking about? They’re right there!” Hermione said, pointing again. “They’re big horse-dragon things. Neville, you see them, don’t you?”

“Y-yeah…” the shy boy stammered. “I can see them…” He screwed up his face as he often did when he was trying to remember something he’d forgotten.

“I think the ickle second years have gone mad, Georgie,” said Fred. He started to walk around the front of the carriage. “There’s clearly nothing—”

“Watch out!” Hermione yelled, a half-second too late. Fred walked directly into the flank of one of the beasts and went sprawling on the ground.  The creature bucked and let out a shrieking cry like a bird of prey. Several more of the things returned the cry from the other carriages, making many of the students who were milling around jump.

“Bloody hell!” the Twins said in unison, and Hermione realised that unless they were pulling a very good (and risky) act, they really couldn’t see the things. But they could definitely hear them. George came around the other side of the carriage, extended his arms in front of him, and cautiously stepped forward. Soon, he made contact with another of the creatures.

“Whoa!” he said. “This is wicked. It’s invisible!” He looked back at Hermione and Neville. “But you two can see them?”

Comprehension dawned on Neville’s face. “I remember!” he cried. “They’re called thestrals. My Gran told me about them. They’re a wild type of winged horse, except…” He grew pale, and his voice dropped to where the others could barely hear it. “…except only people who have seen death can see them.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in horror, followed only a split second later by the twins, and she gave a tiny “Oh!” of surprise. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ only had a few lines about thestrals, and it hadn’t mentioned that particular aspect of their nature. She’d just assumed they could appear and disappear at will. But with this trait, probably only a few of the students could see them.

“Ohhh…” said Fred. “So when Professor Quirrell…”

“Yeah,” she said quickly.

“Are you doing okay, Hermione?” asked George.

“Mostly,” she said. “It still hurts sometimes…Neville, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said shakily. “We should go.”

The four of them climbed aboard the carriage, and it started rattling up the road to the castle.

“It was my granddad,” Neville said after a minute or two of silence. “The whole family was with him in St. Mungo’s when he…when he went.”

Hermione patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry about what happened last spring,” he told her. “I know it’s not the same…It gets easier, though.”

“I know…” she said. “Thank you, Neville.”

“Alright, enough moping,” Fred complained. “We’ve got pranks to plan…”

They reached the doors of the castle and filed into the Great Hall. Hermione kept looking around for Ron and Harry, but they were still nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, she took a seat near Neville and the Twins, who confidently saved a seat for Ginny in addition to Harry and Ron, and waited for the first years to arrive.

* * *

“There you go,” said Stan Shunpike. “Gates of ‘Ogwarts. Thanks for ridin’.” And before Harry and Ron could speak another word, there was a deafening BANG! And the Knight Bus zoomed away.

“Well, _that_ was bright idea,” Ron grumbled, nursing bruises from a full days’ riding on the absurd bus. Even Scabbers seemed to be squeaking in protest.

“At least it got us here,” Harry said wearily. “Come on, let’s get up to the castle before we miss dinner.”

Ron didn’t argue with that. The two boys dragged their heavy trunks and Hedwig’s cage up the path to the main doors of the castle.

“Harry, I think the Sorting’s started,” Ron said, peering in a window. Harry came up alongside him. Scabbers poked his head out of Ron’s pocket as if to watch.

Indeed, the golden plates on the long tables were still bare, and a line of first years was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, waiting for Professor McGonagall to place the ragged old Sorting Hat on their heads. Ginny’s hair stood out brightly in the candleight.

“Creevey, Colin,” McGonagall called, and a tiny, mousy-haired boy ran forward almost as eagerly as Hermione had done last year. Harry scanned the High Table where Dumbledore sat, cheerfully watching the sorting, looking quite unconcerned about his two missing students. Indeed, none of the staff seemed to have noticed, except two. At the far corner of the Great Hall, Professor Vector and Hagrid were not watching the ceremony. Harry followed their gazes and spotted Hermione, sitting by several empty seats. It made Harry feel a little better to see that Professor Vector had not forgotten what happened one other time a student was mysteriously absent from dinner. In the meantime, he noticed something amiss at the other end of the High Table.

“GRYFFINDOR!” The Sorting Hat shouted.

“Hang on, there’s an empty seat,” Harry said. “Where’s Snape?”

“Huh, maybe he’s ill,” Ron said.

“Maybe he left.”

“Maybe he’s been _sacked_!”

“Or _maybe_ ,” a cold, wicked voice sounded behind them, “He’s waiting to hear why you didn’t arrive on the train.”

The two boys turned around slowly. There was Professor Snape in his billowing black robes, grinning down at them evilly. “Well…?” he growled. Scabbers ducked back into Ron’s pocket.

“Th-the barrier at King’s Cross sealed itself, sir,” Harry said. “We missed the train…We came on the Knight Bus.”

“A likely story. Follow me.” Snape led them up the front steps and into the echoing Entrance Hall, though mercifully not down to the dungeons. “Let’s call that minus twenty points each for tardiness—yes, Mr. Weasley, I _can_ do that before the terms starts. And before dinner, too. I do believe that’s a record. Not even your father managed that, Potter.” Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Snape cut him off: “Oh, and detention. And get inside before I reconsider my generosity. The elves will attend to your luggage.” With that, he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall.

“Lovegood, Luna,” McGonagall called, but she froze with the Sorting Hat hanging from her hand as all eyes turned to Harry and Ron as Snape led them in. Only Luna herself seemed oblivious as she skipped up the front of the Hall and sat on the stool, swinging her feet.

“Just a late delivery, Minerva,” Snape said with a sneer. “Carry on.”

Hermione finally saw a red-faced Harry and Ron walked dejectedly up to the Gryffindor Table. She’d been getting more and more worried when they never showed up to the Welcome Feast, and Fred and George started joking that they’d been expelled for trying to fly Mr. Weasley’s enchanted car to school. She jumped up and hugged each of them, whispering. “ _There_ you are! Where have you _been?_ Are you alright? What happened? Why weren’t you on the train? Come on, sit down.”

Harry and Ron sat and whispered back to her and the Twins about their ordeal starting that morning. That the barrier would seal itself seemed very strange, but she didn’t know what might cause that. She paled, and the Twins laughed, when Ron said they actually _did_ consider flying the car to Hogwarts. Looking up at the staff table, she saw Hagrid smile and wave, and Harry waved back. Professor Vector nodded to them with a very relieved expression.

Through all of this, Hermione kept one eye on the Sorting. Luna was taking a long time, but unlike most of the students, who might mutter a few nervous words in exchange with the Hat, the strange blond girl was smiling and looked to be having a pleasant conversation with it. Finally, she was sure she heard the Hat chuckle softly before it called out, “RAVENCLAW!”

Luna, still smiling, skipped down to take a seat at the adjacent table. Hermione wonder what she possibly could have talked about so long with a hat. She also remembered her own Sorting, when the Hat had nearly put her in Ravenclaw, and then changed its mind. Perhaps she should keep an eye on Luna Lovegood, she thought.

The rest of the Sorting went quickly. It was a small class this year. Finally, Ginny was standing alone in the middle of the Hall with all eyes on her. She looked resolute, but Hermione had a feeling she was really frightened inside. After all, she had a lot to live up to.

“Weasley, Ginevra,” McGonagall said at last.

Ginny stood up straight and walked forward calmly to sit on the stool. The Sorting Hat barely even touched her head before it shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!”

The entire Gryffindor table stood and applauded. The Weasley Family’s reputation in that house was legendary by now. Ginny ran over and hugged each of her brothers in turn and took the empty seat between Fred and George. Ron leaned close to Harry and Hermione and said, “Figures she’d be the most Gryffindor of all of us.”

With Ginny sorted, Dumbledore initiated the feast in his own eccentric way. It was as good as Hermione remembered. The house elves may not have quite had Mrs. Weasley’s personal touch, but they certainly did good work. Hermione chatted with Harry, the Weasleys, and some of the other second years and had a lengthy conversation with Percy and Alicia Spinnet about fourth year Arithmancy.

Thankfully, nothing out of the ordinary happened the rest of that night (at least by Hogwarts standards). Dumbledore made his start of term announcements—no forbidden corridors or “very painful death” this year. Gilderoy Lockhart was introduced as the new Defence Professor and made a long speech about how pleased he was to be returning to Hogwarts, flashing his winning smile out across the Hall. Hermione sat with rapt attention, barely aware of the smirks the boys were giving her. Of course, many of the other girls were staring at least as much as she was.

When Lockhart finally finished, the students were dismissed, and Hermione trudged up the fourteen flights to her dormitory. (That was one thing about Hogwarts that she hadn’t missed.) Her roommates filed in one by one. Sally-Anne Perks didn’t immediately pass out on her bed this year, but she did immediately change out of her robes and, after hugging Lily Moon in greeting, climbed into bed and was fast asleep. Hermione still couldn’t understand how she was that much of a morning person and wondered how she would be when her night owl teenager phase hit. Lily sat on her bed for a little while, playing with her cat, Wendelin, trying in vain to tire her out so that she wouldn’t tear up the dorm in the night.

“Can you believe we’re _actually_ getting Gilderoy Lockhart as a professor,” Lavender Brown said excitedly.

“I know!” Parvati Patil gushed. “Did you see his smile?”

“Most Charming Smile Award five years running,” Lavender said.

“He’s amazing,” Parvati said. “I wonder how he gets his hair like that.”

“Occamy egg yolks,” Hermione said. “It says so in _Break with a Banshee_.”

“Wow, he’s even daring when he does his hair,” Parvati said. “Occamy eggs are really dangerous to get. Mother says they’re only used for very special amulets and potions in India.”

“Oh, he’s completely brilliant,” Hermione said excitedly. “I’m sure he’ll be a great teacher. I wonder what creatures he’ll cover first.”

“Wow, he’s even better than I thought,” Lavender teased. “He’s even got Hermione noticing him.” Parvati giggled.

“Well…” Hermione blushed.

“Come on, you can admit it to us,” Lavender said, flopping back on her bed. “I mean, he’s got brains and good looks—the perfect combination. Any witch would want him. I think I’m in love already.”

At this point, Hermione couldn’t help but giggle at her roommate’s antics. “Well…” she said, “he does have nice eyes.”

“Oh, I know—forget-me-not blue and everything. Of course…” Lavender rolled over and faced her with a mischievous grin, “Harry has pretty nice eyes, too.”

“Eep!” She honestly hadn’t even noticed Harry’s eyes that much. She supposed objectively…but he was just too…Harry. He was a good friend, but he was still the boy who kept charging off into danger without thinking about what he was doing. Still, she quickly changed the subject to Gilderoy Lockhart’s dream of harmony between magical and non-magical peoples as told in _Wanderings with Werewolves_.

But even so, Hermione never would have thought a year ago that she would be able to join in with one of Lavender’s and Parvati’s gossip fests. It was actually a little disturbing how well she fit, but she could worry about that later. For now, she had her girlfriends, and she was ready for the coming year.

Her last thought before she fell asleep that night was, _It_ _’s good to be back._

* * *

By the next morning, things seemed to be back to normal for Hogwarts. Harry and Ron were enjoying their breakfast and chatting while Hermione sat quietly to get some last minute reading done in _Voyages with Vampires_. She barely managed to pull the book out of the way when the Weasley family owl crashed into the table, carrying a red letter that was puffing out smoke ominously.

“Oh, no!” Ron groaned.

“You’d better open it,” Neville said. “It’ll be worse if you don’t.”

Hermione wondered what all the fuss was about as Ron opened the envelope with shaking hands.

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!”

Hermione screamed and clapped her hands tight over her ears. Mrs. Wealsey could pitch quite a fit in person, but the voice that came screaming out of the letter was amplified by at least twenty decibels, which Hermione knew meant it was flirting with the level that could cause actual ear pain and hearing damage.

“HOW DARE YOU RUN OFF WITHOUT SO MUCH AS LEAVING A NOTE? YOUR FATHER AND I WERE WORRIED SICK WHEN WE SAW YOU WERE GONE—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, SAID YOU’D TAKEN THE KNIGHT BUS OF ALL THINGS—COULDN’T BEAR TO WAIT FOR US TO GET BACK, COULD YOU? WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP BEHAVE LIKE THIS, AND IF YOU STEP ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, YOU WILL REGRET IT.”

And as if the screaming weren’t enough, the letter then burst into flames. Hermione cautiously pulled her hands away from her ears. Her ears were ringing.

“ _What_ was _that_?” she demanded, her voice piercing the silence of the Hall, kicking off the babble of talk once again. She was too stunned to even admonish Ron and Harry for not leaving a note.

“A Howler,” Neville said sheepishly. “I got one from my Gran once, but I ignored it…It was horrible.”

“How are those things even legal? You could really hurt someone with it being that loud.”

“I dunno,” Neville replied. “I’ve never heard of anyone getting hurt by one. They’re just really scary.”

Hermione didn’t have anything to reply to that, and further talk was cut off as Professor McGonagall began handing out course schedules to the prefects. “Miss Granger, I have your schedule here,” she said as she approached. “You’ll be pleased to hear that you’ll be able to take all of your classes with your house mates this year.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Hermione looked over her schedule: Double Herbology, Transfiguration, Defence, and Double Arithmancy today. Excellent. She ran up to her dorm to get her books and made it to the greenhouses in plenty of time.

Professor Sprout surprised the class by taking them into Greenhouse Three, where all the really dangerous plants were housed. It looked like they were jumping in the deep end this year, which soon proved to be even more true than she realised.

“We’ll be re-potting mandrakes today…” Professor Sprout started. But Hermione didn’t hear the rest of it because she felt like she might actually be having a heart attack.

 _Mandrakes?!_ Was she insane? Professor Sprout might as well have said, “We’ll be assembling fully-functional nuclear weapons today,” and it would have had about the same impact. Hermione swooned in her spot and gripped the table hard for support. Ron and Harry looked at her, very puzzled.

“…The mandrake is also, however, dangerous. Can anyone tell me why?”

“The cry of the mandrake is fatal to anyone who hears it!” Hermione burst out without even raising her hand.

“Precisely. Five points to Gryffindor.” Professor Sprout replied happily.

“But professor,” Hermione pleaded, “doesn’t that make them far too dangerous to keep anywhere near people?”

“What do you mean, Miss Granger?”

“Well, I’m sure the cry can carry a long way. If someone wasn’t careful they could wipe out an entire village just by mishandling one, let alone with malicious intent. And if it had an amplifying charm on it, like a Howler—”

Most of the class gasped, and the muggle-raised students, who had some idea about the scales involved with nuclear weapon analogs, started to swoon just like she had.

“Miss Granger! How could you think of such a thing?” Sprout demanded.

“Because it’s obvious, Professor! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be morbid, but muggles are very concerned with that kind of thing falling into the wrong hands. In the muggle world, anything that powerful and deadly is called a “weapon of mass destruction.” They’re incredibly tightly controlled; all the things that are used to make them are tightly controlled, and only major governments can have them. If anyone else ever got hold of one, it would be an international crisis, and they’re kept behind security that makes what you put on the Philosopher’s Stone last year look like child’s play…ma’am.”

“Please calm yourself, Miss Granger,” Sprout said impatiently, as most of the class was now backing away from both Hermione and the mandrake seedlings. “Mandrakes, while very rare and carefully controlled, are not nearly so dangerous as that. First, the cry is not instantly fatal, and is not fatal at all at a long range. Although it is rapidly debilitating, a swiftly applied Silencing Charm will save you from harm. Secondly, as a magical sound, the cry is only dangerous in its natural state. Recordings of the cry are not dangerous, and, thank Merlin, no dark wizard has ever succeeded in increasing its lethality with an amplifying charm.

“Sorry, professor,” Hermione said. The class calmed down, but they still eyed her warily. She knew she wasn’t exactly the person whom people expected to talk about things as morbid as weapons of mass destruction.

“Quite alright,” Sprout replied. “Now, as our mandrakes are only seedlings, their cries can’t kill yet, but they could certainly knock you out for several hours before anyone noticed with their earmuffs on, so do mind them carefully.” She then had the students divide into teams of four, and Hermione, Ron, and Harry were joined by a muggle-born Hufflepuff named Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Justin smiled as he shook her hand: “You’re Hermione Granger—always on top in everything, aren’t you? You know, I was wondering that about mandrakes myself. I had a job convincing my Mum that magic was handy to have around, but even I hate to think what wizards could do with what might as well be ready-made nukes. Ron looked at the two of them in confusion, but neither of them had time to explain the finer points of muggle nuclear physics or geopolitics, since Professor Sprout told everyone to put on their earmuffs and get to re-potting.

So Herbology got off to an okay start. Then, after spending Transfiguration class changing beetles into buttons and a quick lunch in which the little first year, Colin Creevey, started a scene by asking Harry for his autograph, the three of them headed off to Defence.

The first Defence lesson with Professor Lockhart did not go as well as Hermione had hoped. Lockhart spent half the class on a “little quiz” which was actually about him rather than his books. Even if she was (though she would never admit it) a little smitten when he flashed her his winning smile and awarded her alone full marks, it didn’t exactly seem like the most practical idea. And the practical part of the class wasn’t planned out that well, either. Releasing a swarm of the pixies on the classroom and then diving behind his desk wasn’t exactly the best way to give them hands on experience. But then again, even the most brilliant people weren’t necessarily that good at teaching—just look at Professor Snape. But she hoped that Professor Lockhart would get better with practice.

“Here. Watch carefully. It’s _Immobulus_ ,” she told Harry and Ron as she froze one of the pixies and stuffed it back in its cage.

“ _Immobulus_ ,” Harry repeated, and to her relief, he got the charm to work.

“Great,” she said. “I’m really sorry about this, but can you take care of the rest? I have to get to Arithmancy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said unenthusiastically. Ron just grumbled as he fought a pixie that was trying to bite him on the nose.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Hermione said. “I owe you one.”

Hermione made it to Professor Vector’s classroom just in time and took her familiar seat in the front row between Alicia Spinnet and Roger Davies. Professor Vector nodded to her and stood up to start the class. Hermione idly wondered how long she would wait to start if she were, late, but she wasn’t about to test it. No one said anything about Hermione’s presence this year, except for a few “Welcome backs.” Even Graham Montague, the irascible Slytherin, gave her his grudging respect after learning she’d taken top marks in the exam.

“Good morning, and welcome back to fourth year Arithmancy,” Vector greeted them. “I’m pleased to see that nearly everyone stuck with the class from last year.

“I think you will find that this year’s class will be very different from last year’s and, for most of you, much more interesting. Last year, we focused on developing the mathematical tools and techniques that all arithmancers need. While we found some important applications, like numerology and prognostication, we did very little that had to do with the main thrust of arithmancy, which is, of course, spellcrafting.

“Now, we still won’t be getting much into proper spellcrafting this year, but we _will_ be developing many of the magical tools that go into it. A big part of this year will involve learning to detect active spells, analyse their arithmantic components, and remove or reverse them. You may think of this as a very simplified, low-level introduction to the techniques of curse-breaking, although we won’t get to actual curses at O.W.L.-level, since curses involve differential equations. We will also be learning how to reverse-engineer simple charms, do minor spell modification, and construct arithmantic inverses for counter-charms. Along the way, we’ll be covering more the advanced algebra and geometry that we will need for these techniques. Any questions?”

No one raised their hand.

“Excellent. We will begin with a review of how the algebraic and geometric components of a charm relate to its effects…”

Thereafter followed a very enjoyable lecture. Yes, Arithmancy was still Hermione’s favourite class, and it was only going to get better.

Two hours later, she got a chance to talk to her three older friends together for the first time: “So, study group on Tuesdays and Thursdays after classes?” Cedric asked as they packed up to leave.

“Um, Tuesdays and Fridays might be better,” Hermione said. “I have Double Potions on Thursdays, and I might not get out before one of you has Quidditch practice.”

“Hmm…Friday,” Alicia grumbled. “Well, I guess I can make that work. What about you two?”

“Works for me,” Roger said.

“Tuesdays and Fridays it is, then,” Cedric said. “See you later, Hermione.”

“See you.”

She started to leave herself before Professor Vector called after her, “Miss Granger?”

She turned around. “Yes, Professor?”

“It’s good to see you back.”

Hermione smiled. “It’s good to be back, ma’am.”

“So how was your summer, Hermione?”

“Very good, Professor. I got an A—that’s the highest grade—on my maths A-level.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Are you still continuing your maths education?”

“Of course, ma’am. I’m studying vector calculus now. I want to try to take the exam for that over Christmas through The Open University and then cover differential equations in the spring.”

Septima Vector wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get used to a twelve-year-old cheerfully talking about learning what she knew as N.E.W.T. and Masters-level arithmancy techniques, but that was Hermione Granger, alright. “I’m glad to hear it,” she said with a chuckle. “Do come to me if you need any help. _Vector_ calculus is a speciality of mine.” Hermione laughed out loud. “And what about the rest of your summer?”

“It was really nice. I spent a week with the Weasleys—that was a lot of fun. And I even taught my mum to make a couple of potions—you know, ones that don’t use a wand.”

 _She_ _’s experimenting in potions, now? Of course she is,_ Septima thought. “That’s…very impressive. From what I can gather, most muggle-born families wouldn’t bother.”

“Oh, Mum and Dad were very interested. Actually, that reminds me, ma’am. I was thinking about doing some more experiments at Christmas, and Percy Weasley suggested I write them up to submit to _The Practical Potioneer_. I have a feeling Professor Snape wouldn’t be that helpful, so I was wondering if you could help me with that.”

Septima needed a few moments to realise that her mouth was hanging open—just when she thought the girl had run out of ways to surprise her. She actually thought that Severus might be agreeable to an independent study with a good enough student, even a young Gryffindor, but imagining the look on the man’s face when her name showed up in print was too much. She chuckled and said, “Hermione, do you realise that if you could get such a paper accepted this year, you would quite possibly be the youngest author to have a scholarly paper published since Professor Dumbledore himself?”

Hermione looked a little uneasy, as if she weren’t entirely sure if that was a compliment or an admonishment, but she collected herself and replied, “Only because no one seems to bother with muggles, ma’am. It’s really pretty obvious when you think about it.”

“Well, unfortunately, in our society, people too frequently miss the obvious.” _Myself included_. “I’d be happy to help you write up a paper. You might also look up back issues in the library to get a feel for the style.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll look into that.”

Septima nodded. “So how have you been feeling lately?”

Hermione’s expression grew a little more sombre. “Much better,” she said. “I saw a counsellor over the summer—I couldn’t tell her what really happened, but she still helped me a lot. I’m just hoping for a normal year, now.”

“As am I, Hermione. As am I.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The JK Rowling Map Theorem states that any map containing multiple contiguous Harry Potters is owned by one JK Rowling.

Thursday meant Charms and Potions, plus Astronomy late that night. Most of the teachers were settling back into their usual routines. Snape was as unpleasant as ever, but he did, to Hermione’s surprise, provide the class with a little bit of interesting information: most notably, that they were expected to apply more herbology skills in Potions class this year, since, he explained in his backhanded way, one of the most important reasons for Herbology as a class was that it served as intermediate and advanced Potions prep. That actually made a lot of sense, she thought. Most potions were majority-plant-based, after all. Astronomy was actually the odd class out at Hogwarts. While interesting and fun—and its astrology aspects were some preparation for Divination and Arithmancy—it really didn’t have that much practical value, especially to wizards, who didn’t have space travel.

Friday was Transfiguration again in the morning and Double History in the afternoon, which everyone but Hermione slept through. Secretly, she only paid half-attention herself. No one ever passed history by listening to Professor Binns’s lectures. Reading _A History of Magic_ for an hour was worth a month of sitting through that class, and listening to Tilly’s history lectures for an hour would be worth at least that if wizards were open-minded enough to put house elf history on the exams.

She needed to visit the elves, too, she reminded herself. She was sure they would be excited to see her again, and she still needed Sonya to help her finish her map of the castle. Maybe she could introduce Justin to them. Or some of the first years—that Luna Lovegood would probably be interested.

Harry was back to his usual antics in the first few days, namely, trying to avoid his annoying fans, like Professor Lockhart and that little Colin Creevey, who followed him around with his camera. Ron was also back to _his_ usual antics of being generally lazy and trying to convince Hermione to “check over” his homework. Well, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Before she knew it, it was the weekend. Harry had suggested to her and Ron that they visit Hagrid on Saturday morning—the trouble was, Harry didn’t show up to breakfast.

“Early Quidditch practice,” Ron explained through bites of toast. “Wood’s gone even more mental than usual. We can go out to the Pitch and wait for him to finish.”

That sounded like a good idea on paper, until they got to the Pitch and spent half an hour with Colin Creevey bugging them for information on the finer points of Quidditch. This led Ron to adopt the “every man for himself” strategy and push him off on Hermione by mentioning her advanced maths skills.

“Oh, wow, so can you multiply big numbers in your head, like Matilda?” the tiny first year asked excitedly.

“You’ve read _Matilda_?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Hasn’t everybody read _Matilda?_ So can you multiply two hundred thirteen by three hundred seventy-nine?”

“Eighty thousand, seven hundred twenty-seven.”

“Cool! So can you move things with your mind?”

Hermione blushed. She’d tried to do that for months after she’d first read that book, but she was never able to do the magic consistently without a wand, and she had eventually convinced herself she was imagining things.

Ron was less polite than she: “Blimey, Colin, are you a wizard or not?”

“Oh, right…”

“Anyway, Hermione got her…N.E.W.T. or whatever in maths this summer,” Ron bragged.

“A-level,” she corrected.

Colin’s eyes bugged out even more than usual. “You got an A-level? But people take those when they’re, like, eighteen. You must be _really_ good.”

“Well, I try…”

“About time!” Ron yelled suddenly. The Gryffindor Quidditch Team was taking the field in their scarlet robes. “Aren’t you finished yet?”

“Haven’t even started,” Harry called back. It seemed Wood really _had_ gone mental.

The team kicked off the ground, and Colin started eagerly taking pictures. But this only lasted a few minutes before the Slytherin Team strutted onto the field.

“Uh oh, Malfoy’s with them,” Ron said. “I smell trouble. Let’s go down there.”

Hermione followed them down. Malfoy turned out to be the new Slytherin Seeker, although his actual skills were in question, since he had bought his way onto the team with a full lineup of _Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones. The same old mistake_ , Hermione thought, remembering the Quidditch stats all her friends kept quoting at her _, putting the Keeper on a faster broom instead of a more manoeuvrable one._ She didn’t even really like Quidditch beyond her friends’ participation in it, and even she could see what so many teams missed. But maybe that was just her own mathematical analysis.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Malfoy singled her out: “Granger? What are you doing here? I figured you would’ve run home scared after what happened last spring.” The other Slytherins sniggered leeringly.

Hermione felt herself turn red, but she held her ground and defiantly said, “I’m not that easy to get rid of, Malfoy.”

“Tut tut, you _should_ have stayed home,” Malfoy shot back. “One of these days someone’s gonna put you in your place.”

Hermione turned up her nose slightly and tried to keep her hands from trembling.

“And just what is _that_ supposed to mean, Malfoy?” demanded Alicia.

“You stay out of this, Spinnet,” he spat. Marcus Flint moved to step in front of her.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Hermione said.

Malfoy scowled at her: “Don’t tell me what to do, you filthy little mudblood.”

Hermione still fumed at that insult whenever Malfoy threw it out, but she at least had the sense to ignore it. But this was the first time he’d called her that in front of witnesses, which proved to be a bad move.

“ _How dare you_!” Alicia shrieked. Fred and George gasped in shock and charged Malfoy, only to be blocked by Flint, but Ron went straight for his wand.

“You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” he yelled, waving his wand furiously. “ _Slugulus Eructo_!”

There was a loud bang, and a flash of green light hit Malfoy in the face, and he collapsed. The other Slytherins drew their wands, but Fred and George already had theirs out. There were twin flashes of red light, and Flint’s and Bletchley’s wands came flying out of their hands. Hermione, Harry, and the rest of the Gryffindor Team drew their wands, and, now outnumbered nine wands to four, the Slytherins realised discretion was the better part of valour.

Suddenly, there was a loud retching sound. All eyes turned to Malfoy has he sat up on the grass with a sick look on his face. Then, he gave a loud belch and spat several black slugs out of his mouth. The Gryffindors roared with laughter.

Malfoy staggered to his feet and yelled, “My father will hear about—!” But he was unable to finish the threat as he retched again, and several more slugs came dribbling out of his mouth. In response, he pointed at Ron even more furiously, and yelled, “I’ll get you for this, Weasley! You and Granger!” And then, taking advantage of his predicament, he reared back and spat a slug directly at Hermione’s face. She just barely managed to dodge it.

“Why you—!” Ron shouted, and raised his wand again, but Katie and Angelina held him back, and the Slytherins closed ranks around Malfoy and pulled him away to take him up to the Hospital Wing.

The Gryffindors all stared after them, not quite sure what to do.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Ron,” Hermione said. “You’ve already got one detention.”

“Do you know what that word means, Hermione?” he snapped.

“ _Yes,_ I know what it means. It’s not like that was the first time he’s called me that.”

“What! That little—”

“Uh, sorry,” Harry said timidly, “but what did he call you?”

“Mudblood,” Hermione said dispassionately. “It means dirty blood—it’s a really foul name for a muggle-born witch or wizard, like me.”

“You know, non-magic parents,” Ron clarified. “Malfoy thinks he’s better than everybody else because he’s ‘pureblood,’ as if anyone’s _really_ pureblood anymore. It’s about the worst thing you can call someone.”

“ _Well_ , that’s very thoughtful of you,” Hermione huffed, “but really, I can handle it. And now, there’s no telling what Snape will do to you.”

“Still worth it,” Ron said proudly. “Someone’s gotta show that ponce sometime. He deserves worse than that for spitting at you.”

Hermione sighed and smiled a little. “That was a pretty tricky curse,” she admitted. “How did you learn it?”

“Charlie taught it to me,” Ron said proudly. “He thought I needed something to defend myself from Ginny after Bill taught her his Bat-Bogey Hex.”

Hermione shook her head and made a mental note not to get on Ginny’s bad side.

As it turned out, it was a very angry Professor McGonagall who caught Ron as they reentered on the way back from Hagrid’s hut and informed him that he would be serving a second detention the next night. Hermione could sympathise with both boys on the first one—that had just been Snape being unfair—but Ron really brought that second one on himself. Anyway, for that night, Ron was to clean the Trophy Room without magic, while Harry, which he inexplicably thought was even worse, had to help answer Professor Lockhart’s fan mail.

Hermione didn’t hear until the next day that Harry had started hearing voices. _Well, so much for a normal year_ , she thought.

* * *

After their late nights, Harry and Ron were both having a lie-in, and Hermione didn’t think she was quite ready to bring anyone else on her little excursions, so she tucked her papers containing her map of the castle into her robes and proceeded to the Great Hall alone. She knocked four times on the now-familiar wooden panel behind the High Table, and the little, elf-sized door popped open. She climbed up the miniature stairs and crawled down the hallway—it was a little more cramped than last year, but still easily passable—and arrived into the excited house elves’ Common Room.

Many of the elves were delighted to see that she had come back after the summer. Her closest elf friend, Sonya, looked just like Hermione remembered her: a little shorter than the others, with short-cropped blond hair, cobalt blue eyes, a snub nose, and her tool belt cinched tight enough around her waist to show a figure through her tea towel toga. The teenage elf ran forward and hugged Hermione around the legs when she saw her. Her grandmother, Tilly, shook her head, her large ears flapping, at Sonya being so forward, but Hermione loved it.

The elves all wanted to know how Hermione’s summer had gone, and she gave them a full account. The elves’ summer was apparently the same as always: doing a thorough cleaning job and repair work on the castle in preparation for the fall term. Tilly explained that a small group of elves still cooked and cleaned for those professors who lived in the castle over the summer: Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Trelawney were there the most. They also helped Professor Sprout tend the greenhouses and Professor Kettleburn and Hagrid tend the various creatures on the grounds, including the thestral herd.

When asked how her friends were doing, Hermione said, “It sounds like Ron had a pretty good summer. He was just staying with his family. And Harry…well, the second half of his summer was good, anyway. His relatives were really awful to him, but Weasleys let him stay with them for the month of August, especially after…Actually, I was meaning to ask you about that. Do any of you know an elf named Dobby?”

The elves all looked at each other, muttering “Is you knowing Dobby?” to each other. Most of them shook their heads no.

“Is Dobby being a Hogwarts elf, Miss Hermione Granger?” Tilly asked.

“No, we think he belongs to a family.”

“Many families is not letting their elves out except for breeding, miss,” Tilly explained. “What is Dobby looking like?”

“I didn’t see him myself. Harry said he had yellowish-green eyes and a long, pointed nose, and he was…oh probably around Vanny’s age, give or take.”

Suddenly, and elf further back in the crowd squeaked in surprise. The other elves’ huge eyes turned in that direction, and an elf matching that exact description, except with hazel eyes, stepped forward. “I is Nibs, Miss Hermione Granger,” the elf said. “I is thinking Dobby is Nibs’s half-brother.”

“He is?” Hermione said excitedly. “Do you know which family he works for?”

“I is not knowing, miss. Nibs’s father is never talking much about Dobby, miss.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, disappointed. She supposed it wasn’t a surprise. She knew that elf children in families were raised by their mothers, and if it was a strict family, Dobby’s father might never have even met him. “Well…listen, I know you don’t get out of the castle much, but if it’s possible for you to find out, could you please do it?”

“We can by trying, miss,” Nibs said. “Is something wrong with Dobby, miss?”

“Well, it’s a long story. Harry can explain it better when I can get him to come up here, but Dobby showed up in Harry’s house this summer.” The elves’ eyes grew wide, and they started twittering softly. In a strict family, it would be surprising that Dobby even left the house. “He tried to tell Harry not to come back to Hogwarts because something bad was going to happen here this year.”

There were several squeaks of fear. After what had happened with Quirrell last spring, none of the elves wanted a repeat incident.

“Could it be a trick, miss?” Sonya asked in no more than a whisper. “Could Dobby’s masters be telling him to say it?”

“We don’t know. That’s what Professor McGonagall thought.”

“We elves will watch for this Dobby and for the bad thing, Miss Hermione Granger,” Tilly said. “It is being our responsibility to help make sure the students is safe, miss.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “And please tell me if you find anything—if you’re allowed, that is. There was something else, though. Apparently, Dobby performed a Hover Charm in Harry’s house, but it was Harry who got in trouble with the Ministry for underage magic.”

The elves gasped loudly.

“Dobby is getting Harry Potter in trouble for underage magic, miss?” Tilly said in horror. “But that means he is knowing old elf lore.”

“He is knowing what?” Hermione squeaked, so surprised that she momentarily slipped into the elves’ vernacular. “I mean, he knows what? I thought elf magic was different from wizards.” I mean, Harry said Dobby disapparated from his house, and that didn’t set it off.”

“It is, miss,” Tilly explained. “It is not normally being a problem for underage magic. Wizards cannot be telling who cast a spell, but they can tell different kinds of magic, miss. They can tell magic with wands, magic without wands, and magical creature magic, like elf magic. They might be able to tell other kinds, too, miss, but elves is having special control of magic, miss. We can make elf magic look like other types, but it is hard to be doing, and only a few elves knows how.”

“You can?” Hermione said in awe. It seemed like there was always more to magic—and elves—than met the eye. “Who would know how?”

“It is old elf lore, miss. There is not being much use for it, but it is passed down in old elf families, miss. They lives more with old wizard families.”

Old wizard families, she thought. Probably a Slytherin then—not guaranteed, but more likely than not. Of course, she’d half-expected that already. “Wait a minute! If the Ministry can’t actually track who performed a spell, then children in wizarding households…” She grumbled some rather rude things under her breath. Of course, it was another exception the purebloods would have carved out for themselves from the underage magic laws. And she really shouldn’t be surprised at that either, not with the rumours of Malfoy’s under the table duelling training, not to mention all the hijinks Fred and George got up to at home.

“Well, anyway, I’ll bring Harry to tell you all about it once I can get him to come up here,” she finished. “Hey, Sonya, do you still have the before-dinner shift off?”

“Yes, Miss Hermione Granger.”

“You know, I never did finish making my map of the castle last spring.”

“Oh, Sonya can be helping again today, miss. You needs to know the rooms in the East Wing, miss?”

“That’s right. And thank you. Could you meet me at the covered bridge to the East Wing at three o’clock?”

“It is being a deal, Miss Hermione Granger,” Sonya said. She shook Hermione’s hand, another human-ish gesture she had picked up. However, this time, Hermione noticed something strange.

“Sonya! Your hands!” she exclaimed.

Sonya squeaked in surprise. “Is something being wrong with them, miss?”

Hermione gently turned the tiny hand over, examining it. “You only have eight fingers!”

“Oh,” Sonya giggled, “all elves is having eight fingers, miss.”

Hermione looked around at some of the other elves’ hands. “I can see that, but…I can’t believe I never noticed that before. My parents have so many medical textbooks; I ought to know something about anatomy and physiology.” At the same time, she wondered if any rich purebloods ever looked close enough at their elves to notice that little detail.

* * *

Sonya and Hermione slowly walked around the ground floor of the East Wing. (Hermione decided that she didn’t want to risk the dungeons her first week back.) Just like old times, the elf was pointing out the locked doors and the hidden doors that Hermione had missed when drawing up her map the first time.

“This is being an empty room now, miss,” Sonya said. “It was being used for duelling practice when duelling was being taught here. To get in, you must speak the password, _Populus est summum_.”

 _Aspen is highest_ , Hermione thought. She’d read references to aspen being a popular duellist’s wand wood. A little ways farther down the hall, they came to a door she didn’t recognise.

“What about this door?” she said. “It’s not on the map.”

“Oh, that is just being a spare classroom, miss.”

“A spare classroom? But it can’t be. I’ve got all the classrooms on this map.”

“It is being a classroom, though, miss,” Sonya insisted. She pushed the door open, and Hermione peaked inside. The she nearly tripped over Sonya to rush in and pace off the room. Taking account of the location of the door, she cross-referenced against her map of Hogwarts. There was no mistake. This room overlapped with two other rooms on the map.

“But how…? According to the map, this room wasn’t here last year.”

Sonya giggled like she always seemed to do when Hermione was being dense. “Sonya is thinking it is a new room this year, miss,” she said. “The castle makes them sometimes.”

“The castle makes—” Hermione remembered what practically everybody had told her last year: “‘The castle changes too much to make a map.” Argh! It doesn’t just change size; the rooms change around, too! I’ll have to redo the whole map, now.”

The elf stepped back worriedly: “Sonya is sorry, Miss Hermione Granger. The castle is very magical and changes a little every year.”

“It’s not your fault, Sonya,” Hermione replied wearily. “I was just hoping I could have a reliable reference.”

At that, Hermione backtracked and paced off the adjacent rooms, the ones with which the new classroom was supposed to be overlapping. Both of these classrooms were much smaller than before, and she wondered if they would get squeezed out by some other change in the castle, especially since they were much less useful at that size.

“So if the classrooms change every so often, why hasn’t that old duelling room disappeared in the past century?” she asked.

“Sonya is not knowing why, miss. It might be that a powerful wizard put enchantments on it to make it stay. Or maybe the castle is wanting to keep it.”

 _The castle wanting to keep it? Well,_ Hogwarts, A History _did talk about the castle having a mind of its own._ Wow, this was even more complicated than she’d thought.

Sonya was patient enough to wait for Hermione to pace off the rooms again, but it was slow going. She’d be better off pacing off all the rooms she could get into once again—or maybe just the ones that looked different—before asking about the hidden ones more.

As they walked, they heard a high, sing-song voice wafting through the corridors. Turning around a couple more corners, they saw an odd sight: Luna Lovegood was skipping down the hallway, but before they could react, she turned to a portrait hanging on the wall and started talking to it intently. The portrait, a seventeenth century wizard wearing a lion’s skin, sounded like he thought Luna was a little odd, just like everyone else, but he was happy to have a conversation partner who was three-dimensional for a change.

Hermione never had that much luck asking the portraits for anything important. Not that she was surprised. They weren’t really alive, after all. But they were easily just as bad as the ghosts. They were just so…well, two-dimensional.

“Oh, hello, Hermione,” Luna said, breaking away from her conversation. “How are you?”

“Uh, I’m doing alright, Luna,” Hermione replied. “How are you?”

“I think my roommates are infested with wrackspurts, but I’m fine, otherwise,” the strange first year said. “Who is your friend?”

Hermione actually needed a moment to realise that Luna was talking about Sonya, simply because Luna was the first person she’d met who didn’t point out that her friend was a house elf, much less make an issue out of it. “This is Sonya, Luna. She’s helping me explore the castle. Sonya, this is Luna Lovegood.”

“Hello, Miss Luna Lovegood,” the elf squeaked. “Sonya is pleased to be meeting you.”

“Hello, Sonya. It’s very nice of you to help Hermione explore the castle. What are you exploring?”

“Well, I made a map of the castle last year,” Hermione explained, “but I have to redraw it because some of the rooms changed. Sonya’s showing me where all the hidden doors are.”

“That sounds very interesting,” Luna said. “I hadn’t thought of mapping the castle. May I come with you?”

“Um, sure, I don’t see why not.”

So Hermione and Sonya started off again, with Luna skipping beside them, although the girl kept wandering off to talk to portraits and prattling on about creatures that probably didn’t exist, to the point where Hermione was glad she could concentrate on her map, or else she probably would have snapped and say something she regretted.

“So did you just come out here to talk to the portraits?” she asked at one point.

“Oh, yes. They’re quite fascinating. And many of them know interesting history. Unfortunately, History of Magic class is not very useful because Professor Binns is unable to overcome his affliction of ectoplasmic backup, which prevents all original thought from entering his lectures.”

“You mean he’s dead?” Hermione said in confusion.

Luna cocked her head curiously. “I believe that is what I said.”

Hermione giggled. “You know, Luna, the elves know a lot of history, too. I could introduce you to the rest of them sometime.”

Luna’s large silver eyes grew even wider than normal. “I would like that, Hermione,” she said. “It will be very interesting to see house elves in their natural habitat.”

Hermione and Sonya glanced at each other and silently agreed not to reply to this.

“So, Luna,” Hermione said after a while, “if you don’t mind my asking, what did you talk about for so long with the Sorting Hat?”

“We had a very nice conversation about which house I should go to, of course,” Luna replied. “The Hat said that my best quality was my intelligence—” That was a little surprising to Hermione given how…non-standard the girl’s intelligence was. “—However, it was strongly of the opinion that Hufflepuff would be better for me than Ravenclaw.”

“Really? It said the same thing to me about Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, but it didn’t really give me much choice. It just put me in Gryffindor.”

The younger girl stared at her again with those disconcerting silver eyes: “Which house did you want to be in?”

“I wasn’t sure…I guess I thought Gryffindor was a little better.”

“Then that’s probably why, since you didn’t mind the choice. But I told the Hat that I really wanted to be in Ravenclaw, like Mummy and Daddy.”

“And what did the Hat say to that?”

“The Hat said that I could be gifted in any house, but that I would most easily find friends who supported me in Hufflepuff. It also said that I am a very loyal person, which would be valued in Hufflepuff.”

Hermione had to wonder just how the Sorting Hat had read her. How did it know how courageous she was a year ago, when the most courageous thing she had done was to skip a grade in school? And how did it know how loyal Luna was when she was so socially isolated? And why did the Hat have an elaborate conversation with Luna and no one else?

But Luna continued, “After this, we began discussing the other students who I know—you and Harry and Ginny and the other Weasleys—and the Hat suggested that I might do well in Gryffindor.”

“Did it offer you Slytherin, just to complete the set?” Hermione asked with a bit of a smirk.

“No, and I was rather put out when it told me that finding the crumple-horned snorkack was not a proper ambition.” Hermione had to try hard not to laugh. “But in the end, I insisted on Ravenclaw, and it agreed to put me there.”

“Well…I’m sure you’ll do great there,” Hermione said.

When Hermione led Luna up to the elves’ common room the following weekend, they hit it off quite well…or at least it seemed like it…or at least Luna liked the elves straight away and didn’t bat an eye at their quirky behaviour. Luna’s own quirks, on the other hand, left the elves just as bewildered as Hermione. She was nice enough, but none of them really had any idea what to do with her.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The sum of the square roots of any two Harry Potters is equal to the square root of JK Rowling.

The days passed quickly that fall and (mercifully) normally. At the end of the third week of term was Hermione’s birthday, for which Lavender, Parvati, and the Weasley Twins had insisted on getting her a cake from the kitchens. They wanted to make it special since it was her thirteenth. That would have been more pleasant if the Twins didn’t leave her looking over her shoulder all evening.

“Honestly, we wouldn’t mess with you on your special day,” George told her.

“Yeah,” added Fred. “Becoming a teenager should be a big enough prank on its own. See, now you have to worry about _boys_.” Hermione felt herself turn red

“And clothes,” said George.

“And hair.”

“Well, maybe not hair.”

“You’ve got your own unique style there.”

“I’ll leave all that to Lavender and Parvati for the time being, thank you,” she told them. Thirteen she may be, but her main worries about boys still involved them nearly getting themselves killed.

“How was your birthday, Hermione?” Lavender asked later than night. “I know we didn’t know about it last year, so we tried to make it up.”

“It was nice,” Hermione said. “Much better than last year. It’s too bad I couldn’t spend it with my parents, but that’s the cost of going to boarding school.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Lavender. “Harry’s lucky he has a summer birthday.”

“No, he’s really not,” Hermione said. “His relatives hate him.”

“What? But he’s _Harry Potter_.”

“Yes, but they’re muggles—and not nice ones, either. They can’t stand magic.”

Lavender and Parvati both looked offended that anyone could hate magic or the Boy-Who-Lived—well, anyone outside of Slytherin for the latter.

“So you and your parents always did something special for your birthday?” Parvati changed the subject.

“Yes, at home, my parents would always take me to a fancy restaurant for my birthday. The last couple years before Hogwarts, we went to this really nice Indian restaurant. They had the best chicken tikka masala.”

“Ooh, you like chicken tikka masala?” Parvati said excitedly.

“I _lov_ e chicken tikka masala. Lots of British muggles do. It’s too bad we can’t get it here.”

“Oh, I know,” Parvati griped. “I get so tired of all the British food here. Just give me some tikka masala or traditional curry once in a while—either one. Padma complains about it, too. She always wants her mango juice.”

“Yes, but I’ve been saying the magical world is behind the times,” Hermione said. “I mean, muggles don’t use quills and parchment anymore either, and they’ve got better technology than the wireless. It figures it would be the same with food.”

Parvati pushed herself up on her bed to get a better look at her. “I wonder if we can do anything about that,” she said.

Hermione sat up and raised an eyebrow. Most witches and wizards rarely seemed like the type to take action on things like that. “Maybe,” she said. “I’ve thought about it once in a while. Who controls the menu here?”

“Isn’t it the house elves?”

“I don’t know; I’ve never asked. It might be. They’re probably the only ones who have any idea what things they can actually cook. I did write down a recipe for chicken tikka masala over the summer, but I’m not sure how good it is. Do you know a good recipe, Parvati?”

Parvati gave her a look that Hermione realised must be the same one she herself gave people who asked her obvious questions.

* * *

“FRED! GEORGE!”

The two redheads sniggered as the littlest Weasley came storming into the Great Hall at dinnertime the next Friday night on a royal tear. The Hall erupted into laughter at the sight, but those nearest to her soon stopped laughing when faced with her glare.

“Hello, Gin-Gin,” the Twins said in unison.

“There’s something different about you—” Fred started.

“—but we can’t quite place it,” George finished.

Ginny’s hair was bright pink.

“Change it back, you imps!” she yelled.

“Now where’s the fun in that?” said Fred.

Ginny pulled her wand on them.

“Whoa, sis,” George stopped her. “We, uh, we kinda never actually tested the counter-spell.”

“WHAT!”

“It’s okay, Ginny,” Hermione said from her vantage point a couple of seats down. “They did the same thing to me last year, except it was Weasley-red. It should wear off overnight if it’s the same trick.”

Ginny glowered for a moment and then hissed at them: “I’ll get you two for this.” This actually seemed to be enough to make Fred and George nervous.

She sat down, squeezing in between Hermione and Parvati, and looked around the table nervously. She whimpered almost inaudibly and seemed to shrink back into herself when she saw Harry and Ron trying not to laugh at her. (Ron wasn’t trying very hard.) Hermione shot them an exasperated look.

“I need to think of a way to get them back,” she said to no one in particular a little later. “I could always try Bill’s Bat-Bogey Hex, but I don’t know if I could get them both at once. Maybe I could ask T…” she trailed off with a nervous glance at Hermione.

Hermione didn’t know whose name started with a T whom she would ask, but she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the girl. She was new here, after all, and that was hard enough. And Fred’s and George’s idea of good clean fun didn’t quite line up with normal people’s. So as she looked down at her plate, she started thinking… “Actually, Ginny,” she said. “I think I might have an idea that fits in with something I’m working on.”

Ginny looked up inquisitively, and Hermione whispered the upshot of her idea to her. Ginny got a mischievous smile on her face, which made Fred and George a good deal more nervous.

* * *

“That looks about right,” said Padma. “Go ahead and take it out of the broiler.”

“But Miss Padma Patil, the chicken is not being all cooked,” the little elf said.

“I know that,” Padma snapped. “The last step is to simmer the chicken in the sauce to finish cooking.”

Hermione frowned. Not unexpectedly, her pureblood friends were not as polite as she was with the house elves. It didn’t help that she didn’t know these elves as well as the others. Most of the ones she knew best were on the cleaning crew, although they rotated occasionally.

“How’s the sauce coming, Parv?” Padma said.

“The sauce is ready, Pad,” Parvati replied. “That was a good idea crushing the coriander leaves instead of chopping them, Hermione. I don’t know why, but it tastes better that way. How did you come up with it?”

“I didn’t,” Hermione said. “My mum has a friend who’s a caterer, and she says she always prepares it that way.”

“Maybe it’s like potions,” Padma suggested. “The way the ingredients are prepared can affect things in weird ways.”

“Hmm, maybe,” Hermione said. That started her thinking about potions and how various modifications could affect them. Of course, potions were so idiosyncratic and unintuitive that it was hard telling what even small changes would do. Snape might not be very good at teaching, but she had to grudgingly admire his reputed talent in the field.

“Alright, so we just simmer the chicken in the sauce for about ten minutes,” Padma said as she directed the elves to combine the ingredients.

“That seems like an awful lot of sauce, Miss Patil.” Professor McGonagall was supervising the entire process, as per the school policy.

Tilly and some of the other elves had explained it when Hermione asked her: _“We is choosing the menu, Miss Hermione Granger, but all new recipes needs the approval of the Headmaster or Deputy Headmistress.”_

“A lot of Indian food is like that, Professor,” Padma replied. “You can mop up the extra sauce with the flat-bread.”

“Sometimes,” Parvati added. “It can depend on the meal, but that’s close enough for here at Hogwarts.”

“Plus, I always like lots of sauce on the rice, ma’am. Plain white rice always tastes too bland to me,” Hermione said. Hermione was nominally helping to steam the rice, but that was simple enough that the elves had it in hand. Of course, her main contribution had been the samples of several spices that her bemused parents had sent her in a care package that week. Hogwarts didn’t stock half of what the Patil Twins said they needed for a proper masala sauce, and their own parents were oddly less interested in the whole affair, perhaps thinking their daughters should be fed perfectly well at school already.

“Hmm, how unusual,” McGonagall said. That really described the whole scene, she thought—three second year students teaching the house elves a new and exotic dinner recipe. “Well, I can honestly say this is something I haven’t seen before,” she said. “You seem to have a talent for the unusual, Miss Granger.”

“Um…thank you, ma’am.”

Suddenly, there were excited squeaks from the other elves in the kitchens. Hermione looked and saw Professor Dumbledore walking toward them jovially. The elves all bowed low as he passed. “Good afternoon,” the Headmaster muttered to the elves. “Good afternoon, Minerva,” he added as he approached, “and Misses Patil, Patil, and Granger.”

“Good afternoon, Albus,” McGonagall said. “What brings you down here today?”

“Well, I was informed that there was a lovely new recipe being prepared in the kitchens, and I thought I would stop by to sample it for myself.” He leaned over the simmering chicken and sauce and inhaled deeply. “Ah, chicken tikka masala. Excellent. It’s been far too long since I’ve had the modern fare.”

And, of course, no matter how provincial most British magicals were, Albus Dumbledore knew all about Indian food.

In a few minutes, the food was done, and, at the Headmaster’s direction, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the three children sat at the duplicate High Table in the kitchens, and the elves dished up a small portion for each of them. It was a little surreal for Hermione. She had never taken a meal (or a snack, in this case) with the Headmaster, although he always looked like perfectly pleasant dinner conservation from across the Great Hall.

But Hermione thanked the elves and took a bite. She smiled at once. Yes, Hogwarts definitely needed more Indian food. She really appreciated Parvati’s and Padma’s recipe and the elves’ skill in following it at sight. The Patil Twins looked equally pleased, and Professor Dumbledore, who seemed easily delighted by novelty, nodded to them appreciatively.

“An excellent recipe,” Dumbledore said. “My compliments. What do you think, Minerva?”

McGonagall swallowed a little uncomfortably. “Certainly not like anything I’ve tasted before, Albus,” she said. “Much spicier than I’m used to. I’m afraid I’m not as well-travelled as you are. But I must say, it actually tastes quite good, though I think we may wish to reduce the spiciness for the students’ sakes.”

Hermione, Parvati, and Padma sighed inwardly and suppressed the urge to roll their eyes. _Oh well,_ Hermione thought. _That_ _’s why I asked for hot sauce._

“Mm hmm,” Dumbledore said. “I commend all of your efforts. I think this will make a fine addition to our menu.” The children smiled, and the elves all cheered in excitement. It was rare to make any major changes to the menu. He turned to the nearest elf and said, “Dolly, when might you be able to prepare a dinner with this dish?” Hermione was not at all surprised that Dumbledore knew the elves by name.

“We will be needing to order the ingredients, Professor Dumbledore, sir, but we can be making it for next weekend,” Dolly said.

“Excellent. Perhaps Sunday night, then. I think it will be an educational experience for all.”

* * *

Hermione was back to spending part of her weekends pacing off the castle. It didn’t take as much of her time as it had last year, since she soon determined that the shape of the castle as a whole hadn’t changed beyond its usual fluctuations. To be honest, she was being a bit lazy about it, but it was better than running herself into the ground, like last year. She had reached an uneasy truce with her sleep schedule, which still slipped on occasion, and that was about it, so it was probably wise to take it easy when she could.

Today, she was re-mapping the second floor of the West Wing, unused classrooms and all. It was a lonely endeavour: most of the students spent the weekends in their dorms or outside, or in the case of many Ravenclaws, in the library, so few people ever came by here. Even with the occasional greeting from a portrait or a suit of armour walking around in the distance, it was very quiet.

Given the stoic silence, it was perhaps a little surprising that Hermione didn’t hear the sound sooner: a faint keening sound wafting through the halls. She didn’t pay it much mind. Strange sounds weren’t that uncommon around here, and Hermione could get a little oblivious when she was focused on something else. But presently, she found that she had to use the loo, and when she made her way to the nearest one, and opened the door, she suddenly became painfully aware of the sound.

There was a girl crying in the bathroom, and loudly.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Hermione said, but the wailing girl didn’t seem to have heard her. She walked down the row of stalls to pinpoint the girl’s location. From the sound, she was clearly in the last stall, although Hermione didn’t see any feet beneath the door. Either the girl was trying not to be seen or she was a tiny first year whose feet didn’t touch the floor.

Hermione really felt like she needed to help out, now. She knocked on the stall door and said, “Hello?”

“AHHH!” The girl’s voice shrieked, and there was the sound of a splash in the toilet.

“Sorry, are you okay?” Hermione said.

“What do _you_ want?” the voice said in an accusatory tone.

“I wanted to see if I could help.”

“Well, you can’t, so go away.”

Hermione sighed. Of course, the girl would _say_ that, but it didn’t sound like going away was what she needed right now. “Are you sure?” she said. “If you just want to talk—”

“I said go away!” the girl screamed so loud that Hermione took a step back. She started wailing again.

Hermione stayed rooted to the stop for a minute, trying to decide what to do. Finally, she said, “I feel kind of bad leaving someone crying in here alone, though. Do you mind if I check up on you later?”

“Why do you care?” the voice sniffed.

“Well, I guess it’s kind of silly, but this happened to me once last year, and I was nearly killed by a mountain troll.”

“ _Nearly_ killed?!” the voice screeched, and, suddenly, the face of a rather squat and, to be honest, unattractive girl came _through_ the stall door and right up to Hermione’s own. “Oh, that’s great for you!” the ghost yelled. “ _Nearly_ killed!”

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” Hermione started.

“Oh, of course you didn’t know. No one ever bothers to ask about miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle!” And with that, she gave a load moan and drifted back into the stall, where there was a loud splashing sound, and water trickled out under the door.

 _That_ _’s strange_ , Hermione thought. _Ghosts are supposed to be intangible_.

There was a flushing sound, then a gurgle, and then more water came pouring out from under the stall. The ghost appeared to be trying to clog the toilet to chase her away.

“Myrtle?” Hermione called as she took a step back. “Myrtle, please come back out. I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m a muggle-born, and I’m not really used to ghosts, yet.”

Surprisingly, the sounds of water stopped, as did Myrtle’s moaning. Her face poked back through the stall door with a look of interest. “You’re a muggle-born?” she asked.

“Yes…”

Myrtle came all the way through the door and floated in front of Hermione. She looked to be about Hermione’s age. (How had she died so young?) And she was wearing old-fashioned looking school robes with a Ravenclaw crest on them. “I was a muggle-born, too,” she said.

“Y-you are—were—are—?” Hermione said nervously.

Myrtle seemed to take pleasure in Hermione’s uneasiness. “Oh, yes. I was so excited when I found out magic was real. I didn’t have many friends at home, and I thought things would be so wonderful here. I loved all my classes. It was such fun. But then…” Myrtle started to sniffle and whine again. “Then all my roommates started making fun of me. They called me fat and ugly, and Olive Hornby always made fun of my glasses. It wasn’t _my_ fault I couldn’t afford better ones. And then the pimples started…” She let out a long moan and started swaying back and forth where she hovered.

Hermione felt herself turn red. That story already sounded far too familiar for her tastes. Myrtle must have drawn the short straw for roommates, though. With her hair and teeth and know-it-all attitude, she had plenty for her own roommates to make fun of her about, but they hardly ever did.

“I don’t think your glasses look that bad,” she tried to comfort the ghost. “In fact, my friend Harry wears practically the same kind.” _Probably because that_ _’s all his relatives will pay for_ , Hermione thought. Myrtle’s glasses looked like bargain bin round frames, very like Harry’s, except pearly white instead of black.

But Myrtle just whined, “They’re hideous. I wish I’d died wearing something nicer. And that Tom Riddle—he wasn’t so bad himself, but all his Slytherin friends called me an ugly mudblood and laughed at me behind my back.”

“Oh, _those_ types,” Hermione said darkly. “I’ve got Draco Malfoy. He says it to my face. And if I run into him alone, he always tries to hex me.”

“Ooh, Tom Riddle had a friend named Abraxas Malfoy. He was one of the worst ones.”

“I’m not surprised. The Malfoys go way back.”

“It’s _awful_ how those purebloods treat everybody else. And I can’t even haunt them properly. I haunted Olive Horby for _years_ , but…” Myrtle sniffed. “But she just took out a restraining order against me.”

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it again. Yes, that was _exactly_ the kind of thing wizards would do. “That’s…um…that’s too bad,” she said. “Why are you haunting a bathroom, now, though?” Hermione asked. “There’s plenty of better places in the castle.”

That proved to be the wrong thing to say, as Myrtle took offence. “Like _where_?” she snapped.

“Well…um, if I were a ghost, I’d probably haunt the Library,” Hermione replied whilst wondering how she had got to the point of saying that.

“Well, that’s well and good for _you_ ,” the ghostly girl whined. “ _You_ _’re_ a Gryffindor. All my roommates spent all their time in the Library.” She started sniffling again. “I like it better in here. It’s more private, and no one complains if I cry in here. Everyone just stays away from Moaning Myrtle.” And with that, she started crying loudly and back into her stall, where there was a splashing sound of her diving into the toilet.

“Myrtle? Myrtle, I’m sorry. You can…you can haunt wherever you want,” Hermione called, but there was so response but some more splashing and gurgling. At that point, she didn’t see much good in keeping this up, so she just said, “Well…I’ll try to check up on you sometime,” and left the bathroom, thinking that maybe she needed to do some more research on ghosts to be able to have a sensible conversation with them. It was too bad. Myrtle’s story seemed disturbingly similar to her own—and to die at such a young age, and as a muggle-born, it had to have been terrible, and here she was, what looked like decades later from her clothes, and she was still crying in the bathroom. Hermione shuddered, thinking, _There but for the grace of God go I_.

It was only as she left that Hermione noticed the OUT OF ORDER sign on the bathroom door.

* * *

On Sunday evening, Hermione made sure to remind Fred and George to be on time for dinner, and the Twins “chivalrously” escorted her and Ginny down to the Great Hall together. Once there, Hermione made sure they sat in the right arrangement, with herself, Ginny, and Parvati circled around the two boys at optimal angles. That Harry and Ron sat down on her other side, somewhat distracting them, helped.

When dinner appeared on the long tables, there were gasps and confused murmurs throughout the Great Hall, for this was definitely not the usual fare. Or, rather, some of it was, but at intervals along each table were a large bowl of white rice and another filled with something that proved to be cubes of chicken drowned in an unfamiliar orange sauce.

“What the _heck_?”

“What is this stuff?”

“Have the elves gone mental?”

Only a handful of people in the Hall looked happy with the new selections, disproportionately muggle-borns, who quickly began explaining the dish to their less worldly peers. Of course, Professor Dumbledore was beaming, and, Harry informed her later, for some reason, Professor Snape looked oddly satisfied with the meal.

“Now this is what I call a _real_ dinner,” Parvati said excitedly as she dished a large spoonful of rice onto her plate.

“Definitely,” Hermione agreed as she went for the chicken.

Fred and George looked with interest at the two younger students who were happily serving themselves food that they had never seen before.

“And just what kind of dinner is this, exactly?” asked George.

“Chicken tikka masala,” Hermione and Parvati said in unison.

Fred and George looked back and forth between the two girls in surprise.

“It’s a British muggle adaptation of traditional Indian food,” Parvati explained. “Broiled chicken and steamed rice in a sauce made with tomato, coriander, yogurt, and Asian spices.”

“Tomato and—”

“— _yogurt_?” the Twins said in confusion.

“In a _sauce_?” said Fred.

“Are you having one over on us?” asked George.

“No, that’s really the recipe,” Hermione said. “We taught it to the house elves last weekend. You should try it. It’s really good.”

Fred and George shrugged their shoulders and dished themselves up two plates.

“Huh, not bad,” George said when he took a bite.

“Yeah, weird, but not bad,” Fred added.

“You were right, Hermione this _is_ good,” Ginny said appreciatively.

“Uh huh, can you give our mum the recipe?” asked Ron.

“We’ll think about it,” Parvati told him. “Hey, Hermione, did you bring the hot sauce?”

“Uh huh.”

“Hot sauce?” Fred and George asked.

Hermione uncapped a small bottle of red sauce and dribbled a little bit of it onto her food, then handed it to Parvati. “Professor McGonagall wanted the food mild, but it’s really supposed to be spicier, so I had my parents send me some spicy sauce to add to it. Ginny, do you want to try it?”

“Sure, I’ll try it,” the younger girl replied innocently. She took the bottle and added a few drops to her plate.

But when Hermione took it the bottle back, she carefully palmed it and swapped it with another bottle that she had transfigured to look identical on the outside. She offered this bottle to Fred and George, saying, “Do you two want any? A _real_ connoisseur takes it at least medium-spicy.”

Not to be outdone by their little sister, the Twins took the bottle and drizzled a generous amount of sauce on their chicken tikka masala. They each took a large bite and grinned in satisfaction, but those smiles quickly turned to winces as they grunted, “Water, water, water!” and each chugged a goblet full.

Hermione, Parvati, and Ginny started laughing, and Hermione high-fived Ginny.

“Bloody hell, woman, what did you give us?” Fred demanded whilst coughing.

Hermione withdrew the other bottle from her sleeve and set it on the table. Then, checking to make sure the teachers weren’t watching too closely, she drew her wand and tapped the bottle she had given the Twins, causing the label to change back. “It’s habanero sauce,” she told them. “It’s ten times spicier than normal hot sauce.”

“In other words,” Ginny clarified, “you fell for a muggle trick.”

“A muggle trick, Freddie,” George wheezed. “We’re losing our touch.”

“We’ve got to get back on top, Georgie. We can’t have Hermione and Ginny thinking they can unseat the school’s best pranksters.” And they gave the two girls an evil but painful grin.

Hermione paled. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” she muttered to Ginny, who didn’t look too enthused by the idea of payback herself.

After the main course was over, Professor Dumbledore, to the surprise of many, stood up and addressed the Hall: “Well, I think this has been an interesting new experience. The new dish tonight was chicken tikka masala, a more modern British dish in the Indian style, and I am most pleased to see that it has been such a great success.” Indeed, looking around the Hall, a solid majority of the students seemed to have liked it, though the very traditional Slytherins less so. “We have three students to thank for this new offering, who took it upon themselves to teach the recipe to the house elves on their own time. For this show of initiative and cross-cultural interest, I award ten points each to Hermione Granger, Padma Patil, and Parvati Patil.”

The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws cheered, while the Hufflepuffs politely applauded. The Slytherins seemed displeased, but that could have been about either the points or the food. Hermione noticed, across the Hall, that Draco Malfoy in particular was glaring in her direction.

* * *

On the fifth of October, Hermione woke up and immediately knew that something was wrong. Another person whose body reacted differently might have dismissed it for a while, but she knew better. She felt a burning sensation creeping up just behind her soft palate, and that could only mean one thing: the common cold.

She’d dodged that bullet last year—about the only thing she’d managed to dodge—but it was too much to hope for a second year in a row, not with the damp chill and pounding rain seeping into the castle. A cold always meant the same thing for her. She was in for three days of miserable throat pain, followed by three days of hacking and sniffling, and then a lingering cough that could run clear through next week. And her with no paracetamol.

“Are you okay, Hermione?” Parvati asked as Hermione staggered stiffly out of bed.

“No…I’m getting a cold,” she groaned.

“You should go to Madam Pomfrey, then. A Pepperup Potion will clear that up right away.”

Hermione stopped and stared at her roommate: “You mean wizards _actually_ have a cure for the common cold?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not perfect. It’s actually an energy potion, but it works—if you don’t mind having steam coming out of your ears for a few hours…”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask the obvious question, but then closed it again. _Of_ course _it makes steam come out of your ears for a few hours_. “Thanks, Parvati, I’ll do that.”

An hour later, Hermione was in the unusually crowded Hospital Wing. Apparently, the sickness was going around.

“Hello, Miss Granger, can I help you?” Madam Pomfrey said.

“Uh yeah, Parvati told me you had something that can cure colds?”

“Ah, yes, another one. You aren’t looking too poorly, though, Miss Granger.”

“I know, ma’am, but I can always tell when one’s starting because the first thing that happens is I get this burning in the back of my mouth.”

“Alright, then, that’s simple enough.” Madam Pomfrey made a note of who was being treated and why, and then uncapped a small bottle of potion. “Here, drink this.”

The Pepperup Potion tasted so hot that Hermione could barely drink it. She jumped as the warmth flooded her body. She felt like she’d just downed a double espresso, and the burning in her throat ceased immediately. “Wow, thank you ma’am,” she said.

“Not a problem, Miss Granger. Come back if the steam doesn’t go away by dinner time.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sure enough, she felt puffs of steam pouring out of her ears and leaking out from under her hair. She must look completely ridiculous, and within minutes, her hair was an unmanageable frizz. Still, she went down to breakfast and took her usual seat. Thankfully, a number of other students in the hall and even Professor Sinistra also had steam puffing out of their ears as well, so she didn’t look too out of place.

A few minutes later, a dishevelled-looked Ginny Weasley collapsed into a seat nearby. Hermione squealed when she saw her. With her bright red hair, Ginny looked even worse than she did—rather like her whole head was on fire.

“Oh, hi, Ginny,” Hermione said. “Pepperup, too?”

“Yes, Percy made me take some. He said I wasn’t looking too good.”

Actually, there was something to that. Ginny’s robes were all crooked, there were a few strands of hair plastered to her face, and though she looked wide awake now, she was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“Well, you _are_ looking pretty out of it, even with the potion. Have you been sleeping alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said defensively. “It’s just…getting use to classes and stuff, you know.”

“I understand. Just don’t overdo it. I made that mistake last year. You can come talk to me if you need any help.”

“I can manage,” Ginny said, and she focused her attention on her food for the rest of the meal.

* * *

The most difficult part of mapping the castle was the dungeons, both because of the maze-like structure and because of the company.

“What are you doing down here, mudblood?”

Hermione groaned softly and clutched her notebook to her chest. _Why_ did she keep running into him whenever she explored the dungeons? Did he have people reporting to him? Well, maybe he did. She fingered the handle of her wand. “Do we really have to do this again, Malfoy?” she said. “I have as much right to be down here as you have.”

“You don’t have any right to go spying for our Common Room,” Malfoy spat. “You ought to just stay in your tower if you know what’s good for you.”

“Well, that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You know where our Common Room is, so there’s no reason yours should be a secret. I still couldn’t get in without the password.” She didn’t mention that she already knew where the Slytherin Common Room was, just around a couple of corners from here—if it was still in the same place Sonya had pointed out last year.

Malfoy didn’t take kindly to her use of logic. He drew his wand, but Hermione was quicker on the draw than she used to be, having practised this past summer after Harry managed to hex her. She had her wand trained on him before he could cast a spell, though she still started backing away.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” he growled.

“Yes, you’ve already told me that,” Hermione replied as calmly as she could. “But I didn’t let a mountain troll and a possessed teacher keep me away, and I’m not going to let you keep me away, either.”

Malfoy actually hissed at her: “One of these days, Granger, you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Hermione sighed theatrically. “What’s your problem, anyway, Malfoy? There’s plenty of other muggle-borns in this school. Is it just because I get better marks than you?” She chuckled at him with false bravado. “Because I’ve been dealing with people who are jealous of my grades my whole life.”

“No mudblood can beat a Malfoy! _Calvorio_!”

Hermione jumped to the side and dove against the wall, but the jinx caught her in the arm. She felt a strange itching sensation, and when she shook out her sleeve, she found that all of the hair had fallen off of her arm. She considered her options. She quashed the urge to say, “Take Arithmancy, and then we’ll talk,” and decided against shooting a spell back at him if she could help it. Instead, she just backed away faster, keeping one eye on him until she made it around the next corner. _Well, that wasn_ _’t so bad,_ she thought. _A Hair-Loss Jinx is tame for him._


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is a subset of the integrated output of JK Rowling.

“A deathday party?” said Hermione. “That sounds fascinating. I’ve been reading up on ghosts lately. They have an entire division at the Ministry of Magic, but there’s really not that much written about them.”

“Maybe “cause they can’t write,” Ron joked. Hermione gave him an annoyed look.

Nearly-Headless Nick had apparently roped Harry into attending his five hundredth deathday party after saving him from Filch. Why ghosts would want to celebrate deathdays instead of birthdays, even in the afterlife, she didn’t know. Maybe it was a cultural thing. The one downside was that it was during the Halloween Feast, but still, a cultural experience like that (especially a five-hundredth) probably didn’t come around very often.

“They _can_ write, though,” Harry said. That headless ghost wrote a letter to Nick.

“He did?” Hermione said in surprise. “Was it a regular letter or a…ghost letter?”

“A ghost letter, I guess. Nick had it in his pocket.”

“But…but how? If ghosts only have what they had on them when they died, how do they get quills, ink, and parchment to write ghost letters with?”

Harry shrugged. Of course, he was muggled-raised and wouldn’t know, and Ron didn’t seem interested.

“Well, anyway, it’ll be really interesting to see how ghosts live…or, erm…after-live?”

“I doubt it,” Ron countered. “Sounds dead depressing to me.”

Hermione groaned: “Maybe you should leave the jokes to Fred and George, Ron. I’m serious. No one bothers to look into how the house elves live, and yet they have a whole society of their own. I wonder if it’s the same for ghosts.”

“Well, I guess we’re gonna find out, like it or not.”

* * *

For the boys, it turned out to be closer to “not.” On Halloween, Hermione was starting to think she’d rather go to the feast herself, but a promise was a promise, and she insisted on making sure Harry got down to the dungeons for his promised visit to Nick’s party.

Hermione’s first impression of what she took to be the ghost “culture” was not a good one. It seemed to be focused on being as eerie as possible and as dreary as possible at the same time. The presence of so many ghosts by itself gave an icy chill to the dungeon, and Hermione mentally kicked herself for not thinking to wear her cloak. The tall, black candles burning with blue fire (possibly the cool bluebell flames) did nothing to warm it, but just gave a disturbingly ghostly pallor even to the faces of the living. There was an “orchestra” consisting of thirty ghosts, all playing musical saws—and not playing them very well, she thought. You would think they would be better, having Merlin knew how many years to practice—unless they were _trying_ to make it sound like a ghostly wail…which they probably were. Either way, most of the hundreds of ghosts in attendance had no problem waltzing to the dreadful sound.

Harry suggested they keep moving in order to keep warm, which seemed like a good idea. They wandered the large dungeon, weaving in between the ghosts both out of courtesy and to avoid their icy “touch.” All three of them started to think coming here had been a mistake when they saw the food, even if Hermione hadn’t been expecting much to start with.

“I thought they might have _something_ edible,” she said when she saw, or rather _smelled_ , the table that was laid out. “You know, for the living guests.”

“What living guests?” Ron said. “We’re it.”

It almost seemed like a pantomime of a party for the living, trying to “relive” the old days instead of finding something new to do. The meat and vegetables were obviously left out to rot since September, maybe even August, and the cakes looked like they’d been set on fire for a while, all to give them a flavour strong enough that the ghosts could “almost” taste it.

The most interesting part of the party was meeting all the ghosts from outside the castle, like the Wailing Widow from Kent, even though a lot of them acted clinically depressed. Of course, Hermione was starting to feel depressed herself in this atmosphere. They were still making the rounds when the ghost of a glum-looking girl with thick glasses and lanky hair hiding her face glided over to them.

“Oh, hello, Myrtle,” Hermione called to her. “How are you? It’s nice to see you out of your toilet.”

Myrtle sniffed morosely.

“Harry, Ron, this is Myrtle…er, I don’t think I got your last name. She haunts the girls bathroom on the second floor.”

“You haunt a bathroom?” Ron blurted out.

Myrtle started keening softly and said, “It’s none of _your_ business where I haunt.”

“Don’t upset her, Ron,” Hermione told him. “She likes her privacy. No one ever goes in that bathroom.”

“Because she keeps flooding it!” an obnoxious voice cackled, and Peeves the poltergeist swooped in on the conversation dressed all in bright orange. In fact, he was probably the brightest thing in the room.

“Peeves, don’t,” Hermione said.

“Oh ho? Finally made a friend, have you, Myrtle. You like Moaning Myrtle, do you?” Peeves said, gliding up in Hermione’s face.

“Erm…” she backed away from the poltergeist. “I just think she needs a little help.”

“Oy! You hear that, Myrtle? You’re the charity case!” Peeves yelled.

“No! That’s not what I meant!”

But Myrtle was sobbing, now, “I don’t need your help,” she cried. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

“Myrtle, don’t listen to Peeves. He’s like that to everyone.”

“But everyone else is the same. Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Moaning Myrtle!”

“You forgot pimply!” Peeves cackled.

Myrtle gave a loud wail that made the Wailing Widow blush and fled from the dungeon with Peeves zooming behind her.

“Oh dear. She really deserves better,” Hermione told Ron and Harry. “She was bullied for being muggle-born when she was alive, and now she has to put up with Peeves.”

“Yeah, well, so do the rest of us,” Ron said.

The party didn’t get any better from there. Nearly-Headless Nick was just about to give his speech when the Headless Hunt rode in on a dozen ghostly horses. Nick’s resentment of the properly-beheaded ghosts was clear, and Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore looked like he was loving it. To add insult to…well, injury, they completely ignored Nick’s speech and played Head Hockey the entire time. Apparently, even ghosts had bullies.

By then, Ron and Harry had had enough, and Hermione had to agree, so they made a quick exit.

“Honestly, I don’t understand why he keeps trying,” Hermione said once they were out of earshot. “I mean I know he’d very much like to join, but it’s a sporting club that he’s not physically capable of participating in—or, I mean…you know what I mean. You’d think that after five hundred years, he’d find something else.”

“Eh, who knows? I didn’t understand anything they were doing,” said Ron.

“And where do the ghost horses come from, anyway?” she continued. “Horses aren’t magical creatures.”

But Ron and Harry didn’t know any more about ghosts than she did. She’d have to look it up later.

“Feast is probably over by now,” Ron said glumly.

“Come on, we’re going to the kitchens,” Hermione said. “When I realised the party was at the same time as the feast, I went up and asked Sonya to save our food for us—EEK!” She squealed as Ron grabbed her in a hug.

“You’re brilliant, Hermione!” he said.

“Thank you,” she said primly. “Only took you a year to notice.”

“Hey! Did not.”

They turned in the direction of the kitchens, but suddenly, Harry stopped and started looking around fearfully.

“Harry, what is it?” Hermione said.

“Quiet, it’s that voice again,” he whispered. “Listen…”

She did. “I don’t hear—”

“Shut up a minute…” he cut her off rudely. Then, he started running for the stairs. “This way!” he yelled.

Hermione and Ron had no choice but to follow. They didn’t know what had got into Harry, but Hermione, at least, hadn’t forgotten what happened the last time her friend had gone this crazy. She had her wand at the ready. Harry sprinted past the Entrance Hall and up to the first floor with his friends struggling to keep up.

“Harry, what’s going—” Ron started.

“SHH!” Harry hissed. “It’s going to kill someone!”

“What!” Hermione yelled, but Harry didn’t hear her. He sprinted up the next flight and clear around the second floor. Hermione had a brief vision of what had happened last Halloween and how Quirrell had tried to kill someone then—namely her. Was it happening again? Was Professor Lockhart evil, too, maybe, Merlin forbid?

They turned into a dead end. The last passage ended with no sign of whatever murderous thing Harry had been chasing. The only thing down there was Myrtle’s bathroom, and…

“Look!” Hermione yelled. There on the wall, in crimson, foot-high letters, was written:

 

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN

OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

 

“What’s that?” Ron said nervously.

For a moment, Hermione thought he meant the large puddle of water on the floor, but as they walked closer, Hermione realised it was something else: Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris, was hanging motionless _by her tail_ from a torch bracket, stiff as a board.

“We gotta get out of here,” Ron hissed.

“But can’t we help her?” said Harry.

“And get caught by Filch? No way!”

But it was too late. The feast had just let out, and half the school was coming up to this corridor from the Great Hall. In seconds, the trio was surrounded.

Suddenly, there was a commotion, and Draco Malfoy pushed to the front of the crowd, his face flushed. He took one look at the message and the frozen cat, and then he grinned evilly and pointed directly at Hermione saying, “Enemies of the Heir, beware! You’ll be next, mudbloods!”

Hermione stared at Malfoy like a deer in headlamps and tried to keep her breathing even. She had a sudden urge to run away, but she was cornered by Filch and then by several teachers. The next few minutes were something of a blur. She barely registered Filch threatening to kill Harry, Professor Dumbledore arriving and leading them to Professor Lockhart’s office, and Professor Lockhart sounding suspiciously like he was bluffing about knowing what was going on. Her mind was spinning, trying to figure out what Malfoy meant and how he was involved. She was coming up empty. The Chamber of Secrets bit sounded familiar, though.

“I didn’t touch Mrs. Norris!” Hermione snapped out of it when Harry spoke up for the first time. She had barely caught that Mrs. Norris had not been killed, but petrified by some dark magic unknown. “And what’s a squib, anyway?”

“You know! You saw my Kwikspell letter!” Filch snarled.

 _Wait, Filch is a squib?_ Hermione thought. She knew all about the blood purity categories from her reading. _That would explain a few things_. Despite the seriousness of the situation, the wheels of her mind started turning…

“…but the circumstances are most suspicious.” It was Professor Snape, stepping out from the shadows, his robes billowing behind him, even in the still air. (How did he _do_ that? Hermione wondered absently.) “Why weren’t the three of you at the Halloween Feast?”

They explained about the deathday party and that there were hundreds of witnesses to where they were, albeit none of them living. “…we were heading to the kitchens to get some real food when…” Ron started, but Harry elbowed him in the side.

“The kitchens?” Snape said triumphantly. “Then why were you on the second floor?”

“Because…because…” Harry grasped for an explanation.

“Because it was freezing in that dungeon, and we went for a walk to warm up,” Hermione jumped in, wiping the grin off Snape’s face.

Snape frowned and tried a few other tactics to get them in trouble, but Dumbledore let them go soon after that, with an assurance that a draught made from Professor Sprout’s mandrakes could cure Mrs. Norris, although it would have to wait until spring.

“Come on, curfew’s late tonight,” Hermione said. “We still have time to get dinner.”

“D’you think I should have told them about the voice?” Harry whispered along the way.

“No,” said Ron. “Even in the wizarding world, hearing voices isn’t a good sign.”

“But you believe me, don’t you?”

“Of course we do, Harry,” Hermione said soothingly. “You were right last year, weren’t you? It must have something to do with whoever did that to Mrs. Norris. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“And what on earth is a Squib?”

“The opposite of a muggle-born,” Hermione explained. “A person from a wizarding family with no magic.”

Ron started sniggering: “Yeah, I reckon Filch must be a squib if he’s trying to learn magic from Kwikspell. Explains why he hates the students so much and always makes us clean stuff without magic.”

“It’s too bad,” Hermione said. “He really seems to like that cat.”

“Too bad for us, you mean,” Ron countered. “He’ll be even worse than usual, now.”

Hermione sighed and gave it up. They reached the kitchens, and she tickled the pear in the painting of the bowl of fruit to open the door.

“Oh, hello, sirs and miss,” squeaked the first elf they saw. “Sonnitt, they is here! They is here!”

“Miss Hermione Granger! And Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, sirs,” Sonya squeaked, running over to them. “We has your food ready for you. It is being over here.” She led them to the duplicate high table.

“Thank you, Sonya,” Hermione said as she sat down at her plate.

“Yeah, thanks, Sonya,” Ron barely had time to say before he dug in.

“You is being very late, sirs and miss. Was you enjoying the ghosties’ party?”

“No, the party was pretty dreadful, honestly,” Hermione said. “We got held up afterwards. Something…something bad happened.”

Sonya’s large eyes grew wider than usual. “Is this the bad thing you was warning us about, Miss Hermione Granger?”

“It might be,” Harry said, remembering Dobby’s warning. “Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris, got…petrified, somehow. Filch and Snape thought we did it, but we didn’t. And…and there was a message on the wall. It said, “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware.’”

Most of the elves within earshot gasped. A few of them even dropped their cleaning implements. They all started whispering to each other, “The Chamber of Secrets! The Chamber of Secrets!”

“The message is saying the Chamber of Secrets?” Sonya asked. Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever seen the little elf more frightened, except maybe when she mentioned freeing the elves when they first met.

“Yes. Do you know anything about that? I think I remember reading something about it in _Hogwarts, a History_.”

“It is being an old story for elves, and wizards, too, miss. Sonya’s grandmama knows it best. Sonya will gets Grandmama Tilly.” And she popped away.

The children stared at each other. “Well, something’s got them riled up,” Ron said.

About a minute later, Sonya popped back down to the kitchens with Tilly in tow. Even the normally-calm Tilly looked disturbed, and she ran up to the table and said, “Harry Potter, sir, is the message really saying the Chamber of Secrets has been opened?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s what it said. What is the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Oh, it is being a long story, sir,” Tilly said.

“Can you have a seat?” Hermione asked, patting the table beside her. Tilly hesitantly climbed up and sat on the table so that she could speak to them at eye level. Sonya followed suit and sat beside her.

“You is knowing about the Founders of Hogwarts, sirs and miss,” Tilly began, “Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. Gryffindor was being a most powerful warlock and was being friends with Hufflepuff, who was a great healer. Ravenclaw and Slytherin was the greatest enchanters of their age. Gryffindor and Slytherin was not liking each other much, but they was working together to protect wizards from dark lords and witch-hunting muggles.

“The Founders was not starting a school at first. They each was having their own special magic, and they each gathered apprentices to teach them their magic. But then, the Dark Lord Foul came and tried to take over all magical Europe, and they was needing a castle to protect themselves and their apprentices. They was choosing here in Scotland to build the castle because there is more magic here than anywhere else in Europe, except in Russia—or Tilly is thinking it was Russia. It might be in one of the new countries. But Lord Foul was wanting this place, and they was not wanting him to get it.

“The Founders worked together to build Hogwarts Castle. Ravenclaw and Slytherin made the best stone circle in the world to build the foundations and tap the earth magic, and Gryffindor was designing the battlements, and Hufflepuff was designing the living space. At first, it was just being the West Wing, but Helga Hufflepuff was buying many house elves from masters who…did not treat them well…to work at the castle, and she made her own elf, Hooky, the Head Elf.

“The Founders was fighting Lord Foul for many years, and he was besieging the castle, but they was keeping him out, and Slytherin was knowing the most about Lord Foul’s dark magic and defeated him. After Lord Foul was defeated, the Founders stayed at the castle. They was learning from their apprentices that many young witches and wizards was orphans from the war, and many more was needing a safe place to learn magic, far away from witch-hunters, so the Founders started teaching all the children who was needing it, and soon, there was so many children that they decided to turn the castle into a school for all the witches and wizards in Britain and Ireland, and they built the East Wing for all the classrooms, and that is being Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Yah, this is all real fascinating,” Ron said, “but what’s it got to do with the Chamber of Secrets?”

Tilly shrunk back timidly and said, “Tilly will explain, Ronald Weasley, sir. Salazar Slytherin was disagreeing with the other Founders from the start. Slytherin was not liking muggle-born witches and wizards. He was worrying they were loyal to their muggle families and was not trusting them. He never picked them for his apprentices or students, and he was thinking the other Founders should not, either, but Godric Gryffindor was saying they should, and Slytherin let him for many years, until 1058.”

“1058?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Yes, Miss Hermione Granger.”

“What’s so special about 1058?” asked Ron.

“That’s the year after Macbeth died, when Malcolm III became King of Scots.”

Harry and Ron gave her blank looks.

“Don’t you read Shakespeare in the wizarding world? Macbeth was aided in taking Malcolm’s rightful throne by three witches, and I’m sure Malcolm didn’t like that.”

“Ohhh,” the boys said.

“That is being right, Miss Hermione Granger,” Tilly continued. “The witch hunts grew much worse under King Malcolm, and Slytherin was wanting to expel all the muggle-borns from Hogwarts so they could not tell their families about it. Gryffindor was not wanting to. He said purebloods should be friends with muggle-borns, and then they would be loyal. They could not agree, and at the end, they duelled over it. They was old men, then, as old as Professor Dumbledore. Rowena Ravenclaw was dead, and Helga Hufflepuff was sick and could not duel anymore, but Gryffindor and Slytherin duelled like Professor Dumbledore. The whole castle and grounds was shaking, and Slytherin was using dark magic. They duelled so hard that they knocked down the first Astronomy Tower.”

The children gasped. What kind of duel would that have been like?

“Gryffindor fought Slytherin to the edge of the wards because Gryffindor wanted to expel Slytherin from the grounds. But they was stopped there, and he could not do it. But then Helga Hufflepuff sent Hooky to help, and Hooky pushed Slytherin out of the wards when he wasn’t looking, and he was banned from Hogwarts forever.”

“Good for Hooky,” Hermione said.

“That still doesn’t explain about the Chamber of Secrets,” said Harry.

Now, Tilly lowered her voice a little: “That is being the legend of Slytherin, Harry Potter, sir. The stories says that Salazar Slytherin was knowing for years that the witch-hunters would come, and that Godric Gryffindor would ban him from the castle. So Slytherin built a secret chamber deep under the castle without telling the other Founders, and he put something inside to purge all the muggle-borns from the castle.”

Hermione froze, her eyes wide. “Purge?” she squeaked.

“Yes, miss.”

“What’s in the Chamber?” asked Harry.

“The stories says it is being a monster, sir, that can be preserved for many centuries and that only the Heir of Slytherin can control it.”

“Enemies of the Heir beware,” Hermione whispered. “Tilly, is the Chamber of Secrets real?”

“None of we elves has ever seen it,” Tilly said. “And no Headmaster has ever found it. But Hogwarts is always having more secrets. Salazar Slytherin would not have wanted elves or Headmasters to gets in, only his heirs. The Chamber of Secrets could be here somewhere still.”

Hermione lost her grip on her knife and fork with a clatter.

“Is you okay, Miss Hermione Granger?” Sonya asked worriedly.

Hermione realised her hands were shaking: “It was Malfoy…He said…“You’ll be next, mudbloods.” And muggle-borns are the enemies of the Heir.”

“Malfoy,” Ron breathed. “You think he’s the Heir?”

“I don’t know. It seems too obvious. He’s from a well-known and well-documented family, but…Harry, Dobby said there was a plot, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe Malfoy’s in on it. Maybe he knows something.”

“Yeah, I bet he does,” Ron chimed in. “Who else thinks muggle-borns are scum as much as he does? So what do you want to do about him?”

Hermione sank back in her seat: “I don’t know.”

The sounds of conversation in the kitchen ceased, leaving only the scrubbing of pans and the mopping of floors.

Finally, Harry said, “Say, Tilly, when Dobby came to my relatives’ house, he didn’t look like he was being treated very well by his masters. Is there anything we can do to help him?”

Tilly frowned as curious whispers broke out among the other elves. “Sometimes wizards is buying elves who is not treated well, like Helga Hufflepuff, but some wizards is not selling their elves so they cannot reveal their secrets.”

“I bet Dobby’s masters wouldn’t sell him, then,” Harry said. “He had to punish himself when he almost revealed their secrets.” Several of the younger elves, including Sonya, whined in surprise at that, but Tilly and many of the older elves nodded knowingly. Apparently, that wasn’t unheard of.

Finally, they finished dinner and said good night to the elves. They had just enough time to get back up to the tower before curfew. Hermione tried to hide the fact that her hands were still trembling.

“Wow, I never knew Slytherin was the one who started all this pureblood junk,” Ron said as they walked.

“Right,” Hermione replied uneasily. “The funny part is he wasn’t like Malfoy, just thinking the purebloods were better. He was worried about the witch-hunters.”

“Yeah, but it’s still his fault. Honestly, if the Sorting Hat had tried to put me in Slytherin, I would’ve just got back on the train and went home.”

Hermione didn’t respond to that, but she saw a very uncomfortable, maybe even scared look cross Harry’s face, and she remembered a certain conversation she’d had over a year ago. “Harry…” she started, but he just shook his head.

“What? You okay mate?” Ron asked.

Hermione shot him an ugly look.

“What? What’d I say?”

Harry seemed to shrink into himself even further.

“Harry, I told you then it’s okay,” Hermione said, cautiously putting an arm around his shoulders. “You’re nothing like them.”

“Huh?” Ron said.

Harry looked up and faced his friend nervously: “Ron…the Sorting Hat _did_ try to put me in Slytherin.”

“What?!” Ron bellowed. “What happened? Why didn’t it?”

“‘Cause I told it I wanted to go anywhere but Slytherin, and it put me in Gryffindor. I didn’t even know about the pureblood stuff. I just knew Voldemort and a bunch of dark wizards were from there, and Malfoy was there.”

“And you didn’t want to be anything like them,” Hermione assured him.

“But sometimes I still wonder…” he started.

“You’re not, Harry,” she said fiercely. “You proved you’re a Gryffindor one year ago tonight when you saved me from a mountain troll. And you’ve proved it again and again since then—you almost got yourself killed four times last year, and those are just the ones I know about.”

And then, to both Harry’s and Hermione’s relief, Ron broke into a smile: “Yeah, Harry, can you imagine Malfoy taking on a troll? He’d probably wet himself.”

Harry started laughing: “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Thanks, guys.”

* * *

The next few days were some of the most unpleasant Hermione had had in quite some time. Everything seemed to be falling apart again. She never thought she would be one to go paranoid, but she found herself looking over her shoulder frequently, in case Malfoy should show his face. She wasn’t the only one, either. Justin Finch-Fletchley seemed to be scared of Harry all of a sudden. Being found at the scene of the crime, some people were starting to think _he_ was the Heir of Slytherin, as absurd as that was. Also, Ginny was looking more pale and nervous than before her cold (Ron claimed she was a great cat lover), and Fred’s, George’s, and Ron’s attempts to cheer her up fell flat.

Hermione didn’t tell her parents about Mrs. Norris in her letter that week. She felt a little guilty about that, but she pushed it off by writing, _Something strange happened, but things are mostly fine, now. I_ _’ll tell you more when I know what’s going on._ That should be good enough for the short term.

She spent all of her spare time the rest of the weekend in the library, followed by reading in the Common Room until the wee hours of the morning. As per her own advice, Lavender and Parvati had tried to make her come to bed, but she actually told them off this time. She was trying to find out what kind of horrible spell or monster or demon could petrify a cat like that, but as always, finding anything obscure in the Hogwarts library was like looking for a needle in a haystack. In the meantime, she noticed a lot of people putting their names down on a waiting list for _Hogwarts, A History_ , and she thanked her lucky stars for Tilly. She’d had to leave that book at home to make room for Lockhart’s tomes and would have been most unhappy that she couldn’t get hold of it.

Remembering that they’d found Mrs. Norris near Myrtle’s bathroom, Hermione asked Myrtle if she’d seen anything, but the distraught ghost had been crying too much to pay attention to anything at the time. The one other odd thing the trio noticed was that the spiders were behaving very strangely (and that Ron was arachnophobic), almost as if they were leaving the castle en masse, despite the approaching winter. What that could have to do with anything they didn’t know, but Hermione mentally filed it away for future reference.

It was in this high-strung and sleep-deprived state that she sat down with her Arithmancy study group on Tuesday afternoon.

“Alright, properties of triangles, everyone,” Roger Davies said as he joined the table in the library.

“Right, simple enough,” Hermione said, and immediately regretted it. For the most part, she had curtailed the urge to say things like that around her classmates, but as she presently was trying to make her brain focus enough to understand triple integrals on the side, it slipped out.

“Yes, well…do triangles get used that much in spellcrafting?” Roger asked.

“Not so much directly, but trigonometry does,” Hermione replied, absently leaning her head on her hand.

“Say, you don’t look so good, Hermione,” Alicia Spinnet said. “Are you feeling alright?”

Hermione was about to brush it off and say she was fine, but she decided at the last moment that she really ought to be honest: “No, it’s this whole Chamber of Secrets business.”

“Oh, that. Are you worried about it?”

“Yes. Did you hear what Malfoy said?”

Alicia growled softly: “Yes, practically everybody heard what he said. You think he’s involved.”

“I think he might know something.”

“What _is_ the Chamber of Secrets, anyway?” Roger asked.

Hermione briefly summarised the story Tilly had told her. “…And, supposedly, the Heir of Slytherin will come back someday and purge all the muggle-borns from the school.”

“Wow, that’s a pretty nasty story,” said Cedric Diggory. “But I wouldn’t worry about Malfoy too much. He’s probably just posturing, like always.”

“Maybe, but Cedric, _something_ happened to Mrs. Norris, and even Professor Dumbledore couldn’t fix her.”

“Yeah, um, about that—So you were with Harry the entire time on Halloween?” Cedric asked nervously.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “We didn’t know anything had happened until we stumbled on Mrs. Norris, and she was already petrified.”

“Okay, well, I’ll try to make Justin understand. He’s been really worried thinking Harry is the Heir of Slytherin, but I really didn’t think he would do something like that.”

“No, he wouldn’t. But apparently, there’s someone around here who would. I don’t like it…I’m worried. It’s like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I just wish I could do something.”

“Like what?” asked Alicia.

“I don’t know. I need more information, really— _better_ information. But only the Slytherins would have a chance of that.”

“Well, good luck getting anything out of them,” said Roger. “Slytherin’s all about secrets and lies.”

“I know, I…oh, let’s just get to work. Triangles, right?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe we should skip down to the part about breaking down the arithmantic components of the Softening Charm,” Cedric suggested. He smiled at Hermione. That was a little more up her alley. She smiled weakly in return and helped them through the procedure.

Hermione’s mind was taken off the recent events for a little while, but no longer. The stress was getting to her pretty badly, but as she lay awake in her bed that night, things changed. Something that Professor Snape, of all people, had said in an offhand remark a few weeks ago came back to her, and a plan started to form in her mind—an insane plan. An _impossible_ plan. There were at least three things she needed to get hold of to have even a chance of making it work. But then again, as she thought about it, none of them seemed insurmountable. Even so, it was dangerous, desperate, and _very_ against the school rules, if not outright illegal.

And right now, she was too worried about the Heir of Slytherin to care.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The vector of Harry Potter at point JK Rowling is ten books, eight movies, and one short story.
> 
> Thanks to Starfox5 for suggesting that the trio use Veritaserum and to Pahan for helping me flesh out the idea.

“Veritaserum?” Ron and Harry said together.

“It’s truth serum,” Hermione said. “Just three drops will make someone tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about anything you ask them. There are ways to resist it, but you have to know it’s coming in advance.”

“So we grab Malfoy, give him three drops, and ask him about the Chamber of Secrets!” Ron said excitedly. “That could work.”

“No it won’t,” Harry said. “When he gets out of it, he’ll run off and tell Snape.”

“Oh, right.”

Hermione bit her lip.

“What?”

“He won’t if we slip him a Forgetfulness Potion and a Sleeping Draught when we’re done,” she said. “If we combine the two, he won’t remember anything for the past half hour, or if he does, he’ll think he dreamed it.”

“Whoa,” Ron said. “You know you’re _really_ scary sometimes, Hermione.”

“I’m just doing what I have to,” she replied. “I’m not going to take Malfoy’s crud lying down anymore.” Her friends stared as they saw the fire in her eyes, a fire they had seen only once before, when she had dismantled Professor Vector’s “impenetrable” protection on the Philosopher’s Stone. Beneath that bookish exterior, they realised there was a person they did _not_ want to cross.

“Ooo-kaaay, so we can get that stuff…” Ron said uneasily. “But where do we get Veritaserum?”

“Well, that’s the tricky part,” she said. “We’ll have to make it.”

Harry and Ron exchanged an uncomfortable look. Both of them were mediocre at Potions.

“Okay, _I_ _’ll_ have to make it,” Hermione clarified. “But there are some problems.”

“Like what?” Harry said.

She laughed coldly: “You mean aside from the fact that it’s illegal to use on minors? Well, for one, we’ll need a place to brew it. For that, I was thinking Myrtle’s bathroom.”

“But that’s a girl’s bathroom,” Ron protested.

“That no one ever uses. It’s the last place anyone would look. The second problem is that it’s a really advanced potion. That means it’ll be very dangerous to get wrong, and it’ll probably need ingredients that aren’t available to students.”

“Well, that’s no good. Where’re we gonna get those?” said Ron.

But Harry looked thoughtful: “Would Professor Snape have what we need?”

“In his private stores, almost certainly,” Hermione replied with a sigh. “We’d have to steal some.”

Ron gaped at her: “Dangerous and breaking all kinds of rules, and now stealing from Snape? Have you gone mad, Hermione? He’ll kill us if he finds out.”

She crossed her arms: “Hmph. You think I _like_ this, Ronald? I’m talking about breaking the _law_ , here. But I am _not_ going to wait for Malfoy to come after me…” She fought to keep her voice from quivering. “He was pointing at _me_ , remember? And the professors were no help. If you two Gryffindors are gonna chicken out, you can just forget I said anything, but I’m going to do it with or without you. If you’d like to stick around and help me think of a _plan_ , Mr. Chessmaster…”

“Okay, okay, I’m in,” Ron said quickly. “I think the world’s gone barmy with you breaking rules, but I’m in. So what do we need to take from the greasy git?”

“That’s the other problem,” Hermione said. “I need the book that says how to make it. Snape said it’s called _Moste Potente Potions_ , but I’m sure it’ll be in the Restricted Section of the library.”

Harry’s and Ron’s faces fell. They would need a note from a teacher, usually signing off on the specific book, to take anything out of the Restricted Section. Hermione was close with Professor Vector, but not that close.

“How can we get it, then?” asked Harry. “The teachers will know we want to make a potion.”

“I was thinking maybe we could tell them we just wanted to know about the theory…”

“Oh come on,” Ron burst out. “Even I wouldn’t fall for that. What teacher would be that thick?”

Suddenly, Harry got an excited grin on his face.

* * *

Harry’s plan worked like a charm, but Hermione’s estimate of Professor Lockhart was starting to fall. A little flattery was all it took to get the Defence Professor to sign her note without even looking at it. The bad news was that the Veritaserum took a month to brew. However, the instructions were very detailed, and she was confident that she could do it if she had the ingredients. But breaking into Snape’s private stores wouldn’t be easy, and the boys, predictably, were more worried about the next weekend’s Quidditch match.

True, Hermione could get into it, too. She really wanted Harry to wipe that smirk off Malfoy’s face.

“It’s not going to be as easy as last year,” Hermione told the team when they asked her for her Arithmantic assessment. Even Oliver Wood seemed interested in what she had to say. “I know you girls are good, but the Chaser squad is going to be at a real disadvantage going against _Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones_. The good news is that Harry’s a much better flier than Malfoy, and his broom is almost as fast, so if you play a hard defence, you’ve got a better than even chance, but I’d have to put it at only about sixty, maybe sixty-five percent.”

“Hmm, perhaps a morale boost is in order, then,” suggested Fred. “That can always help one’s advantage.”

“Oh no, what did you do?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing against the rules,” George said.

“Well, not the important rules,” Fred clarified.

“Yeah, but they’ll be back to normal all too soon.”

“Shh, quiet, George. It should be happening right about…now…”

Everyone looked over at the Slytherin table, where the Quidditch Team, already in their green robes, were sipping orange juice and discussing the upcoming match. But as they talked, their faces rapidly flashed through confusion, fear, and then rage as laughter started to spread around the Hall. Soon, they were on their feet and shouting, or rather trying to shout, as their predicament became clear. The entire Slytherin Quidditch Team were emitting strange, vaguely horse-like squeals every time they opened their mouths.

“Yes!” Fred exclaimed.

“Worked like a charm,” George said.

“Or rather like a potion,” Fred smirked.

“It did?” said Hermione. “Just _what_ are they supposed to sound like?”

“Zebras, of course,” the Twins replied in unison.

“And now for phase two,” Fred added. “Come on, everybody,” he motioned to the Gryffindor Team. The two of them linked their arms and each swallowed a swig of their own orange juice, and, with a matching pair of grins, the Weasley Twins stood up and let out a loud pair of lions’ roars to the Great Hall. This caused the enraged Slytherins to shout even more, filling the air with more frightened zebra sounds. Pretty soon, Ron goaded Harry into drinking the spiked orange juice, and the three Chasers soon followed. Only Oliver Wood refused. Professor Snape had already silenced the Slytherin Team and was investigating the orange juice.

“That had better be temporary,” Wood confronted them.

Fred held up ten fingers, and George made an M shape with his hands.

“It lasts for ten minutes?”

They both nodded.

“I will hold you to that Messrs. Weasley.” Professor McGonagall appeared, standing over their shoulders. “As amusing as this might be—” And she _did_ look a little amused. “—this is quite inappropriate behaviour. Detention with me Monday night.”

Fred and George nodded, but mouthed, “Worth it,” to each other behind her back. Sure enough, ten minutes later, both Quidditch teams could speak normally again.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Ron told his brothers. “Lions and zebras. I never would’ve thought of that.” Even Ginny looked like she’d liked that one. She seemed cheered up a bit compared with the past few days.

“Well, not everyone can be us,” said Fred.

“I hate to say it, but that was really impressive,” Hermione told them. “How did you get potions to do that?”

“That, our dear Miss Granger—” Fred started.

“—is a trade secret,” George finished.

* * *

Hermione lay awake in her bed that night, wondering how everything kept going wrong.

The Quidditch Match had been a near-total disaster. Gryffindor had won, but that was the only bright spot. She could still see it clearly in her mind: the Bludger deviating from the opportunistic course it was supposed to follow and going after Harry again and again, no matter how hard Fred and George hit it. Just like last year, it looked like someone was tampering with the equipment, and just like last year, she’d grabbed a pair of binoculars and started scanning the crowd, but this time, she couldn’t find anyone jinxing the Bludger—nothing in the teachers’ box—that was the first place she’d looked. Then, the stands, but she never saw anything there, either. She had to just sit there, watching Harry almost get killed again and again and not able to do anything about it.

Hermione had a feeling Malfoy was involved with this somehow. As the new Slytherin Seeker and a much inferior flier, who else would have more reason to try to knock Harry off his broom? But he hadn’t looked like he was doing anything at the time, and she doubted there would be much chance to prove it after.

Things only got worse as the rain grew heavier and the visibility fell. Harry, idiot Gryffindor Quidditch nut that he was, refused to stop playing, even after George called a time out. He kept zooming around the Quidditch Pitch in a kind of aerial ballet, keeping a step ahead of the less manoeuvrable Bludger with his tight turns. For a while, it looked like he had things almost under control, but Bludger nailed him in the end.

Hermione had screamed when the iron ball slammed into Harry’s arm. He went reeling on his broom, and the Bludger turned around again, this time aimed at his head, but he dodged and charged Malfoy. She’d thought for a moment that he had got fed up and decided to attack the Slytherin directly, but no, he was going for the Snitch, snatching it from practically under Malfoy’s nose with his one good arm.

He’d landed hard, tumbling off his broom. Even then, the Bludger made another pass at him, but Fred and George grabbed it and started wrestling it back into its box. For a moment, it had seemed like the worst was over.

And then, Professor Lockhart he tried to fix his broken arm. He might be brilliant at defence, she thought, but his healing spells left a lot to be desired. Instead of repairing the bones, he somehow managed to vanish every bone in Harry’s arm. Hermione felt sick. All those ligaments and tendons had to be hanging loose, now, sliding around. She was sure Harry was going to lose his arm, but Madam Pomfrey assured them not to worry. That was the magic of Skele-Gro. It fixed everything up on its own, and Harry would be fine in the morning.

She wanted to defend Lockhart—to say it was just an honest mistake—but it was getting harder and harder. The longer she watched him, the more she was starting to think he had no idea what he was doing. He never really taught anything in class. He just acted out scenes from his books, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him perform any but the simplest spells correctly.

So that left her with three separate problems: the Chamber of Secrets, the rogue Bludger (although both of those might have been Malfoy), and Professor Lockhart, and none of those problems lent themselves to obvious solutions. And she’d been having a pretty good year so far, too.

As she drifted off to sleep, Hermione wondered if anything else could go wrong.

Little did she know.

* * *

Harry woke in the dead of night and immediately yelped in pain. The numb, rubbery feeling in his arm had been bad enough, but now it felt like it was full of large splinters, and worse still, he could feel his tendons crawling under his skin to attach in the right places.

His arm was so distracting that it took him several seconds to realise that someone was sponging his forehead in the darkened Hospital Wing.

“Ahh! Get off!” He yelled. He flailed with his good arm and managed to flip on the bedside lamp. A huge pair of goggling green eyes stared up at him. “Dobby!”

A single tear ran down Dobby’s nose. “Harry Potter came back to Hogwarts,” the elf whispered. “Dobby warned him not to come back, sir. Why did Harry Potter do it? Why did he not go back home when he missed the train?”

“Missed the train?” Harry said. “How did you know—?”

But before he could make the connection, there was a loud crack, almost deafening in the quiet ward, and another, much younger elf appeared beside the bed.

“Sonya?” Harry said in confusion.

Sonya took one look at Dobby and said. “You! You is Dobby! You is getting Harry Potter in trouble! We is watching for elves who is not supposed to be here—”

Dobby, whom Hermione said had probably had very little contact with other elves, quailed and took a step back. “Dobby is trying to save Harry Potter,” he said. “Save him from the dark deeds that are planned at Hogwarts. Dobby tried to keep Harry Potter away, but nothing Dobby did would make him leave.”

“What dark deeds?” Sonya demanded. “Tell Sonya. We must be warning Professor Dumbledore of all dark deeds.”

“Dobby cannot speak of them, even to fellow elves. Dobby mustn’t tell. Harry Potter must go home. Dobby has tried three times, but he will not listen.”

“Three times?” Harry said. “It was you! You made Ron and me miss the train. And you sent the Bludger, too?”

The elf whimpered: “Dobby thought his Bludger would—”

Suddenly, there was a flash of light and a bang, and Dobby was thrown headfirst into the wall. He staggered to his feet, rubbing his head, only to be faced down by an enraged teenage elf. “You tries to kill Harry Potter!” Sonya screamed. Harry was sure she would wake Madam Pomfrey and maybe the whole wing. “You is a bad elf, Dobby! We shoulds have been watching the grounds for you, too! Sonya will take you to Magical Creatures Department for this!” She launched herself at Dobby, but there was another flash of light, and she was thrown against the opposite wall with a squeal.

“Not _kill_ Harry Potter,” Dobby said. “Never _kill_ him. Better for him to be sent home grievously injured, than remain here, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more—” He froze, horror struck, and then grabbed the water jug from the bedside table and smacked it against his skull. “Bad Dobby!” he yelled. “Very bad Dobby.”

Sonya had started to take another run at Dobby, but she skidded to a halt and clapped her tiny hands over her mouth at the sight.

But Harry was on top of things. He grabbed Dobby by the wrists and said, “The Chamber of Secrets has been opened _before_?”

“It is being opened _before_?” Sonya echoed.

“Dobby can say no more, Harry Potter sir. He must not speak about such things.”

“But Harry Potter is not being muggle-born,” Sonya said. “It is Hermione Granger who is in danger. Dobby will tell Sonya!” Then, she took a flying leap and jumped on Dobby’s back. Dobby yelped, and they both tumbled off the bed. The two elves began rolling around the room in a blur of limbs, squeaks, and flashes of light, seemingly locked in some sort of wandless duel.

“Dobby will tell Sonya! Sonya will protect her friends—Eek!”

There was a louder bang than the others, and Sonya was thrown up onto one of the empty beds. Then, Dobby waved his hands, and the sheet levitated into the air with her on it, then wrapped her up tight so that she couldn’t get away.

“Dobby, let her go!” Harry said, but Dobby ignored him.

“Dobby is not wanting to hurt Sonya,” the elf said, “but Dobby is knowing old elf lore, and he will use it to protect Harry—” He froze and listened. Harry and Sonya heard it, too. There were footsteps coming from outside the Hospital Wing.

“Intruder!” Sonya screamed. “Is being an intruder!”

“Dobby must go!” The intruding elf popped away with a crack, and Sonya fell to the bed.

“Dobby? Dobby!” she screamed in anger.

At that moment, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were walking into the ward, carrying what looked like a statue. Sonya disentangled herself and ran up to them, babbling, “Professor Dumbledore, sir, there was being an intruder here. He was an elf and was being the one who tampered with the Bludger, and…” She stopped and staggered backwards, clapping her hands to her mouth again when she saw what it really was that the professors were carrying.

* * *

“Hey, did you hear about that little first year? Creevey, I think.”

Hermione turned to a shaken-looking Alicia Spinnet in confusion. Had Harry gone round the twist and stolen the boy’s camera or something? “No, what happened?” she said.

“Petrified,” Alicia replied. Hermione gasped. “Just like Mrs. Norris. They say he was sneaking up to visit Harry when something got him.”

“What…? But…how?”

“I don’t know. You can ask Harry. He told Fred he saw him brought in.”

“Right, um, I will.” Hermione turned and walked out of the Great Hall. She saw Draco Malfoy sending her a smug smirk as she left. As soon as she got out the doors, she broke into a run and didn’t stop until she got to Myrtle’s bathroom. She ran into the first stall and sank to the floor.

Her brain and heart were both racing. Her hands were shaking again, and she wrapped her arms around herself to stop them. She tried to piece together what she knew. The Chamber of Secrets had been opened—or so the message claimed. There had been a cat and student petrified by an unknown force in two separate incidents. Malfoy had implied to her more than once that he had been expecting this all year. That pointed to the fact that someone—Malfoy or otherwise—really had opened the Chamber of Secrets and unleashed the horror within to purge the school of muggle-borns. She didn’t know why Colin had been petrified and not killed or injured badly enough to be removed from the castle, but it hardly mattered. If it was Malfoy, he probably wouldn’t be above killing, and if it was someone else, she was still in danger of being turned into a statue until spring.

She _had_ to get that potion made.

With that resolution, she left the bathroom and climbed up to her dorm to get her supplies and the instructions she had copied from _Moste Potente Potions_. (She had copied a couple of the other recipes, too. That Polyjuice stuff looked like it could be useful.) It had taken some doing to get a spare cauldron, but that was the easy part. Returning to the bathroom, she set up her rig. A ceramic basin mounted inside a toilet bowl held bluebell flames that would be just hot enough to simmer the potion and would only need to be refilled once per day. The cauldron sat over top of it after she filled it with water from the sink. The instructions said the final product had to be _distilled_ , and she still wasn’t sure how she would do that, but she’d think of something.

But that was as far as she got at the moment. Her hands were still shaking, and she didn’t dare try to start brewing in that condition. She knew it wasn’t from the cold, but she tried to run them under hot water from the sink anyway. She found it somewhat soothing.

Things weren’t looking good. Merely the threat of this could scare her parents into withdrawing her (and she probably wasn’t alone in that). Politically speaking, that might be even worse—letting Malfoy win without a fight. But how was she going to spin _this_ one? _Dear Mum and Dad, Remember that boy who keeps hexing me and calling me racial slurs? I think he may be actively plotting to kill me._

Someone knocked on the door: “Hermione?”

“Ahhh! R-Ron?” she stammered.

The redheaded boy entered the bathroom. “Are you okay?” he asked. “You ran out at breakfast.”

“Did you hear about Colin?” she said, trying to stay calm.

“Yeah. I heard McGonagall telling Flitwick about it. Why’d you run out, though?”

“I…I just wanted to start the Veritaserum right away. It doesn’t look like the Heir is wasting any time. Can you…can you give me a hand with it?”

Ron shook his head: “I’m rubbish at Potions.”

“I’ve got the instructions,” Hermione replied. “Just do what I say, and it’ll be fine.”

“Well…okay.”

Hermione drew her wand, took a deep breath to steady herself, and applied the appropriate charms to the cauldron. They weren’t the ones they usually used for the simpler potions in class, like the Dissolving Charm, since several of the ingredients had to stew for a while instead of dissolving. “There, now that one first,” she pointed shakily to one of the jars of ingredients.

“Hermione, your hands…” Ron said.

“I’m fine, Ron, just open the jar.”

They worked in an uneasy silence after that, except for Hermione giving instructions. Ron tried to ask if she was okay a couple more times, and Hermione tried to make a bit of small talk, but it fell flat.

They barely heard when the bathroom door opened again until Harry said, “It’s me.”

Hermione jumped so hard that she narrowly avoided toppling the cauldron and ruining the potion. She peeked through the gap in the door to make sure it was really him. “ _Harry_!” she said. “You scared me half to death. Come in. How’s your arm?”

The three of them could barely fit in the tiny space. “It’s fine,” he said. “But I have to tell you—last night, Colin Creevey was petrified.”

“We know,” said Ron. “When Hermione found out she wanted to start the potion right away.”

“Good thinking. But there was something else.” And Harry related Dobby’s midnight visit, his admission that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened before (“I bet it was Malfoy’s dad,” said Ron), and his fight with Sonya. Hermione smiled for the first time all day when he told how the elf had tried to defend her. And after that was when Dumbledore and McGonagall brought in Colin, frozen with his camera still in his hands. “But when they opened it, the inside was all melted,” he reported.

“Melted?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Yeah, what’s that mean?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a clue. Whatever did this petrifies people _and_ melts cameras.”

“Unless it was a spell,” Ron said. “Someone’s controlling the monster, right?”

“Right,” Hermione sighed. “The sooner we can finish this thing and interrogate Malfoy the better. Ron, we need to get those ingredients.”

“I still don’t know how you think you’re gonna them from Snape,” Ron grumbled.

“Well, I was _hoping_ you could help me,” she snapped. “You too, Harry, if you have any ideas.”

“I don’t know,” Ron complained. “Look, do you even know what these ingredients look like?”

“Of course I do, Ron. I can get them out of Snape’s storeroom with no trouble. I just need to be sure he won’t see me go in there.”

“So we need a diversion?”

“Exactly. Just think of it like a chess game.”

“Oh _sure_ , like a _chess_ game,” Ron mumbled, but his wheels started turning just the same: “What if…what if we stage a potions accident that he has to clean up.”

Hermione’s and Harry’s eyebrows shot up. It was an obvious, though risky solution. “That could work,” Hermione said. “We couldn’t sabotage one of our own potions, though, or Snape might know it was us. And we have to decide which potion to sabotage. It can’t be anything too dangerous; we don’t want anybody to get hurt, but it needs to be something that’ll take him a while to clean up.”

“But we don’t even know what potions he’s going to assign,” said Ron.

“I might be able to figure it out. Meet me in the library this afternoon.”

The boys agreed, and they dispersed after that. Hermione immediately went to the library to pursue her potential lead. She asked a number of older Ravenclaws in different years if they still had their second year Potions notes. It took a while, but her efforts finally netted her a good set of notes from last year and from three years ago, which allowed her to work out Professor Snape’s syllabus. It was nearly identical between the two and so far matched this year as well. Hermione wrote out a list of the potions they were would be making up to Christmas and waited for Ron and Harry.

“Whoa, how’d you find all this? Ron asked in disbelief when he saw the list.

“Snape doesn’t put a lot effort into his lesson plans. Now, we just need to pick the potion that gives us the best opportunity.”

“How about the Sleeping Draught?” Ron suggested. “Put everyone to sleep, and Snape’ll have to wake them up.”

Hermione thumbed through her Potions book: “No, the Sleeping Draught has to be ingested. It’s too easy to clean up.”

“Hmm, Alihotsy Draught?” said Harry. “Make everyone go crazy and hysterical?”

“No good. It has unpredictable emotional effects in the intermediate stages, and we’d risk being exposed to the fumes.”

“What if we blow up someone’s Swelling Solution?” Ron said. “Snape’ll have to cure anyone who’s swollen up.”

Hermione thought about this and looked over the recipe for any contraindications. “That could work,” she said. “But we won’t be making it until December. If we have to wait that long to get the ingredients, the Veritaserum won’t be ready until Christmas.”

“Well, unless you want to try one of the others…”

She looked over the list again, biting her lip. She didn’t want to admit it, but there really wasn’t anything they could use sooner. She sighed and said, “I guess not. But still, Christmas…I mean, I guess I can tell my parents I want to stay over so I can do some more research, but I don’t want to leave them alone.”

“We can try something else,” Ron said apologetically.

“No, no, people are in danger here. This is more important. We’ll do it.”

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I_ _’m sorry to have to give you bad news, but something disturbing has been going on here. There have been two attacks in the castle. The first one was only a cat, but the second one was a first year boy. The weird part is that they weren’t normal attacks. They were "petrified,” like statues—I don’t mean transfigured, just frozen and apparently unconscious, sort of like a magical coma or suspended animation. No one can do anything for them right now, but the professors say they should be fine in the spring after Professor Snape can make a mandrake restorative potion for them._

_No one knows who did it or how, but we think it has to do with something called the Chamber of Secrets. You can read about it in the copy of Hogwarts, A History that I left at home. There_ _’s a legend that Salazar Slytherin, one of the Founders of the school, built a secret chamber with a monster inside that’s going to get rid of all the muggle-borns someday. Supposedly, only the Heir of Slytherin can control it. Draco Malfoy’s been acting like he knows something about it all year. This weird house elf who keeps popping up knows something, too, but he can’t tell us._

_I_ _’m being careful, and the teachers are trying to find out who did it, but it is kind of scary. I’m sure Malfoy would like nothing better than to see me get attacked. Both of the victims were wandering alone, so I’m making sure not to do that. I’m really hoping they can solve it soon. If we’re lucky, all of this will be sorted out before Christmas. I’ll keep you posted the best I can._

_Love from Hermione_

Hermione didn’t mention that she wanted to stay for Christmas yet. She had plenty of time to decide that for certain, and if there were no more attacks for a while, they would both feel a lot better about it.

* * *

Hermione was very tired by the time she got out of Arithmancy on Monday, and she still needed to get back to the Veritaserum. It was tricky to set things up so that she didn’t need to be there at inconvenient times during the day, which slowed down the brewing process. Luckily, it had been trivial for her to work out the numbers and put together a reasonable schedule for it.

After a long day of Potions, Herbology, and a thoroughly unhelpful double Defence lesson, Arithmancy was a refreshing break, but even so, she was tired and a bit distracted throughout the lesson, and people were starting to notice, so she probably shouldn’t have been surprised when Professor Vector asked to speak with her after class. “Hermione, are you feeling alright?” she said gently. “You look like you’ve been losing sleep again.”

Hermione looked down sheepishly and shook her head. For a few moments, she couldn’t muster up the will to speak. “Not for lack of trying, ma’am,” she said softly. “I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.”

“Is something wrong?”

Hermione forced herself to look up. “It’s this Chamber of Secrets thing. At first I thought _maybe_ Mrs. Norris could have been a cruel prank or something, but now Colin’s been petrified…” She clenched her hands into fists, determined not to let her teacher see them shaking.

“Oh, dear…” Vector stepped forward and placed an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried myself. Nothing like this has happened before in my time at Hogwarts, as a teacher or a student. If some creature—or some person—is targeting students, and we can’t track it…well, I confess I’ve been losing sleep over it, too.” She didn’t say it, but she was especially worried about Hermione, the muggle-born with such a brilliant intellect, boundless curiosity, and her knack for getting in trouble. It didn’t need to be said between them.

“Professor, _you_ were a Slytherin,” Hermione said eagerly. “Do you know anything about the Chamber?”

“No more than you do, I’m sure, and probably less—at least for anything certain. True, it’s a popular legend in the Slytherin dorms. I must have heard a hundred different versions of the story in my seven years there, all of them different and probably none of them true. One of the most popular versions back then was that Slytherin’s monster was an acromantula. In fact, that’s still the official story of what happened that year. But acromantulas can’t petrify people—don’t worry, I checked.”

“And no one ever had any idea who the Heir of Slytherin was?”

“No. People talked, of course—claimed they knew who he was. Even little bitty first years would come in saying their father knew him or some such nonsense. But mostly they just talked about how they’d like to know who he was. I had one roommate who kept saying she wished Slytherin’s Heir would come back and—if you’ll pardon the phrase—‘just get rid of the mudbloods, already’…I never liked her.”

“She wasn’t Draco Malfoy’s mum, was she?” Hermione asked.

Professor Vector blushed a little: “No, I’ve got a few years on Narcissa Malfoy and her sisters. Why? Has Draco Malfoy been giving you trouble?”

Hermione nodded. “He’s been telling me since the beginning of the year that I shouldn’t have come back. And when Mrs. Norris was petrified, he said…he said, ‘You’ll be next, mudbloods.’”

The professor grumbled. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, Hermione. I’ve been trying to raise the standards in Slytherin and in particular take a stand against that word for twenty-one years, but it’s a lonely fight. I’ll try to keep a closer eye on Draco Malfoy for you when I can.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ve just been so worried…”

“I know. I won’t bother telling you not to worry because I know you will. And honestly, it’s something that’s worth being careful about. But you have good friends, Hermione. Remember that, and stick close to them. There’s safety in numbers.”

“I will. Thank you, professor.”

“Good. How are your other studies coming along?”

Hermione lit up at that: “Well, Jacobians are a pain in the neck to compute, but I’m on track. And I think I’ve got a good framework for that potions paper. I was hoping I’d be able to start doing experiments over Christmas holidays, but…but I’m not sure I’ll be able to. It’s not a matter of it being too difficult, I’m just not sure if I can work it into my schedule.”

Suddenly, Professor Vector started laughing.

“Professor!” Hermione complained. “What? What is it?”

“Oh, Hermione, I’m sorry,” she replied. “It’s really not that funny, given the circumstances. It’s just that only _you_ could be lying awake at night worrying about the Heir of Slytherin and still speak so…so offhandedly about doing cutting edge potions research on the side.”

Hermione started giggling; it _was_ a little funny. “Thank you, Professor,” she said. “I think I needed that.”

“You’re quite welcome. Take care of yourself, and keep safe. That’s the best thing you can do right now. Oh, and don’t believe any of the older students selling protective amulets.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

* * *

Hermione wasn’t quite sure where she was. It was some dark corner of the castle, she was sure, but, impossibly, she didn’t recognise it. She’d mapped out every part of Hogwarts at least once, but this—this was completely unfamiliar. She picked up her pace, walking around one corner, then another, then another, looking for something she recognised. From the maze-like structure, she must be in the dungeons, but where?

It was then that she became aware of the footsteps behind her. She turned around, but didn’t see anyone. They were always behind her back, no matter which way she turned. She needed to get away from them. She ran—around and around the dungeon. How had it got this big? Was there some infinite part of the dungeons she didn’t know about, like the spiral staircase in the Great Tower? Yet always, the footsteps were still behind her, slowly getting closer and closer.

Suddenly, she hit a dead end. She practically ran into the stone wall before she saw it. At the same moment, the footsteps stopped what sounded like just feet behind her. Trembling, she turned around, wand drawn.

He was there! The Heir of Slytherin! She didn’t know how she knew, but it must be him. His face was in shadow, but the voice was clear and familiar.

“You should have stayed away,” the Heir said.

“P-p-please,” she whimpered. “I n-never did anything to you.”

“You should have stayed away,” the Heir repeated. “You should have listened to your betters. But now, you’re going to pay.”

“No, please—!”

“It’s time for you to meet the Monster of Slytherin.”

And then she saw it—or rather, _didn_ _’t_ see it, since it seemed to be made out of darkness itself. The monster broke away from the shadows behind the Heir and glided toward her, a black mass like a hole in the air.

“No, please don’t! _Lumos_!” Hermione cried, hoping that she could at least see what she was fighting, but the feeble light from her wand wouldn’t penetrate the darkness. “ _Lumos_!” she tried again. “ _Lumos Solem! Lumos Maxima! Incendio_!” But nothing worked. She heard a horrible, cackling laugh, and then the monster was upon her.

“Aaaaiiieeeee!” she screamed and, acting purely on instinct, swiped her wand from the bedside table and shouted, “ _Lumos Solem_!” and the room was blasted with an blinding burst of sunlight for a few seconds before her wand went out.

Hermione heard four female voices scream out, followed by some confused grunting and mumbling. She finally blinked her eyes open. She was in her dorm room. It was barely sunrise. Lily and Sally-Anne had just got up. And she had hit hit Lavender and Parvati in their faces with a full blast of sunlight while they were still asleep.

“Bloody hell, Hermione, what was that?” Lavender whined, throwing an arm over her eyes.

“I—I—sorry,” she stammered. “It was…I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, sorry. Try not to get jinx-happy next time, though.”

“Was it about the Chamber of Secrets?” asked Sally-Anne. That was right, Hermione thought. She wasn’t the only muggle-born in her dorm. Sally-Anne hadn’t said much about the whole Chamber business, but Hermione didn’t think she’d been out of Lily’s sight since Halloween.

“Yeah, it was,” Hermione said quietly, “or at least the Heir of Slytherin.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sally-Anne offered.

“Um, no, not really. I’ll just head down to the Common Room.”

And after quickly getting dressed and grabbing her calculus book, she did just that. But despite the early hour, she found that someone else was already down there.

“Hermione?” a small voice said in surprise.

Hermione looked over and saw a small, pale, red-haired girl putting her diary away. “Hi, Ginny,” she said wearily. “You couldn’t sleep, either?”

“Um…no…” Ginny said cagily. “It’s…um, been a hard week?”

“Ugh, tell me about it,” Hermione said absently as she cracked her book.

“Well…Colin sat next to me in Charms class,” Ginny said.

Hermione looked up: “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know what happened,” she said. “Things seemed like they were back to normal after Halloween, and then…”

“I know. It’s disturbing—students being hurt and no one knowing what’s going on.”

“Are you scared?”

Hermione leaned closer to Ginny and said, “Yeah, I am, but I’m doing something about it. Harry, Ron, and I are working on a way to find out who’s doing this.”

For some reason, this seemed to make Ginny even paler.

“Don’t worry, we’re being careful.”

“What are you doing?” the redhead asked.

“Sorry, we should really keep that to ourselves. I probably shouldn’t have even told you that much. I just wanted you to know.”

“Well…thanks…” Ginny said, but she still sounded pretty nervous about it.

Hermione was a little surprised that Ginny didn’t ask about her maths book, but they both sat in silence until it was time for breakfast. Ginny really didn’t look like she was in good shape. She looked a lot like Hermione felt last year when she’d stopped sleeping properly. She must be really broken up about Colin, she thought, but Hermione didn’t blame her. She was sure’d be just as lost if something happened to Harry or Ron.

“You wanna get breakfast, Ginny?” she said at last.

“Huh? Uh, sure,” Ginny said unenthusiastically.

“Come on, I’ll walk you down.”

“What? I don’t need your help.”

“I know, but safety in numbers, remember?”

“Fine.”

The two girls left the tower to head down to the Great Hall, but today, Hermione had a funny feeling that something strange was about to happen. And when they got to the Entrance Hall, it did.

Both Hermione and Ginny screamed as two orange monsters jumped out from behind a statue and started roaring. Hermione almost turned and bolted, certain she had finally run afoul of the Monster of Slytherin, until she realised the “monsters’ were wearing Hogwarts robes. Fred and George had somehow managed to cover their faces in fur and turn their hair into a pair of luxuriant, bright orange lions’ manes, and from the sounds of it had consumed some of their lion’s roar potion.

“AUGH!” Ginny shouted once she caught her breath. “I told you to cut that out already! You about gave us a heart attack!” She whipped out her wand. “ _Chiroptera Mucosa! Chiroptera Mucosa_!”

Her hexes hit both twins full in the face. Their roars immediately changed to the sound of a cat being trod on as—never mind the anatomical impossibility of it—fully-grown black bats crawled out of their noses and flapped their wings in their faces. Unable to speak to apologise, the Twins were forced to make a run for it, lest they become the targets of more of Ginny’s hexes.

“Wow,” Hermione said. “What was that?”

“Oh, they’ve been doing stupid stuff like that all week to try to cheer me up.”

“They thought that would cheer you up? Oh, it’s them—of course they did. What was that spell, though?”

“That was Bill’s Bat-Bogey Hex. He taught it to me last summer after I got my wand.”

“Huh, I’m impressed. I wouldn’t have thought a first year could cast a spell like that.”

“Thank you,” Ginny said with a flip of her hair.

“Do you think you could teach me that spell?”

“Uh-uh, a girl’s gotta have _some_ secrets,” Ginny said. But she seemed to withdraw after that and didn’t speak much at breakfast. Hermione wasn’t sure what to make of the girl, but on the other hand, she didn’t feel like she particularly had time at the moment.

* * *

“Say, Myrtle,” Hermione said one day as she was working on the Veritaserum.

She heard Myrtle sniffle and emerge from the toilet next to her. “What?” the ghost said glumly.

“At that deathday party, I saw ghosts riding horses, ghosts playing musical saws, ghosts reading handwritten speeches…How do ghosts get all of those things in the…you know, afterlife?”

Myrtle was silent for a while, and then, she stuck her torso through the wall of the stall above Hermione’s head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never bothered with that kind of stuff. _I_ _’ve_ never needed anything like that, and if I did, I’d just ask one of the older ghosts.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, disappointed. “If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you.”

“Fourteen. So young…” the ghost whined.

“No, I mean…including your death.”

“Oh…” Myrtle frowned in thought. “I don’t really know.”

“You don’t _know_?’”

“Oh dear, I think I’ve lost count. So many of those years are just like a blur to me.” Myrtle sighed sadly and retreated to her stall. “Just pining away the decades, no one interested in poor Myrtle,” she said softly before plunging back into her toilet.

Hermione sighed, too. Myrtle wasn’t much for conversation and didn’t seem very well-informed, even by ghost standards. She was trying to be friendly, but the ghostly girl didn’t seem to be taking her up on it. It was too bad, though. Hermione was spending so much time in here; it would be nice to have someone to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Chiroptera Mucosa: based on the Greek for “bat” and the Latin for “mucus.”


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter was made on purpose, JK Rowling said. In whatever galaxy you happen to find yourself, you take the circumference of Harry Potter, divide it by his diameter, measure closely enough, and uncover a miracle—another Harry Potter, drawn kilometres downstream of the decimal point.

In December, Hermione was relieved to get several lucky breaks. First, there were no more attacks for a month, so she didn’t feel quite as awkward telling her parents she wanted to stay at school for Christmas. Second, the raid of Snape’s private potions stores went off without a hitch. Oh, Snape probably had a good idea of who had blown up Goyle’s cauldron and what had been taken, but he could prove anything. And third, the school announced the formation of a duelling club.

“Finally!” Hermione said. “Maybe we can learn some advanced Defence, now.”

“What, you reckon Slytherin’s monster can duel?” Ron said.

“Well, anything could help, Ron. I wonder who’s leading it. I hope it’s Professor Flitwick. He always likes talking about his days on the professional duelling circuit.”

“Just as long as it’s not Lockhart,” Harry said.

But to Harry’s dismay, it was indeed Professor Lockhart who was leading the Duelling Club, along with his “assistant,” Professor Snape.

Snape kicked Lockhart’s arse.

All he used was a Disarming Charm, and Lockhart tried to brush it off as intentional, but Hermione was having a hard time believing it, as much as she wanted to. There were only so many “mistakes’ she could accept on Lockhart’s part.

Things didn’t improve after that, as Professor Snape instructed Hermione to duel Millicent Bulstrode, and she somehow wound up painfully trapped in a headlock until Harry pulled the larger girl off of her. Next, Snape put Harry and Malfoy up on the platform and whispered something in Malfoy’s ear. Lockhart looked like he was trying to show Harry a spell, too but he dropped his wand. Harry looked lost as Lockhart counted them off: “Three—two—one—go!”

Malfoy made a great flourish with his wand and yelled, “ _Serpensortia_!” With a bang, a long, black, venomous snake shot from the end of his wand and landed on the platform, raising its head to strike at Harry. Hermione (and most of the rest of the crowd) backed away from it fast. Harry stood motionless, obviously having no idea how to stop it.

“Don’t move, Potter, I’ll get rid of it,” Snape said lazily.

“Allow me! _Alarte Ascendare_!” Lockhart brandished his wand, but, far from getting rid of the snake, he merely launched it high into the air and enraged it. The snake started toward the nearest target, Justin Finch-Fletchley, with fangs bared.

And then it happened.

Harry opened his mouth, but no spell, indeed, no words came out of it, only a strange hissing sound. There was something _wrong_ about it—something _unnatural_ , like it wasn’t quite a normal part of reality, or at least wasn’t a normal part of Harry.

But the snake stopped.

Hermione had certainly never seen or heard it before, only read vague descriptions, but that clinched it. Harry was speaking Parseltongue, and from her extensive reading about the Chamber of Secrets, she knew that ability was what Salazar Slytherin had been famous for. But Harry couldn’t possibly be the Heir of Slytherin. She knew where he was during both attacks. She was _there_ for the first one.

Harry actually looked _happy_ with his…ability, that is, before Justin panicked and ran from the Hall, and he noticed all the looks of horror directed his way. Ron quickly grabbed him and dragged him from the Hall. Neither he nor Hermione spoke until they made it all the way up to the Common Room, and Ron shoved Harry into a chair and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell us you were a Parselmouth?”

“A what?” Harry said in confusion.

“A _Parselmouth_! You can talk to snakes.”

“Yeah. So?” Harry replied. “It’s not like I meet that many snakes. I mean, I accidentally set a boa constrictor on Dudley once, but that’s the only other time it’s happened.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open slightly. Harry’s story really wasn’t all that surprising. Being muggle-raised, and not very well at that, he probably wouldn’t know anything about it.

“You set a boa constrictor on your cousin?” Ron said worriedly.

“By accident,” Harry repeated.

“But you just set that snake on Justin…”

“What?! No! I told it to back off. Couldn’t you tell?”

“No, _we_ don’t speak Parseltongue, Harry,” Ron told him. “It sounded like you were egging it on or something. It just sounded like hissing. I bet that’s what Justin thought.”

“But that’s ridiculous. I was speaking English…wasn’t I? Hermione, I was speaking English, right?”

She shook her head and whispered: “No, Harry. It just sounded like hissing to me—probably everybody else, too. Only Parselmouths can understand it.”

“Okay, so I’m a Parselmouth. What’s the big deal?”

“Harry,” Hermione said gently, “the most famous Parselmouth in history was Salazar Slytherin.” Harry gaped at her, finally grasping the horror of the situation. “That’s why Slytherin House’s symbol is a serpent.”

“Exactly,” Ron continued, “and now _everybody_ _’s_ gonna think you’re the Heir of Slytherin.”

“But I’m not…!” Harry kept looking between the two of them uneasily. “You know I’m not,” he said fiercely.

“ _We_ know that, Harry—or at least we know you didn’t attack Mrs. Norris and Colin,” Hermione replied. “But Salazar Slytherin lived a thousand years ago…you could still be descended from him.”

Harry looked fearful, realising that she might be right. “But…how?”

“Just do the maths. You have two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, and so on—twice as many ancestors per generation, right?”

“Uh, I guess,” Harry mumbled, but he didn’t look like he wanted to be convinced.

Hermione tried anyway: “It’s called exponential growth. If you go back ten generations, you have over a thousand ancestors—twenty generations, a million—thirty generations, a billion, which is more than the muggle population of Europe at the time, and it’s still only seven or eight hundred years ago. At that point, you start having duplicate ancestors from distant cousins—fourth and fifth and _tenth_ cousins—marrying. Go back a thousand years, and even the purebloods are probably related to everybody else. _Ron_ could be descended from Slytherin. _I_ could be descended from Slytherin. In fact, I might be more surprised if I’m not. Purebloods can’t stay pure forever.”

“But the ‘real’ Heir of Slytherin is probably a Parselmouth,” Harry said glumly.

“But we know you didn’t do it, and you _wouldn_ _’t_ do it,” she insisted. “Honestly, the fact that you’re so worried about it is a _good_ thing.”

Harry wasn’t consoled, though. He was brooding for the rest of the evening and all day the next day. Maybe he wasn’t so worried about possibly being the Heir of Slytherin, but he was definitely worried about what everyone else would think. Hermione did her best to give him some space, hoping he would come around after a while. It was probably wishful thinking, given how stubborn Harry was, but she was getting tired of his attitude.

As Herbology was cancelled that day due to inclement weather, Hermione suggested a game of chess with Ron. It had been a while since they played, and he eagerly accepted. Hermione had been putting up a tough fight the last few times they’d played with the Queen’s Gambit and other standard openings, but the best she’d been able to manage against him was a draw. She thought she was doing pretty well in this game, though, and to her relief, Harry left halfway through to go and find Justin and explain things.

In fact, she had just managed to push Ron into an advantageous endgame when there was a commotion at the portrait hole. Everyone looked up to see Katie Bell tumble into the Common Room, yelling, “There’s been an attack! There’s been an attack!”

At once, there was a commotion of jostling and shouting as people mobbed Katie, trying to get the story out of her. Hermione’s heart started pounding. Katie spotted her and Ron and sought them out: “Granger! Weasley! They think Harry did it.”

“What?” Ron said in disbelief.

“No!” Hermione cried.

“They found him at the scene. Hagrid swears it wasn’t him, but Dumbledore’s talking to him now.”

“It c-c-couldn’t have b-been Harry,” Hermione stammered. “W-we were with him when the first attack happened.”

“Who was petrified?” Ron said. Both he and Hermione feared the answer.

“That Hufflepuff from last night—” Katie said, to gasps from the Common Room. “Justin Finch-Fletchley… _and Nearly-Headless Nick_!”

Hermione covered her mouth with her hands, not just from horror but also a sudden spell of nausea, dizziness, and sweating. She started trembling all over and then, with a single “Eep!” of shock, bolted from the room and up the stairs. She didn’t even go all the way up to her own dorm, she just ran in the first dorm and then into the bathroom, finding it mercifully empty, and locked herself inside.

Somewhere in a distant, dissociated corner of her mind, part of her brain was thinking, _Oh my God, I_ _’m having a panic attack_. The rest of her brain was racing at a mile a minute, struggling to put any coherent thoughts together.

 _Nearly-Headless Nick?_ What could possibly petrify a ghost? What could even hurt a ghost? And Justin! Was the Heir trying to frame Harry? Was he targeting people close to him? Was it Malfoy? _Was she next?_ She sat there for she didn’t know how long, cowering in the corner of a bathroom that wasn’t even hers. I was like last year all over again.

Draco Malfoy was out to get her, she thought. And if he was the Heir of Slytherin, and if no one could catch him or figure out how he was doing it, she was sure it was only a matter of time. In the best case, she would lose the next several months of her life and probably have to repeat her second year at whatever other school her parents would send her to since they would certainly never let her come near this place again. But deep down, she knew—she _knew_ —that Malfoy wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if he could get away with it. Could you cut the throat of someone who was petrified? If not, there were surely plenty of bloodier— _NO!_ She couldn’t think about that. She was scared enough as it was. Thinking about _that_ would only make it worse.

But what was she going to do? She could only leave the castle at Christmas and Easter. She was already committed to stay for Christmas to finish the Veritaserum, and she’d miss her exams if she left at Easter, but staying in the castle with Draco Malfoy a minute longer than she had to suddenly sounded like a very bad idea.

She was startled by a frantic knock on the door.

“AHHHH!” she screamed.

“AHHHH!”

“Who is it?” Hermione said, groping for her wand.

“Just open up!” the other voice yelled back. It sounded as frightened as she did.

Wand at the ready, she staggered to her feet and opened the door just a crack to peak outside. “Ginny?” she said in surprise.

It was only then that Hermione realised that the room she had run into in a panic was the first-year girls’ dorm. Ginny didn’t even respond to her. She just forced the door open and pulled Hermione out of the bathroom. She didn’t look good. Ginny’s face was chalk-white, her robes and hair were dishevelled, and she was sweating and shaking worse than Hermione was. Once Hermione was out of the way, she ran inside and locked the door. Within seconds, Hermione could hear the sound of Ginny losing her breakfast. She didn’t blame her. She may not have been targeted as a pureblood, but the whole thing was still pretty horrifying. She waited uneasily for a few moments, but when Ginny didn’t immediately emerge, Hermione decided she wasn’t in a condition to help and went up to her own dorm.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I changed my mind. I_ _’m coming home for Christmas, and I’m not sure if I’m going back, either. Could you please write to Beauxbatons and ask for the forms for a transfer student?_

_There was another attack here, and this time, it was even worse. A Hufflepuff boy in my year was petrified, and so was a ghost. A ghost! I have no idea how that_ _’s even possible._ _ No one _ _does. I still think Draco Malfoy is behind it, or at least in on it. I_ _’m sorry to sound so hysterical, but I honestly think he wants to kill me. I know that sounds hard to believe of a twelve-year-old, but his family is basically wizard Nazis._

_I_ _’m sorry. I just can’t take it anyone. I’m getting paranoid and having panic attacks; I can’t go anywhere alone anymore, and I need to get out of this school. I don’t want to abandon my friends, but I’m no good to them petrified or worse._

_Love from Hermione_

 

Dan and Emma Granger read and reread over the letter in horror, wondering what had happened to Hogwarts being a safe place.

“Something’s really got to her,” Dan said, wrapping his arm around his wife.

“Can you blame her?” Emma replied. “Her friends are being attacked by a monster that nobody knows who or what it is.”

“I don’t blame her, Emma. I think she’s doing the smart thing. It’s just that she was nearly killed by a mountain troll, and then her teacher was murdered in front of her, and she was still eager to go back. Now, she can’t bear to stay there any longer.”

“I think it’s hitting closer to home, now. Even if this Malfoy kid isn’t the one attacking students, she’s apparently still being targeted for her heritage. It’s a shame, I know. She’s been getting on so well with her friends and especially that Professor Vector. That night when we were at the Weasleys’…” Emma was close to tears. “I hadn’t seen her happier for a long time.” She buried her face in Dan’s shoulder.

“I know, dear, I know,” he whispered. “But at least she’ll be safe. And she came to it all on her own. We’re certainly never going to turn her down on that.”

* * *

Hermione knew she had preparations to make, and she only had a week to do it before the Express took her back to London, maybe for the last time. Having a plan and knowing her responsibilities to that plan had largely pushed away the panic attacks for the moment. She was back in her determined mode.

The first step was to get Myrtle’s bathroom ready. It took every piece of glassware in her potions kit to build and test a working chemical still without relying on transfiguration that she didn’t trust to be reliable. She would have to use her partner’s kit in class on Thursday and buy a new one over break. Her parents wouldn’t like that, but there wasn’t much choice in her mind. She had reshaped the glass pieces with conjured fire, working almost entirely from theory. It only worked so well when she tested it with water. She would probably lose a lot of the liquid, but it was enough. The Veritaserum was still on schedule.

She still talked to Myrtle when the ghost was in a talkative mood. Since the last attack, though, she was well aware that her questions had taken a morbid turn, asking about her “life” as a ghost. Myrtle seemed to like the attention, which only fed the unhealthy cycle, and the more Hermione dug into it, the stranger and more disturbing the afterlife seemed.

“Myrtle…” she asked as she was putting the finishing touches on her setup, “have you ever thought about…finishing your schooling?”

“ _Excuse_ me?” the ghost said indignantly. “I can’t do that very well when I can’t even cast a spell with this stupid wand.” She pulled a ghostly wand from her robes and waved it around, to no effect.

“I know that. It’s just that I thought you could still go to the lectures. It would give you something to do.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Myrtle sniffed. “I like it in here.”

 _But you_ _’re miserable in here_ , Hermione thought, but what she said was, “Well, if you’re going to haunt a school, you might as well learn something.”

“What’s the point? It’s no good to me.”

“Come on, Myrtle, you’re a Ravenclaw, aren’t you. “Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure.” Isn’t that what you say?”

“It was…once…a long time ago,” she mumbled. “But it’s so tiresome to remember anymore…”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Her memory was sparked with something she’d read weeks earlier, but it wasn’t coming to her through all her more pressing concerns. She’d have to look it up if she ever got another chance. “I’m sorry, Myrtle, I still don’t understand ghosts that well,” she said, “but isn’t there _something_ you’d like to do besides spend all your time in here?”

Myrtle sniffed again: “Not really. There’s no one to make fun of me in here, besides Peeves. And you’ve at least _tried_ to be nice to me. It’s not so bad here.”

Hermione thought that just sounded depressing, and she didn’t think Myrtle would appreciate what she had to do next: “Well, I’m really sorry, but I’m not sure if I’m coming back after Christmas. I hope you can understand with this Heir of Slytherin business. I mean, he even got _Nick_.”

“Oh, go on, save yourself,” Myrtle said mournfully. “Don’t worry about me. No one will ever bother coming after me in here again. I don’t see why you’re so frightened _now_. These kinds of things have always been going on here.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Hermione said. But Myrtle had already dived back into her toilet. Hermione just chalked it up to Myrtle being her moody self and took her leave.

She’d begged Harry, and he’d loaned her his invisibility cloak so that she could come and go to Myrtle’s bathroom on her own without fear of being found by the Heir. She hadn’t been out in the halls alone without it once since Justin was attacked. Putting the cloak on, she wandered invisibly through the corridors, looking for the two people she needed to help her. It wasn’t hard.

“Make way for the Heir of Slytherin! Seriously evil wizard coming through!”

The Weasley Twins were escorting Harry through the hallways, mocking everyone who ran and hid from him thinking he really was the Heir. Ironically, it seemed to be the only thing that cheered Harry up, so they’d been doing it all week, despite Percy and Ginny both telling them to cut it out.

“Watch out, he’ll call all the adders into the castle for the winter,” Fred said.

Hermione ducked behind a statue and removed the cloak. “Psst. Harry,” she called.

Harry looked her way, and she caught his eye.

“Here’s your cloak, Harry,” she whispered. “Thank you. I’ve got everything set up, now.”

“No problem, Hermione. You’re sure you can’t stay?” Harry said sadly.

“No, I’m sorry, but I barely made it through this past week.”

“Planning a secret tryst with the enemy?” Fred snuck up behind them.

“Not with Harry,” she said sharply. “It’s you two I need.”

Fred’s and George’s eyebrows vanished into their hair. “And just what kind of services—” George started.

“—might we be able to provide to you, Miss Granger?” Fred finished.

“I’ll show you. Come on, follow me.”

Fred and George gave each other enquiring looks and went after her as she led back to Myrtle’s bathroom.

“A girls’ bathroom?” said Fred. “Why you cheeky little—”

“Oh, get your minds out of the gutter…I’m…I’m planning something much more nefarious than that.”

 _That_ got their attention: “This is gonna be good, George.”

“Yes, we might get pranked into next week, but it’ll be good,” he replied.

Hermione sighed: “Just look.” She opened the stall door, showing them the cauldron.

“Oh my,” George said. “Why, you’re brewing illicit potions, and is that a _still_?”

“Yes. I had to jury rig it myself since I couldn’t very well buy one.”

“Of course she did, Fred.”

“Of course she did. So…if we brought you some Butterbeer…”

She glared at Fred: “It’s not a very good still. It’s not worth the effort.”

“Alright, o great Potions Mistress,” Fred replied, “and just what are you brewing?”

“Veritaserum.”

Fred’s and George’s jaws hit the floor. “You’re taking the mickey out of us,” they said in unison.

“Nope. Here are the instructions I copied out of _Moste Potente Potions_.” She held up her notebook. “If all goes well, it should be ready on Christmas day.”

George snatched the instructions from her hand and looked them over: “Bloody hell, she’s not kidding. She really is making Veritaserum.”

“This is nutters,” Fred said in astonishment. “It’s seventh-year stuff: a whole _month_ to make it, distill it at the end, and some of these ingredients…jobberknoll feathers, devil’s trumpet, and where on _earth_ did you get ground fire crab shells?”

“Stole them from Snape.”

The Twins’ jaws hit the floor again, and they both threw their arms wide and exclaimed, “Marry us!” before grabbing her in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

“Augh!” She pushed them away. “Can you please be serious?”

“But this is the most incredible thing we’ve seen all term,” Fred countered. “ _You_ , Miss By-the-Book.”

“Miss Rule Follower,” George joined in.

“Miss Goody Two Shoes.

“Brewing illicit potions in a bathroom.”

“And stealing from Snape, now. Are you feeling alright, Hermione? You seem a little feverish.” Fred laid his hand on her forehead.

She swatted it away, yelling, “No, I am not alright! I’m bloody terrified!”

And at that, Fred and George finally turned completely serious as they saw Hermione shaking in fear and clearly trying not to burst into tears. “It’s all these attacks on muggle-borns,” she sniffed. “And no one can seem to do anything about them. I’m…I’m scared to leave my dorm anymore, and…and I just _know_ Malfoy’s out to kill me.” The Twins got angry looks on their faces at that. “This potion is for him—to find out what he knows about the Heir of Slytherin.”

Understanding dawned on their faces. “So you want us to find a way—” Fred started.

“—to slip Malfoy some of this potion,” George finished.

“Yes, but more than that. I’m going home for Christmas. And I…I might not come back.” Fred and George gasped. “I might transfer to Beauxbatons for the spring. I need you to finish making the potion for me.”

The Twins gasped again. “But we couldn’t—” George said.

“Yes you can. I remember those animal sound potions you used a few weeks ago. Snape may hate you more than anybody, but those were pretty advanced. Please? You two are the only people I trust to finish the potion correctly _and_ keep it a secret. I need _someone_ to help me or I’m going to go mad, here!”

Suddenly, George grabbed her trembling form and wrapped his arms around her, and Fred patted her on the back. She slumped between them, crying softly into George’s robes. “There, there, Hermione,” said George. “We won’t let anything happen to you. You just tell us how to get that little ponce.”

“Yeah, nobody messes with our Hermione,” said Fred. “We’ll take care of him for you.”

 _Their Hermione?_ she thought. It was strange, but she thought she actually rather liked it. As much trouble as they caused, they had always been really good to her in their own way, almost like having older brothers of her own. Ron and Ginny didn’t know how good they had it, she decided.

“Thank you,” she whispered once she collected herself. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” said Fred. “We like your style. And we owe you at least that much for expanding our knowledge of the castle.”

“Right, so what’s the plan?” said George.

Hermione handed them several pieces of paper: “First, finish the potion. I wrote out all the steps for you here and when they need to be done, including how to work the still.”

“Alright…yeah, I think we can do this,” Fred said, looking over the instructions.

“Oh, easily,” George said. “If Snape were this clear, people might do better in his classes.”

“Nah, he’d just find another excuse to flunk people.”

“ _Ahem_ ,” Hermione interrupted. “Once the potion is ready, you need a way to get it to Malfoy and interrogate him without anyone finding out. I already let Harry and Ron in on this, so you can get their help. I think I can trust that bit to you.”

“Naturally,” said Fred. “Those kinds of plots are our speciality.”

“Hmm…” George was thinking. “It might be harder than it sounds, though. Even if we have foolproof disguises, a rich pureblood like Malfoy’s gonna recognise he’s been given Veritaserum. How do we keep him from telling what happened?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part,” Hermione said with a small smile. “Just give him a Forgetfulness Potion.”

The Twins looked at each other nervously. “Um, I’m sorry Hermione, but I think you must’ve read one of your books wrong,” George said.

“Yeah, a Forgetfulness Potion just makes someone ten times as forgetful than normal so they forget all their appointments and where they put their keys,” Fred told her.

“I know that,” Hermione replied, “but if you give him a Sleeping Draught with it, that’ll take care of that problem. People don’t normally remember the last few minutes before they fall asleep, anyway, because the hypnagogic state before falling asleep wipes out long-term memory formation. So if he’s ten times as forgetful, he won’t remember the past half hour.”

Fred and George exchanged another nervous, wide-eyed glance. “Um…just _how_ do you know that, Hermione?” asked George.

“My parents are dentists, remember? They had to take pre-med at university, so they have the muggle equivalent of basic Healer’s training.”

“George,” said Fred, “why do I get the feeling our little Hermione could mess us up beyond all belief?”

“Probably because she can. A future spellcrafter and potions mistress with Healer’s knowledge in her pocket—that’s a dangerous combination.”

Hermione hadn’t particularly thought of that before—and she didn’t really _want_ to think about it now, but it was true. Exploiting medical knowledge could easily be a way to come up with lots of nasty curses. She sincerely hoped she would never need to do anything like that. “Well, luckily, I’m not planning on messing you up,” she said, “although there are a few things I want to clarify.”

“Clarify?”

“Such as?”

“Well…I’m not going to tell you not to keep any Veritaserum for yourselves.”

“You’re not?” the Twins said in disbelief.

“No, I’m not, because I know it’s a waste of time. I’m just going to tell you that this is straight-up _illegal_ , and if I go down, I’m taking you with me.” And at that point, the Twins saw the same fire in her eyes that Harry and Ron had seen weeks earlier. They nodded fervently.

“And that means you can’t be using it to get blackmail information or for pranks or anything like that, and you should be very careful asking Malfoy anything that’s not about the Chamber of Secrets, or he might start asking questions about how you found out later.”

“Hmm, that’s a good point,” George said.

“Kinda puts a damper on things,” replied Fred.

“Still, we might be able to think of one or two _discreet_ uses for the stuff,” George said. “But don’t worry, we’ll save you a vial, too.”

“It’s the least we could do with you giving us this windfall,” added Fred.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “I don’t know if I’ve told you this, but you’re good friends, even when you’re really annoying.”

“Careful, Hermione,” said Fred. “Flattery might get you somewhere.”

“Was there anything else you needed?” asked George.

“Well, there _was_ one more thing you could do for me,” Hermione said.

“Name it,” the Twins said together.

“Come up with me to the elves’ Common Room? I need to talk to them before I leave, but I don’t want to go anywhere alone.”

Fred and George laughed, and it was all she could do to keep them from escorting her to the Great Hall arm in arm. They climbed the small staircase to the elves’ quarters (to much grumbling from the tall boys) and made it to their Common Room.

To their surprise, they weren’t the only students there. Luna Lovegood was in the Common Room playing a game of Exploding Snap against Sonya while a small elf girl braided her long, stringy, blond hair.

“Hello, Hermione, Fred, and George,” Luna said dreamily, looking up from her game. “Thank you for showing me where the elves live, Hermione. They’re quite fascinating, don’t you think?”

“Um, yes, they are,” Hermione said, surprised that Luna was making more sense than usual.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” she asked. “You look like you lost a fight with an aquavirius maggot.”

And it was gone again. “Oh, I’m alright—mostly,” Hermione said wearily as she sat down at the table. “Deal us in?”

Sonya reshuffled the cards with practised speed, and Hermione tried to watch closely to make sure she didn’t stack the deck. She wouldn’t put it past that one. Luna was humming to herself. However, Hermione was soon just staring into space.

“Is something being wrong, Miss Hermione Granger?” Sonya asked.

“Well, I…changed my plans,” she replied softly. “I’m going home for Christmas, now.”

“Ah, it is good to be spending time with your family, miss.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure if I’m coming back.”

Sonya dropped the whole deck of cards, which exploded with a loud crack and flew all over the table. The little elf girl jumped and hid behind Luna. “You is leaving Hogwarts, miss?” Sonya said in horror.

“I might be—at least until they catch whoever is behind these attacks. I’m sorry, I don’t want to leave any of you, but it’s muggle-borns who are being targeted, and I think I’ve hit my limit of being in danger. It was hard enough to convince my parents to let me come back after last spring.”

“But…but you has been so kind to we elves, miss,” Sonya sniffed. “No student has come to visit the elves so much in a very long time.”

“I know, and I’ll miss you, too, Sonya. If someone can do something about these attacks I’ll definitely come back, but…but I’m not sure I can until then.” She felt guilty—and selfish—but try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything else to do. She was very grateful that Harry, Ron, and the Twins all understood, even if they didn’t like it either. (Ron took some real convincing.)

“If you is scared, miss, we can be watching out for the monster,” Sonya offered.

“No! No, Sonya, please don’t put yourselves in danger for me—any of you.” She looked around at both the elves and her fellow students. “It can’t go on forever. I just hope they can catch the Heir of Slytherin before anything worse happens.”

“So do we, Hermione,” said Fred.

“Of course, we might have _some_ say in that,” added George.

“In a controlled fashion, of course,” Fred concluded.

“Just keep each other safe, alright? For me?” Hermione said.

“Awww, our little Hermione cares about us,” said George.

“How thoughtful of her,” Fred replied with a goofy grin.

Hermione sighed heavily: “Let’s just play.”

But Sonya wasn’t giving up quite yet. “Miss Hermione Granger…” she said timidly, “if you is wanting, Sonya can puts an Elf-Trace on you.”

“A what?”

“We elves puts a Trace on our masters using our bond of service so that elves can come when our masters calls, miss. Since you is a student at Hogwarts, Sonya can put a Trace on you through her bond to the school, miss, and you can be calling Sonya for help if you is wanting it—if Sonya is not on duty, that is.”

“You don’t have to do that Sonya…” Hermione said, but when she saw the elf’s pleading face, she couldn’t bring herself to say no. “Okay, if you want to, I won’t stop you, but I don’t know that I’ll use it, even if I come back. I still don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Thank you, Miss Hermione Granger.” Sonya snapped her fingers, and Hermione felt a tingling sensation running down her spine. “It is being done, miss.”

Now that Sonya was as satisfied as she was going to be, she dealt out the cards again. Play was fast and fierce with the elf and the Twins in the mix. Luna also proved to be surprisingly good at the game. Hermione could play the odds, but she wasn’t as much of a strategist as the others, and she struggled to hold her own. Even so, it was fun. She was glad she could at least get in one more fun afternoon before the holidays.

For a while, the little elf-child was excitedly hopping around and working on Luna’s hair, oblivious to the rest of the conversation, until, at one point, she squeaked, “Miss Loony Lovey-good, your hair is being done! You sure is having a lot of it!”

“Thank you, Smidgen,” said Luna, “but it’s _Luna Lovegood_ ,” she said slowly.

“Loo-nuh Lov-eh-good…” Smidgen sounded out.

“Mm hmm, much better,” Luna said happily.

While Smidgen had attempted to braid Luna’s hair, she had done it irregularly, in five braids of different sizes. Hermione giggled at her. “Luna, you look like my roommate, Lily, with your hair like that,” she said.

Luna tilted her head and replied, “Interesting. Perhaps she also has her hair done by elves. I hope a different hairstyle will confuse the nargles.”

Hermione forced herself to admit that it wasn’t worth the trouble to ask.

* * *

“For homework over break, problem one: compute the arithmantic expansions of the five heraldic colour variants of the _Lumos_ Charm and describe how the modifying elements result in the specific colours. Problem two: prove that the basic _Lumos_ is a simplification of the degenerate _Argent_ form of the Charm and that the _Nox_ Charm may be described as a degenerate _Sable_ variant. And problem three: apply this sevenfold group of modifiers to the Colour-Change Charm; explain your reasoning with particular attention to how the _Sable_ modifier acts differently on the two charms. Happy Christmas. Have a good holiday.”

It was a long assignment, but, in Hermione’s mind, not particularly difficult. She could already see a rough outline of how the colour terms in the equations worked based on the frequency spectrum of light, and it helped that it was a modification in only one variable. With more variables, the equations could get a lot longer and more complex than the ones muggle students studied, although the actual mathematical tools were the same.

Hermione already knew that the _Lumos_ Charm was described with three spatial variables for the equation of a sphere: x^2 + y^2 + z^2 = B, where B was the brightness of the light. (That had to be taken as a given by the rest of the class, since they hadn’t gone into conics in detail yet.) The colour terms just involved adding another quadratic equation in a single variable, f, for frequency, with coefficients based on a certain numerological table.

The tricky part was to apply the arcane rules that translated the arithmantic equations into a wand movement (which was an equation in two variables, or more in complex spells, depending on the hand position) and the rhythm of the incantation (which derived from an equation in one variable). Hermione didn’t know that part offhand, but she did know that the colour terms didn’t change the wand movement in the _Lumos_ Charm, which was a big clue as to how they worked. On the other hand, the results might not be as simple when applied to the more complex arithmantic expansion of the Colour-Change Charm.

But it was the last Arithmancy class before break, and Hermione didn’t know whether or not she would ever get a chance to hand in that assignment. She was dreading telling Professor Vector as much as anyone, but it had to be done.

“Professor…?” she said timidly as the students filed out.

“Yes, Hermione?”

“I…I have to tell you…I don’t know whether or not I’ll be coming back for the spring term.”

“Oh…” Vector understood at once why Hermione would make such a decision, but she couldn’t fully hide her disappointment.

“I asked my parents to look into it, and…with what’s been going on, I can get a Special Circumstances Transfer to Beauxbatons for the spring term,” she continued. “I’m sorry, Professor, I wish it could be different, but…”

“You don’t have to apologise to me. I can only guess how hard this is for you. The only person deserving of blame is this Heir of Slytherin cretin.” Vector stopped and sighed: “I’ll certainly miss you if you don’t come back, but I’ll at least be happy that you’re safe somewhere else.”

Hermione felt even guiltier at that. She felt like her favourite teacher’s sympathy, on top of everything else, was more than she deserved. She lowered her gaze and muttered, “I guess I’m not much of a Gryffindor.”

But Vector put her arm around her shoulders and said, “Hermione Granger, you are one of the bravest girls I know, but no one should have to be half this Gryffindorish at your age, and there’s no shame in doing what you have to to keep safe. You proved your colours last spring, and nothing can take that away from you.”

“I just feel like I’m letting the Heir of Slytherin win. And I’m worried about all the other muggle-borns who are stuck here, too.”

“He’s not going to win; I can promise you that. If we have to scour this castle from top to bottom next summer, we’ll find Slytherin’s monster. Professor Dumbledore has already been implementing additional security measures, starting with asking the ghosts and portraits to keep an eye out for suspicious activity. And you’ve already heard the recommendation not to go anywhere alone, something which you’ve been following admirably yourself. And if you _do_ come back after the holidays, all the staff will do whatever we can to keep you and the other students safe. But right now, you need to take care of yourself. You’re no good to anyone if you have a nervous breakdown. Go home, Hermione, enjoy your holiday, get some rest, put some space between yourself and Hogwarts for a while, and see how you feel then. And I’ll write you if anything changes here.”

Hermione whimpered softly and hugged her teacher: “Thank you so much, ma’am. You’ve been so good to me…”

“You’re worth it, Hermione. Never forget that. Now…are you still going to take your exam in vector calculus while you’re at home?”

“Yes, I’ve kept up with that—barely.”

“And your potions experiments? Are you still going to work on those?”

Hermione twitched before she realised Professor Vector was talking about her scholarly paper. “Yes, ma’am,” she said. “I’ve drawn enough runes for my parents to try the potion I wanted to use. There are some…complications with the paper, but I hope I’ll be able to solve them before long.”

“Good. Now, whether I see you in January or not, have a good holiday.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You too.”

As her favourite student left the classroom, Septima Vector felt a pang in her chest and a mad, wild urge to follow her. But she couldn’t leave her post mid-year, especially when her other students needed her. Then, the feeling was quickly replaced with anger. If she ever got her hands on the bastard who drove away the brightest young mind she’d seen in her lifetime, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

The reunion at King’s Cross was a sombre one. Many students were returning to their parents with downcast and worried faces, or else relief at being away from Hogwarts for a couple of weeks, and there were rumours of other people transferring to Beauxbatons, the Canadian magical school, or even as far away as Australia.

Hermione (though she wasn’t the only muggle-born so affected) was in a particularly dark mood. She’d barely been able to talk to her friends from Arithmancy class on the train. She couldn’t help feeling like she was leaving them forever, even if she would be back for third year. It hurt like she was leaving a piece of herself behind at that castle—like she should have been braver and fought back instead of going home and leaving the boys to finish the plan that she had started.

When she spotted her parents, none of them spoke to each other. Hermione was still debating what to say to them when her anxiety got the better of her, and she dropped her trunk, threw herself into her mother’s arms, and let herself cry for a while like she was a little eight-year-old again.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Take three drops of JK Rowling with every dose of Harry Potter.
> 
> The Arithmancer now has its own TVTropes page, thanks to an anonymous reader. If there are any other Tropers in the readership who want to expand the page, please take a look.

“Alright, you all know the plan?” George Weasley asked as the four Gryffindor boys huddled in Myrtle’s bathroom.

“I think so,” said Harry.

Ron was next: “I don’t like it, but I got it.”

“And I’ll be waiting with you, George,” Fred continued.

“And then when we’ve got him, we let Hermione’s potion work its magic,” George finished.

“Simple, elegant, and sneaky,” Fred commented.

“The perfect plan,” said George.

“Glad I thought of it.”

“You mean glad _I_ thought of it.”

“Who cares? Let’s just do it,” said Ron.

Harry’s part of the plan went surprisingly easily. He just lurked in the Entrance Hall after Christmas tea waiting for Malfoy’s goons to finish scarfing down food and head back to the dungeons. Just before they came on, he took two cakes laced with Sleeping Draught and Forgetfulness Potion and left them on the banisters at the top of the staircase. When Crabbe and Goyle came out, they spotted the cakes, stuffed them whole in their mouths and chewed them triumphantly. A moment later, they both collapsed in a heap.

“How thick can you get?” Harry said to himself.

The one thing Harry hadn’t counted on was the difficulty of moving the two Slytherins. Crabbe and Goyle were huge. Luckily, he knew where there was a broom cupboard close by. He tickled the feet on the statue of the Architect just a few yards from where they lay and popped open the small cupboards doors. He was thankful for the smooth marble floors as he grabbed Crabbe and Goyle one at a time and dragged them to the cupboards. Only the elves used these cupboards, and each one was only big enough to squeeze one of the large boys in sitting upright. According to Hermione, they’d both wake up in about and hour and a half, having absolutely no idea what happened. Harry checked that there was enough of a gap around the cupboard doors that they wouldn’t suffocate before leaving them and racing down to the dungeons.

Meanwhile, Ron was having a bit more trouble. Even with a copy of Hermione’s map, it was hard to find his way around the dungeons, much less find Malfoy. He hoped he hadn’t already gone into his Common Room, but Fred and George swore he hadn’t, though he didn’t know how they knew. He had to dodge a couple of prefects, including Percy whilst he was looking around, but no one noticed his disembodied footsteps under Harry’s invisibility cloak.

Finally, Ron saw him, his hair standing out like a white rat sitting on his head in the torchlight. Malfoy was looking around cluelessly, no doubt wondering where his minions were.

And then, Ron made his move. _They are gonna owe me big time_ , he thought as he broke out his best falsetto and let out a very girly giggle. Malfoy stopped and looked around. “Oh, _Draaa-_ coo,” Ron said in an impression of Pansy Parkinson’s simpering voice.

Malfoy looked around again: “Pansy?” Pansy had stuck around for Christmas, unsurprisingly, given how much she hung on him.

“ _Draaa-_ coo…” Ron ducked around the corner, making just enough noise to get Malfoy to follow, leading him into the trap.

Malfoy followed, but was confused when he rounded the corner and saw an empty corridor. “Pansy, what are you doing?” he said.

Ron didn’t reply but just grimaced and made another giggle from the end of the corridor before going around the next corner.

Malfoy rushed to keep up: “Alright, Pansy, what are you playing at?”

Ron made a silent, disgusted, retching gesture under the cloak and said, “Come _here_ , Drakey, I need to give you your Christmas present.” He didn’t wait to hear Malfoy’s response to that and just ducked around the next corner and quickly dashed to the door the large broom cupboard in that corridor. He had to time this just right, like a delicate luring strategy in chess, he forced himself to think. Just when Malfoy rounded the corner, he shut the cupboard door from the outside whilst saying, “In here…”

Draco Malfoy ran to the door eagerly and wrenched it open, but his smug smile turned to horror in an instant when he saw not Pansy Parkinson, but Fred and George Weasley standing there with evil grins and wands drawn.

“Happy—”

“—Christmas.”

“Drakey!” they said.

“Wha—mmph!” Malfoy was bound in ropes, his wand taken away, and a hand clapped over his mouth before he had the sense to move.

Ron pulled off the invisibility cloak out of Malfoy’s sight, just in case, then stepped into view: “I can’t _believe_ I just said those things. I think I need to wash my mouth out with soap, now.”

“Ronniekins, it is _really_ disturbing that you can do Parkinson’s voice that well,” said Fred. Ron glared at him.

“Disturbing, but useful—never would have thought it,” George added, taking his hand away from Malfoy’s mouth.

“Weasley!” Malfoy exclaimed. He looked a little sick. “You…but Pansy was…Oh, Merlin—mmph!” Fred gagged him properly.

Suddenly, Harry skidded into view. “Did you get him?” he asked.

Malfoy tried to shout Harry’s name through the gag.

“We’re all set,” said George. “What about Crabbe and Goyle?”

“Taken care of,” Harry grinned.

“Great. Let’s get going. Hermione said we only have a few minutes.”

Malfoy continued to struggle and mumble insults through his gag, no doubt including some very rude things about Hermione, as they carried him off to an unused classroom. Once there, Fred and George used Sticking Jinxes to stick the Slytherin in a chair and took off the gag.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Malfoy shouted. “When my father hears about this, he’ll make sure your father is out of a job!”

“But that’s the beauty of it, Drakey,” said Fred, training his wand on him. “Your father _won_ _’t_ hear about this.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in terror. “What—what’re you—? Help—aaaggghh!”

George had stomped on his foot and, while his mouth was open, dribbled in three drops of a colourless potion from a small vial. “We’ll be asking the questions, here,” he said, “und vee haff vays of making you talk…”

“Huh?” Ron and Harry said.

“I dunno, it’s something I read in one of Dad’s books once.”

Malfoy had stopped shouting, his face slackened, and he seemed to be staring at nothing.

“You think it’s working?” asked Fred.

“I think so,” said George. “Let’s try it. What is your name?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” the Slytherin said in an expressionless monotone.

“What is your quest?” said Fred.

“My…what…?” Malfoy snapped out of it. “You—you gave me Veritaserum!”

“Yes. Yes we did,” George said. “What is your favourite colour?”

Malfoy snapped back into his monotone: “Slytherin green.”

“Obviously,” the Twins said together.

“Alright, let’s ask some serious questions,” Ron said. “Are you the Heir of Slytherin, Malfoy?”

“No.”

The boys’ jaws all dropped open. Malfoy _wasn_ _’t_ the Heir of Slytherin? _That_ threw off their calculations.

“Who is the Heir of Slytherin?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know.” Malfoy snapped out of it again. “I wish I did. I’d tell him to off all of you creeps—and your little mudblood, too!”

“Why you—” Ron threw a punch at Malfoy, but Harry held him back. “Let me at him!” Ron yelled. “You heard what he said.”

“Ron, we’ve gotta find out what he knows,” Harry said. “Now, where is the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s in the Chamber of Secrets?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dammit, Malfoy, you’re the Prince of Slytherin,” George exclaimed. “What _do_ you know about the Chamber of Secrets?”

At this point, they weren’t expecting much, but Malfoy actually delivered this time: “The Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago. Four mudbloods were petrified and one died. Then, the person who opened it was caught and expelled.”

“Who was it?” said Ron.

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know all this?” asked Fred suspiciously.

“My father told me.”

“Did he tell you what’s going on now?”

“No. He just told me to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it.” He slipped out of his monotone again: “Is _that_ all this is about? I don’t know a damn thing. Father refused to tell me—and I’m starting to see why.”

“If the person who opened it last time was expelled, how’d they get back in?” Ron said.

“I don’t know—I keep telling you.”

“Fine. How is your father involved in the attacks?” Harry asked.

“He didn’t tell me. He just said to expect the Heir to make his move.”

“Are you plotting to kill Hermione?” Ron demanded.

“No—as much as I’d like to.”

“Do you know anyone who is?”

“No—but if I find the Heir I’ll tell him to do it.”

Ron made another lunge at Malfoy, and the Twins were growling.

“Oh, you care about her, do you? I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” Fred said evilly, holding up a small pastry. “You won’t be keeping _anything_ in mind.”

“Hang on, there’s something else I wanna know,” George said shrewdly. “Dad told us the Ministry raided Malfoy Manor last week. Did they get all the dark artifacts?”

“N-n-no.”

“Where are the rest of them?”

Malfoy clenched his teeth and his fists, trying to fight the Veritaserum, but he slowly choked out, “They’re in a…secret chamber…under the…drawing room floor.”

Fred grinned even wider: “Thanks for the tip. _Our father_ will hear about _that_.” Then, he forced the strange-tasting cake into Malfoy’s mouth and forced his jaw closed.

Draco Malfoy woke an hour and a half later in the library having no idea how he’d got there. He must have been doing the Christmas partying thing a little too hard. He had also had strange, but vague dreams about three redheads and a scarhead…Heh, there was a joke in there somewhere, he thought.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_The good news is the plan worked. We questioned Malfoy with the you-know-what, and he spilt everything he knew. The next day, he didn_ _’t remember a thing._

_The other good news is that Malfoy_ _’s not the Heir of Slytherin. The bad news is that he doesn’t know who is, or anything else for that matter. Malfoy Senior is definitely involved, though. We tipped off our Dad to raid Malfoy Manor again and see if he can find something. We’ll let you know if he does._

_All Malfoy Junior knew was that the Chamber of Secrets was opened fifty years ago, four muggle-born students were petrified and one died, and the person who did it was caught and expelled. The git didn_ _’t even know how the Heir got back in the castle. But we did get him to admit that he’s not trying to kill you and doesn’t know anybody who is. Don’t get us wrong—he’d still love to see you dead, but he’s not looking to get his hands dirty._

_We hope you can come back. The castle_ _’s not the same without your smiling, hyper, arithmancy-mad, face._

_Sincerely,_

_Gred and Forge_

_(and Ronniekins and Harrykins)_

 

Hermione didn’t actually show her parents that letter, since they would start asking questions she didn’t really want to answer, but when she saw it, it made her question her decision to leave even more. If Malfoy wasn’t the Heir, the school was still dangerous, but no more so than for any other muggle-born.

The Grangers had to formally choose where she would be going to school in the spring by 31 December. On the 27th, she wrote a letter to Professor Vector asking about the security measures she’d mentioned, and she received a reply on the 29th. She hoped that her little experiment the next day would help butter up her parents enough to convince them that Hogwarts was still a viable option.

The potion she chose to teach them was the Alihotsy Draught, which induces laughter and hysteria and would hopefully help things along a bit further. She had made that one perfectly in class, and even if it went wrong, the effects were physically harmless. The worst that could happen was either a deep, but short-lasting depression, or being unable to stop laughing until they passed out. The setup was the same as last summer. The new potions kit her parents had bought her for Christmas (albeit with some muttering about being more careful with her possessions) was laid out in the kitchen, and the cauldron was being heated on the stove top.

“Okay, first, we need a control,” Hermione told her parents. “The control is to try brew the potion without magic. It’s going to fail miserably, but that’s the point. I need to show that it really was the runes that made it work.”

“The rune spells are what’s going to make things dissolve that normally shouldn’t?” Mum said.

“That’s right. Without them, all you’ll get is a useless stew, or at least you should…I’d like you to each try it on your own.”

Her Mum tried it first, diligently working through the instructions, but skipping the spells. It surprised no one when many of the ingredients didn’t dissolve, didn’t react (and thankfully didn’t explode), and didn’t turn into any kind of useful potion, but Hermione made careful notes on the “potion’s’ appearance and consistency at each step. She then cleaned out the cauldron and had Dad repeat the process, obtaining the same result.

“Great. Now _that_ _’s_ over, we can get to the _real_ potion-making,” she said. “Mum, here are the spells you’ll need…”

She handed Mum three squares of wood inscribed with the Latin runic circles she and Ron had worked out last spring. The Alihotsy Draught required three spells: the Dissolving Charm to start, the Potion-Sealing Charm to finish and a Magic-Amplifying Charm in the middle. This last one was barely a step above dumping raw magical energy into the cauldron, but it was quite common to bring out the latent magical qualities of the many useful plants that were known to muggles (in this case—Merlin knew why—horseradish).

“Start with the Dissolving Charm straight off,” she instructed. “It’s pronounced Dial- _yo_.”

“ _Dialyo_ ,” Mum said. The run glowed, releasing its magic into the cauldron, and the water shimmered.

“It’s safe to touch, although it could contaminate the potion,” Hermione said. “A lot of spells don’t work on living tissue, especially simpler ones. Apparently, many wizards consider life to be a type of magic, which sort of makes sense because it takes more complex magic to affect it.”

“Good to know,” Mum said. “So, just the same as before?”

“Uh huh.”

This time, with the Dissolving Charm in place, the ingredients all dissolved smoothly, just as they were supposed to, and the potion gradually came together, eventually taking the form of a pale liquid of about the consistency of gravy with shimmering blue fumes rising in a thin column.

“Perfect. Now, use the Potion-Sealing Charm to reverse Dissolving Charm. The pronounciation is Ou- _det_ -ero.”

“ _Oudetero_ ,” Mum said. The Potion shimmered, but remained otherwise unchanged.

“Great. That looks just like it’s supposed to,” Hermione said, making her last notes on the process. “Now, we just need to test it.” She donned her gloves and scooped a small, measured vial out of the cauldron.

But Mum stopped her: “Um, Hermione, I don’t think you should be drinking an untested potion.”

“It is tested, though,” she replied. “It’s a standard second year exercise. It went almost exactly the same as it did in class, and that turned out fine. The only difference is using the runes. It’s possible the delayed use of the spell weakened it a little, but it’s not going to have dangerous side effects.”

“Well…okay…just be careful,” Mum said nervously.

“Yes, Mum. Well…for science!” Hermione drank her measured dose of the potion and at the same moment started a stopwatch. Within seconds, she was laughing hysterically and fell backwards so that she was lying flat on her back, and Mum and Dad had to carry her to the sofa. She could barely speak the few words to tell her parents not to worry and that this was expected. After six minutes and thirty-five seconds, by her stopwatch, she stopped laughing, out of breath, but still cheerier than she had been all holiday.

“Dear, that was kind of disturbing,” Mum said, “Is, um, potions abuse common in the magical world.”

“Oddly, no,” Hermione said, giggling incongruously at the thought. “Of course, at school, the teachers would notice and stop it pretty quick. Do you want to try it?”

“Us? Um…” Mum said.

“Well, Dad might want to wait, since he has to make it next. But it won’t hurt anything. It’s not even habit forming, according to the book, and it’s fun.” She giggled again.

“I…I guess I can.”

“Maybe you should sit down, though, Emma,” Dad said.

“Good idea.”

Mum tried the potion and began laughing at once, which Hermione timed for her notes. When she could speak again, she said, “You were right, Hermione, this is fun.”

“I might be a little worried about what it does to your endorphin levels,” Dad said skeptically. “Has anyone done a long-term study?”

“Probably not,” Hermione admitted. “Well, maybe a case study. So are you ready to try making it, Dad?”

“Oh, if I must.”

Dad’s potion didn’t come out quite as well, but it was still acceptable, although took considerable cajoling from Hermione and Mum to get him to drink it.

After that, now that they were all in a good mood, the conversation gradually took a turn to the more serious topic of discussion facing them. “So you’re going to write this up in a paper, now?” Dad asked.

“Mm hmm—I’m going to start to, anyway. I’d like to get a squib to try it, too, but—”

“A squib?”

“A non-magical person from a magical family. Finding a way for them to brew potions would actually do them a lot of good. They’re kind of looked down upon and left out of a lot. Unfortunately—for me, that is—there’s not that many of them. At Hogwarts, there’s Mr. Filch, but he doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Despite the aftereffects of the potion, this was enough to make Mum and Dad a few shades more serious. “You’re still thinking about going back to Hogwarts?” Mum asked in surprise.

“I…I am…”

“Really?” Dad said. “I thought you were worried about that Malfoy boy. You said you thought he was plotting to kill you.”

“I did. I really did—I know how horrible it sounds. But I told you my friends were looking into it, and that they figured out he’s not.”

“But you _did_ say someone died the last time this Chamber thing was opened,” Mum observed.

“Yes, but Dumbledore knows that, and he’ll be more careful this time. And since Malfoy’s not the Heir of Slytherin, that means the Heir isn’t after me in particular.”

“Hermione, we understand you don’t want to abandon your friends,” Mum retorted, “but we hope you can understand that we don’t feel too confident about the safety of the school if students are being attacked, and no one can do anything—especially after last spring.”

“I know. I don’t like it much either, believe me, but I’ll be careful. And the teachers are going to be more careful, too. I showed you Professor Vector’s letter.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Mum said. Hermione knew that Professor Vector had impressed her parents far more than anyone else in the magical world in terms of looking out for her.

“I was already not going anywhere alone,” she pressed, “and my friends and teachers will be looking out for me.”

“We know they will be. But you know we’d still worry about you going back there. We’d really rather you went to Beauxbatons, at least for the spring term.”

“I know you would. But think of it this way. There’s a bunch of other muggle-borns in the school—Sally-Anne and the others—and most of them don’t have as  many options as I have—money, grades, connections. A lot of them don’t have a choice in going back to Hogwarts. The Ministry will _make_ them, if they have to, but they’d only do that if they thought it was safe. And the Board of Governors must think it’s safe to have the students come back, too, or they’d close the school.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to, Hermione. The wizards may all think it’s safe, but you can’t deny it would be safer somewhere else, and if you get the chance—”

“But…but I don’t want to run away,” she gasped, tears filling her eyes. “Not when most everybody else won’t or can’t. I don’t want to let him beat me like that—the Heir.”

“Hermione, it’s not your fight to win,” Dad said sternly. “You’re only thirteen. Something like this is something for the adults to handle.”

“But it _feels_ like my fight, Daddy. I’m a muggleborn, and I’m having to deal with pureblood bigots like Malfoy—ones my own age. Even before I came home, it felt like I was running scared, no matter how logical it was. It felt awful. Please, Daddy, Mummy? Maybe it’s my Gryffindor side showing, but I don’t want to run away anymore. I needed to get away to collect myself, maybe, but I’m going mad here thinking about how my friends are going back there, and I’ll be hiding away somewhere else. I…I really think need to go back and face my fears—for my own sanity.”

Mum and Dad looked at her with disbelief. “Hermione…” Dad said. “You know, you’ve always been bold and eager to try new things, but we never expected that to extend to facing evil wizards and mysterious monsters. You’ve never been reckless before, and I hope your friends aren’t making you that way.”

“I don’t think I’m being reckless now, Daddy. Like, everything I did last spring was to try to save Harry from _his_ own recklessness. And I’m not doing this now on a whim. I’ve been thinking about it all break…Look, the worst case scenario is gone,” Hermione continued. “No one’s out to get me specifically, and I’m doing more to keep safe than I was before. That’s the important thing…Please…could you…just think about what Professor Vector said? I’m really not too worried anymore with the new measures they’re taking.”

Mum sighed: “Hermione, I…we…” She trailed off and sighed again. “I think your father and I need to discuss this privately.”

Hermione bit her lip and nodded reluctantly.

She went to bed that night more worried than she had been since before she left school. She’d never particularly wanted to go to Beauxbatons. The thought of trying to start over and make new friends, especially in the middle of the year, and in French, was more than she’d signed on for. She had simply been desperate to get away from Hogwarts, and she wasn’t anymore. There was also the small matter of testing into Arithmancy again, although Professor Vector would surely give her a glowing reference. But somehow, she got a full night’s sleep, and when she went downstairs for breakfast in the morning, her parents were waiting for her.

“Hermione,” Mum said.

“Yes, Mum?” she said nervously.

“We talked it over last night, and we decided that… _if_ you promise to continue to be careful…and not go anywhere alone until this Heir person and their monster is caught… _and_ tell a teacher if you think anything is wrong…then we’ll give you another chance to go back to Hogwarts.”

Hermione vaulted into her mum’s arms. “Oh, thank you! Thank you, Mummy! Thank you, Daddy!” she cried. “I promise I’ll keep safe.”

“That’s all we can ask you,” Mum said.

“It’s not what we wanted,” Dad said, “but we think we can trust you, and we can trust Professor Vector, so if you trust your other teachers and your friends to protect you, too, we can accept that.”

“I do trust them, Daddy,” Hermione said. _More than I can get away with saying._

* * *

The return to Hogwarts was happier than she could have believed it would be two weeks earlier.

“Hermione!” Fred and George called over the crowd. They ran over to her and grabbed her in a four-armed hug that lifted her off her feet and left her a little dazed.

“We thought you were a goner,” said Fred.

“Yeah, gone to France,” George quipped.

“I nearly was,” she admitted. “Ron! Harry!” she hugged both of her year-mates. “Thank you all so much,” she whispered to the four of them. “I don’t think I would have come back if you hadn’t been able to get Malfoy to tell the truth.”

“Always happy to help,” George said. “And that reminds me.” He handed her a small vial of clear liquid. “Here’s your share of the potion. Use it well.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“You could…” Fred said innocently, “if it would make a difference.”

“Granger!” Their joyful meeting was disrupted by a certain Slytherin git storming over to them. “So you _still_ came back,” Malfoy growled. “Typical Gryffindor. Not scared away by anything. At the rate you’re going, I bet you’ll be the next one the Heir nails.”

All the boys drew their wands at once.

“You leave Hermione alone,” Ron snapped.

“Yeah, you should really back off while you’ve got the chance,” Fred added.

“We Gryffindors stick up for our own,” said George.

And they would have chased Malfoy away at that, but Hermione raised her hand to stop them. Two weeks ago, those words from Malfoy would have scared her out of her wits, but now, they were just pathetic. She actually felt the urge to laugh at him. “Malfoy,” she said, “I might feel threatened by you if I thought you had the slightest clue who the Heir of Slytherin was.”

“What? I—”

“I had a lot of time to think over break,” she said. “I realised that you’re obviously not the Heir, and you don’t know who the Heir is. If you did, you would’ve sent him after me months ago. Now, how about we skip the insults this time and just stay out of each other’s way.”

“Yeah, and besides, I bet Hermione could kick your arse,” Ron added.

“Ronald!” she scolded.

But Malfoy didn’t rise to the bait. He just made a rude gesture and walked away. _Well, you can_ _’t win them all_ , Hermione thought. They started to head to the welcome back dinner, but they hadn’t got very far when they ran into Professor Vector, who had surely come out specifically to meet her.

“Welcome back, Hermione,” Vector said.

“Professor!” Hermione hugged her, which there thankfully weren’t too many people around to notice.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“You, too, ma’am. Thank you for your letter. It was one of the most important things that convinced my parents to let me come back.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help once again,” Vector said, “although I hope you can stay out of trouble this term.”

“That makes two of us, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialyo: from the Greek for “dissolve.”
> 
> Oudetero: from the Greek for neutral, in the sense of neutralising.


	33. Second Year, Spring Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter might not be copyrighted by JK Rowling in the year 1943, but don’t give Congress any ideas.
> 
> Well, this chapter and the next one were a real bear. It’s of the utmost importance to setting up next year, so I had to get it just right. I had to make it one of my longest chapters to get across everything I wanted to say, and then I decided to split it in half at the last minute, not just because of the length, but because the new end of this chapter felt like a more natural break.
> 
> Thanks to Pahan for some good advice on what direction to take in these chapters.

A few days into the new term, Harry found an old, blank diary that someone had tried to flush down Moaning Myrtle’s toilet, much to the ghost’s distress. Hermione didn’t think much of it at first. She thought it looked familiar for some reason, but she couldn’t quite place it. But then she saw the name on the inside cover: T. M. Riddle, and Ron remembered that T. M. Riddle had won an award for special services to the school in 1943.

“But that’s the same year the Chamber of Secrets was opened!” Hermione exclaimed. “Myrtle, you said you knew a Tom Riddle. Do you remember anything about him getting an award?”

Myrtle wasn’t in much condition to answer questions after flooding the bathroom, but she managed to say, “No. People don’t tend to make big announcements in here.” She moaned and started to head back to her stall.

“Myrtle, wait!” Hermione said. “Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets? It was opened while Tom Riddle was here. I think he caught the person who opened it.”

At that, Myrtle actually looked fearful, though what a ghost could be afraid of she didn’t know. “No, no one knew anything,” she said. “All we knew was that people were being petrified, and no one knew how.”

“Oh…” Harry and Ron grumbled that it was a dead end, but Hermione was still making the connections: Myrtle had been alive when Tom Riddle was here. Tom Riddle was here when the Chamber of Secrets was opened. And Professor Vector had told her—ages ago, now—right after the troll incident—that only one student had died at Hogwarts in the past fifty years.

“Myrtle…” she said cautiously, “you…you were the one student who died when the Chamber was opened, weren’t you?”

Myrtle’s “breath” hitched, and she whined softly, but she nodded her head.

Harry and Ron gasped loudly and burst into a flurry of questions.

“Did you see the Heir?”

“Did you get a good look at the monster?”

“Did you hear anything?”

“No—no, no, NO!” Myrtle cried, and she stuck her nose in the air. “I never knew _how_ it happened. It just _happened_ one day. And that’s all I know.” And with that, she dove back into her toilet.

Hermione sighed and gave the boys an exasperated look.

“Sorry,” Harry said.

“What?” said Ron. “It’s not our fault she’s a nutter.”

* * *

As far as they could tell, T. M. Riddle’s diary was blank and had no special properties or hidden messages whatsoever. Hermione and Ron wrote it off as worthless, but Harry held onto it, saying he wanted to know why someone had tried to throw it away.

Meanwhile, Hermione gave Filch a few days to cool off after Myrtle had enraged him by flooding the second floor corridor before approaching him about her personal project. The problem was that she had promised not to go anywhere alone, and few other people actually wanted to approach Filch. Things were gradually quieting down, since there hadn’t been any new attacks since Justin, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

“ _Please_ , Harry?” she said.

“Hermione, he hates me! He still thinks I petrified Mrs. Norris.”

“Well, maybe if you help do something nice for him, you’ll convince him otherwise. And he knows you already know he’s a squib, so we’re not spreading his secret around more…And…and I wanted to use you in the experiment, too,” she admitted.

“What? Why? I thought you were testing non-magical people.”

“Yes, but I need a control.”

“A what?”

“A magical person to see if the runes work the same as a wand. I could do it, but it would be better if I got someone who was more…average at potions.”

“And that’s me?” Harry said sceptically.

“No offence. But it’s really you or Ron, though, and he’s at least as stubborn as you are.”

Harry looked over to where Ron was sitting. They were roughly equals in Potions, but he had to admit that Ron probably had even less patience for the subject (or Filch) than he did. “You’re not gonna put my name in print, are you?”

“Of course not. You’re Subject H.”

“Subject H?”

“It’s an anonymous label. It’s standard practice in the muggle world. Filch is Subject A, and my parents are Subjects D and E.”

Harry sighed, but said, “Okay, when are we going?”

“Right after dinner, I think. Filch should check in at his office after meals. We can catch him then.”

Hermione’s prediction proved to be correct. When they grabbed their potions kits and went down to Filch’s office, they found him there, looking as sour-faced as ever. Losing the companionship of his cat hadn’t done him any favours, and he didn’t seem to have anyone else. Hermione suspected that this was the first time a student had willingly knocked on his door in years, and his reaction was about what one would expect.

“Excuse me, Mr. Filch?” she said.

“Huh? What? What are _you_ two doing here?. Come to rub it in, have you?”

“No, Mr. Filch,” Hermione said. “I thought I might be able to help you.”

Hermione thought she might have short-circuited his brain, as Filch was left opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “Help…me…? What kind of bloody ridiculous prank is that? No one comes here to help me.”

“Well, it’s not entirely that, sir, but I really do think it will help you.”

“And just how do you think you can help me?”

Hermione took a deep breath. Given how sensitive Filch was, she had to be careful about how she said this: “I think I’ve invented a better system to help you brew potions than Kwikspell.”

That was even less believable. “You…but…that…I’m…” Filch stammered. “What are you playing at? Think you’ll play a cruel joke on the squib, do you? Get out of my office!”

Filch moved to shove them out the door, but Hermione put her foot down: “It’s not a joke, Mr. Filch. It worked for my parents, and they’re _muggles_.”

Filch stopped, looking interested, maybe even hopeful, for the first time. “You got muggles to brew potions?” he said.

“Yes, I did. It was simple enough with runic clusters. I’m going to write it up for _The Practical Potioneer_ , and I was hoping I could use you as an additional demonstration. I wouldn’t have to use your name.”

“You…were…? And what’s _he_ doing here?” He pointed at Harry.

Hermione smiled slightly: “He’s the other test subject.”

Filch’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. Experimenting on a student would probably brighten his day a bit. “Alright, I’m listening,” he said.

Hermione explained the experimental procedure. She would observe Harry brewing the Alihotsy Draught using his wand, and Filch would use his Kwikspell method. Filch didn’t like that much, but she assured him it was for a good cause. After that, they would both start over using the runes. Filch agreed, and she convinced him and Harry to sign a release form she had written up, giving her permission to publish their test results. (She wasn’t sure if wizards used release forms, but it was good practice.)

As expected, Harry’s Alihotsy Draught turned out decent and usable, while Filch’s was nearly as useless as her parents’ first attempts. It _was_ a tiny bit better, she found, probably because of a bit of latent magic in the wand Filch was trying to use.

But when they started the second round, using the runes, an amazing change came over Filch. As soon as Hermione showed him how to use the runic spells, and his ingredients started dissolving properly, he started to look _happy_ —and not his usual evil happy, either. His sunken, sagging face lit up with a genuine smile that made him look a good decade younger.

“Sweet Merlin, it’s…it’s working! It’s actually working!” he exclaimed. He wasn’t even halfway through the potion when he grabbed his Kwikspells notes and chucked them in the bin, and when he finished, and Hermione declared his potion acceptable, he was actually crying with joy, and he shook Hermione’s hand.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” he said. Most of the wheeze was even gone from his voice. “I’ve been trying to do real magic for so long…I…th-thank you, M-Miss Granger.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Filch. I’m glad I could help,” she replied with a smile.

Then, Filch looked at the clock. “Oh, dear, it’s past curfew isn’t it?” Hermione started sweating as she realised what time it was, and Harry’s eyes widened in horror. But it seemed their efforts to help had paid off, for Filch said, “I’ll tell you what, you bring me a stack of those runes tomorrow, and I’ll pretend I forgot what time it is.”

Hermione smiled again: “Deal.”

As they walked back up to Gryffindor Tower, Harry whispered, “Did you just make friends with _Filch_?”

“I think I might have done,” Hermione replied. “You know, I don’t think it’s that hard if you actually take an interest in people.” She remembered the house elves and Myrtle. “And who knows? It could come in handy someday.”

Harry probably never would have even thought to try to befriend Filch, but he could agree with that.

The next day, Filch went around the castle smiling and actually acting halfway friendly. This caused the teachers to wonder if he’d been drugged with potions, and it caused Fred and George Weasley to run away from him screaming that it was a sign of the apocalypse.

* * *

Valentine’s Day was a complete mess courtesy of Gilderoy Lockhart. His suggestion that the students ask Snape for love potions was bad enough. His singing valentine dwarfs dressed up as cupid and disrupting classes all day pushed Hermione a lot further into becoming disillusioned with him, especially since Valentine’s Day was on a Sunday, and he apparently couldn’t put together the sing-o-gram squad until Monday.

Hermione was glad the day was over when she slumped down in the Common Room after dinner. But to her surprise, she looked up and saw Ginny Weasley approaching her. She hadn’t seen much of Ginny since last fall, and the younger girl certainly hadn’t really approached her since then.

“Hermione…” Ginny said shakily. She had been looking better in the new term, but she seemed very nervous tonight. “Can I…can I ask you something?” she said.

“Uh, sure, Ginny. What’s up?”

“Well…when that, uh, dwarf delivered Harry’s Valentine…”

“Oh, _that_ ,” Hermione said. It was an open secret by now that Ginny had sent Harry a truly absurd love poem as a valentine.

“Well, no, not that, exactly…” the younger girl cut in. “It’s just that…I saw…when Harry’s bag ripped, he had this diary.”

“Oh, he’s _still_ carrying that old thing around?” Hermione said dismissively. “I don’t know why. There’s nothing special about it besides someone dumping it in Myrtle’s bathroom.”

Ginny seemed to relax and then rapidly tense up again as Hermione spoke. “Well, you see…” she stammered. “About that…I—”

“Oh, his eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad…” They were interrupted when Fred and George came into the Common Room, singing their own rendition of Harry’s valentine. However, George stopped when he saw the mortified and enraged look on Ginny’s face and elbowed Fred to do the same.

“Um, hi, Gin-Gin,” Fred said nervously. “We were just saying how…nice that song was.”

“Uh, yeah, right,” George joined in. “Rhyming pickled toad and blackboard was a little off, but it’s still very complimentary.”

“Oh, just stop it!” Ginny cried.

“If you like fresh-pickled toads, anyway,” Fred quipped.

“ _Chiroptera mucosa_!”

Fred ran up to his dorm with black bats beating about his head.

“Uh…I’ll just go help him,” George said, and he dashed away.

“Wow, Ginny, are you _sure_ you can’t teach me that spell?” Hermione asked.

“No. If I taught it to you, then you could use it against me.”

“But I wouldn’t use it against you.”

“I’m going to my room,” Ginny said abruptly, and she started up the stairs.

Hermione shook her head and didn’t remember until it was too late to ask Ginny what she had wanted to talk about.

* * *

The next day, Ron and Harry came up to Hermione frantically and tried to explain that the Heir of Slytherin—the person who had opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago and was caught and expelled after killing Myrtle—was _Hagrid_.

This came about after Harry actually _wrote_ in T. M. Riddle’s diary for the first time, and someone or some _thing_ calling itself Tom Riddle’s _memory_ not only wrote back (which was weird enough), but somehow showed Harry the memory of himself catching Hagrid with the monster.

But something just didn’t smell right about that story, they all agreed uneasily.

“Okay, on one hand, nobody said the Heir of Slytherin had to be doing it on purpose,” Hermione analysed the scene. “And I hate to admit it, but Hagrid just might be clueless enough to keep letting the monster out even after it attacked five people, and like you said, Harry, the attacks must have stopped after he was caught, or Riddle wouldn’t have got that award.”

“Hagrid probably felt sorry for it being cooped up so long,” Ron groaned.

“But I’m not sure, though,” Hermione said. “Hagrid’s still been here as the groundskeeper for the past fifty years. Why would he start opening the Chamber again _now_? And why did Lucius Malfoy seem to know something was going to happen.”

“Think Hagrid’s got a secret kid who just showed up?” said Ron.

Harry and Hermione looked vaguely horrified at the thought. “Not unless it’s Goyle,” Harry tried to lighten the mood. “He’s the only one who’s big enough.”

“No, there’s something else,” Hermione said. “Harry, you said the monster was big and hairy and had pincers and lots of legs, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Like an acromantula?”

“Like a what?”

“A giant talking spider.”

Ron squealed and shivered.

“I dunno. I guess it could have been. Why?”

“Because Professor Vector told me that when she was a student, there was a rumour that Slytherin’s monster was an acromantula, but she checked into it, and it turns out that acromantulas don’t petrify people.”

“So, you think the monster is something else?” Harry said hopefully.

“Seriously? How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?” Ron said.”

Hermione sighed. They’d been going in circles for hours about this. “Do you think we should go and _ask_ Hagrid about this?” she said.

“Oh, _that_ _’ll_ be a _great_ visit,” Ron said. “Say, Hagrid, you been playing with anything mad and hairy in the castle lately?”

Harry shuddered and looked down at his feet uncomfortably. “He probably doesn’t want to talk about being expelled,” he said. “I think…I think we should leave him alone unless there’s another attack. It’s been over two months, after all.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Hermione said.

* * *

Hermione kept doing her research on that, though, along with everything else on her list. She was hip-deep in differential equations, and she was getting tantalising and frightening glimpses of how full-blown curses worked through them. Meanwhile, she looked up everything she could find about acromantulas, some more background reading for her potions paper, and a smattering of material on ghosts—she still hoped against hope that she could do something for poor Myrtle. It had to be especially hard being killed by Slytherin’s monster, she thought, and she must have been targeted for being a muggle-born, which somehow made it even worse.

Professor Babbling also held a couple more seminars on non-Norse runes during the spring, which the Gryffindor Trio attended. Harry was glad to get some more practice to get his runic spells to last all summer this year. Ron was making more progress than Harry was. It took an effort for both of them to overcome their natural scribbles and draw the words straight, but Harry was also hampered by deliberately holding himself back all through primary school to get worse grades than his cousin. It was nothing short of a crime against academia in Hermione’s mind. If she ever got her hands on those Dursleys…

In any case, as the weeks crept by with no more attacks, Hermione began to relax, although she dutifully continued to find an escort whenever she was out in the corridors. Maybe it was like Lockhart said, and the Heir had given up (though she doubted by now that it was because of him).

Today, Hermione was digging for information about ghosts again, and this time, she struck gold. There was very little information to be had, especially on the mysterious subject of where ghosts actually came from, but even from the introduction of this book, she could tell it was going to be an interesting read:

_Comparatively little has been written about the nature of the afterlife of ghosts as opposed to the lives of the various races of Beings. This is a great oversight, as ghosts are in a sense, the most like us, and at the same time, the most unlike us, being not Being, but Spirit, yet of the same nature of souls as those of witches and wizards. In this book, I have endeavoured to begin to correct this oversight, with one of the most extensive projects ever undertaken to interview ghosts of various ages to gain insights into their experiences and ways of thinking._

Hermione knew she would take a closer look at the whole thing later, but she presently skimmed to a few topics of interest, and she was very glad to see that someone besides herself had noticed these issues. But then, as she began to read the author’s observations, her eagerness faded, replaced by a growing sense of horror:

 _Ghosts are frequently described as being difficult to talk to, out of touch, and not very aware of the land of the living, and their memories of history are notoriously poor, especially for the older ghosts. Most wizards dismiss this as being just the way things are. Few ever bother to ask_ why _this should be so, which is unfortunate, as it would seem to be most unfair to the ghosts themselves, and it deprives the living of what could be an invaluable historical record. There have been only a handful of long-term studies following the same ghosts over many years to try to understand this behaviour of the Spirits, but by combining the available anecdotes, we may now draw a plausible conclusion._

Hermione could tell from the language, the rigorous writing style, and just the interest in the topic that the author of the book was almost certainly a muggle-born or half-blood. There might be some purebloods who could write like that, but they were surely few and far between, even among agreeable ones, like Mr. Weasley.

_Ghosts_ _’ poor memories appear to stem from the fact that, because ghosts do not physically age or change, they are, for the most part, trapped in the same personality and, to some extent, even the same state of mind that they had when they died. On close examination, they also appear to be unable to form new, lasting memories. Careful comparisons of my and others’ interviews conducted over a period of years reveal that they typically remember the first few years after they died and the last few years before the present, but very little in between. A person they were well acquainted with a decade ago may be entirely forgotten, and new information that is learnt in the interim is eventually lost._

_In addition, while ghosts may yet develop a little, mentally and emotionally, in the first few years after their deaths, most such changes prove to be temporary in nature. The only thing that I have observed to promote a permanent (and usually positive) change in a ghost_ _’s personality, as well as new, lasting memories, is if the ghost is able to resolve some “unfinished business,” such as reconciling with a family member or avenging their death._

Hermione put the book down after that, feeling a little sick to her stomach. She knew Myrtle had issues, but she never imagined that the afterlife of a ghost could be that awful. It certainly explained a lot, though. She was pretty sure Myrtle had been near-suicidally depressed even before the Heir got her, and with no real possibility of recovering or growing beyond that, she had simply stayed there, crying in the bathroom for the next fifty years. That was bad enough, but to add on top of that not being able to form new permanent memories and learn new material—to Hermione’s mind, that would be a fate worse than death. She felt even sorrier for Myrtle now, but she didn’t have any idea what to do about it.

She began to feel something else, as well: a strange, slightly sick feeling as she remembered a half-serious retort she’d made in anger to Ron nearly a year ago: _“If we get eaten, I’m haunting you_.” She shuddered at the thought. In the immediate aftermath of that harrowing incident, they had thought it funny, but it didn’t seem funny at all, now. She still didn’t fully understand ghosts, but she sincerely hoped that she would never wind up haunting anybody.


	34. Bonus: Class Selection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: For further reference, see the work of J. K. Rowling (1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2003, 2005, and 2007).
> 
> And here’s the bonus chapter. I had to all but rebuild it from the ground up to fit what I wanted to do, but I hope it came out well.
> 
> Did I embellish Ron a little from canon? Yes, but you don’t become good enough to beat Hermione and McGonagall at chess by being stupid. I like to think my version is fairly true to the spirit of the books.
> 
> Thanks to Sdarian for pointing out a plot error in this chapter.

Hermione’s potions paper was accepted after some minor revisions. In stark contrast to Professor Snape’s usual demeanour, the editor seemed very supportive and was impressed by her intellectual precociousness and out-of-the-box thinking. The paper was fast-tracked to be featured in _The Practical Potioneer_ in early April, and the editor promised to send Hermione and her parents each a free copy, as well as Professor Vector, when Hermione asked. She knew, of course, that Professor Snape would see it when it was published, and from watching carefully at breakfast, she knew that Professor Dumbledore subscribed to many scholarly magical journals as well as what she was pretty sure was a muggle astronomy journal, so it promised to be very interesting.

Severus Snape had come up to breakfast on the fifth of April expecting a quite ordinary day. He was in a somewhat better mood than usual, though, as he was expecting to enjoy reading the latest developments in his field in _The Practical Potioneer_ —about the most interesting thing that normally happened in this place. When the mail came, he took his copy from the delivery owl, as did Albus and, oddly, Septima, but he didn’t think anything of it.

But then, featured right in the front as a newcomers’ article, Snape saw a title that made him choke on his coffee, and it was a good thing he did, too, because a moment later, he saw the byline, and _that_ would have had him spitting it all over the table: _MUGGLES AND SQUIBS ARE ABLE TO BREW POTIONS USING RUNIC SPELL CLUSTERS_ by H. J. Granger.

Snape looked up and over at the Gryffindor Table and spotted the purported author’s bushy hair. Looking closely, he saw the second-year was also reading a copy of _The Practical Potioneer_. It didn’t seem possible, but he flipped to the end of the article, and there it was:

 

_Editor_ _’s note: Miss H. J. Granger has identified herself as a second-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and we congratulate her on making a valuable contribution to the field of potions at such a young age._

 

Snape began reading the article in earnest, wondering how even that bright of a student could had snuck something so ridiculous past the editor. But as he read, his eyes grew wider and wider. This actually looked legitimate. She had even published the runic cluster she had used, and it was trivially simple, albeit written in rarely-used Latin runes, like the things Professor Babbling had been teaching in her seminars. He narrowly avoided a spit take again when he saw that the circle was credited to _Granger & Weasley (1992), unpublished._ And not only would the experiment itself be trivial to repeat, but the girl had documented her own work extremely thoroughly, sparing no details from start to finish:

 

_Subject A is a squib who has attempted to learn magic in the past using the Kwikspell Method, but has reported not having any success with either spells or potions._

_Subjects D and E are muggles and the parents of a muggle-born magical child. They have had no formal magical instruction. However, Subject E has successfully brewed simple potions that do not require wand work._

_Subject H is a wizard and a second-year student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Subject H consistently tests Acceptable in Potions and has successfully brewed Alihotsy Draught in the past._

And the article went on from there with procedures, observations, results, and conclusions, all conducted with at least a N.E.W.T. level of professionalism. It was, of course, obvious who the girl’s test subjects were, although those who did not know her very well might miss the answer. As much as Severus hated to admit it, it was impressive—frustrating, but impressive.

Hermione watched as Snape kept looking down at his journal and back up at her with a more and more appraising look on his face. Professor Dumbledore had finished reading the article already and was flashing her a broad smile. Professor Vector also smiled and nodded to her as she skimmed it.

“Does Snape actually look…impressed?” Alicia Spinnet whispered by her side.

“And why shouldn’t he be?” said Percy Weasley. “Not just anyone can publish a scholarly article in their second-year.”

Ginny was silent, but was watching the scene in awe.

“I think you broke him, Hermione,” said Ron, as Snape kept looking back and forth between her and his journal.

“Yeah, good job,” Fred added. “It’s about time someone got him good.”

Hermione smiled shyly and scanned the Hall. Cedric Diggory flashed her a thumbs up from the Hufflepuff Table. Roger Davies pointed at her and appeared to be whispering what was going on to Rebecca Gamp, another girl from their Arithmancy class. She regarded Hermione with narrowed eyes, as if she didn’t believe it. The Slytherins had noticed Snape was acting odd and were whispering to each other, wondering what was going on.

But now, Dumbledore was giving Snape a very pointed look and gesturing to him in some kind of improvised sign language. Snape seemed to be doing his best to ignore him, but Dumbledore repeated the gesture, and finally, when he couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he stood up and cleared his throat, looking like he had bit into a lemon. He addressed the Hall: “It has come to my attention that Miss Hermione Granger has made a significant contribution to the field of potions that has merited publication in _The Practical Potioneer_.” Surprised whispers broke out around the Hall. “This is a…most impressive feat for a second year student, and for this show of talent, I award Miss Granger…” Snape was almost shaking as he ground out the words. “…ten points to Gryffindor.”

The Great Hall erupted into cheers and shouts of disbelief. It wasn’t much objectively, but that was more points than Snape had given to Gryffindor at once than anybody could remember. If the professors hadn’t been watching, Hermione was sure some of her fellow Gryffidors would have lifted her on their shoulders. Of course, many of the Slytherins were glaring at her, but mostly, people were just shocked, including some of the teachers.

“See, this is what we love about you, Hermione,” said Fred.

“You can prank the whole school—” George continued.

“—just by being yourself.”

As icing on the cake, Hermione had Potions the first thing after breakfast that day. She braced herself for Snape’s snide remarks, or for him to take away more points than usual, but to the whole class’s surprise (and the Slytherins’ dismay), he didn’t do anything different from his normal abrasive tone…up until he asked her to stay after class. Hermione asked Ron to wait outside the door for her, remembering that she still wasn’t to go anywhere alone.

“Yes, Professor?” she said nervously.

“Miss Granger…I wanted to tell you that I meant what I said at breakfast. Your potions paper was most impressive…” He paused, and she thought she saw a wistful look flit through his eyes. “I myself did not make any original discoveries in potions until my fourth year.”

“Um, thank you, sir,” Hermione said, waiting warily for whatever Snape’s real purpose was.

“If you should find you are interested in performing an independent study in the subject, I would…not be opposed to considering your request.”

Her eyebrows shot up. This was far more civil than she ever expected him to be. “I…I doubt I’ll be doing that much with potions in the future,” she said, “but thank you for the offer, sir.”

Snape nodded, but then he said the other part of his piece: “I should warn you, Miss Granger, that a highly intelligent muggle-born such as yourself is likely to attract the attention of some individuals who do not approve of such a thing…I do not mean that you should hold yourself back—merely that you should be watchful, especially in light of the events of the past year.”

“I…I…” she stammered. “Why are you telling me this, Professor?”

Snape sneered at her, but only a little: “Because _as_ a professor of this school, I am obligated to ensure the safety of all of my students.” He turned away and muttered, so that Hermione could barely hear it, “And a not insignificant amount of professional admiration.” She wasn’t even sure she’d heard him right when he said, more loudly, “That will be all, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and went on to her next class.

* * *

The initial reaction to Hermione’s potions discovery was disbelief, followed by surprise and some anger. Draco Malfoy was glaring at her more than ever, for example, while Rebecca Gamp cornered her after their next Arithmancy class and demanded to know how she had pulled of publishing a paper as a second year (and was a little surprised when Hermione answered forthrightly). Filch congratulated her, but asked her to be discreet around him to avoid tipping anyone off about his status.

Since few students actually read the article, the reaction was slow-rolling, even with Snape’s point-giving, but she got a number of letters from the public, both positive and negative. Several of them were along the lines of how dare she taint the practice of magic by spreading it to the unworthy muggles and squibs, or things like that, but there were also several letters from delighted parents of muggle-borns asking how they could get some of those runic spells. (She later learnt that an enterprising vendor in Diagon Alley had copied her design and begun selling them.) But the best response was from Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, which thanked her for bringing in a sudden windfall of parents of muggle-borns buying potions kits. Being responsible salespeople, they pushed them very hard to also buy instruction books and safety manuals from them. They were so grateful that they sent her a voucher for a free third-year potions kit.

Meanwhile, school went on, and during Easter holidays, the second-years were expected to choose their elective classes for next year that they would pursue through their O.W.L.s. The choices were Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Muggle Studies. Hermione was still taking Arithmancy, of course, but she couldn’t decide what else to take.

 _All students must take at least two electives through O.W.L. Level,_ the noticed had read. _Students wishing to take more than three electives must obtain special permission from their head of house._

Hermione was seriously considering taking everything. She had no doubt that Professor McGonagall would give her permission. Presumably, the only reason it was restricted was the workload, and her marks were impeccable, and she’d never failed to get her homework done.

From a discussion with her fourth-year friends, she gathered that Runes and Magical Creatures was the most popular “serious’ combination, mainly by process of elimination. Arithmancy was perceived as the hardest class, and so was not very popular, while Divination and Muggle Studies were both considered an easy O. Even so, she thought they all sounded fascinating, even Muggle Studies—it would be good to get more of the wizards’ point of view on muggles. She only wished she could get her year-mates to show the same enthusiasm.

“Do you know what you’re going to take, Harry?” she asked as the deadline drew near.

“I dunno. I was just gonna go with whatever Ron took.”

“Really? But honestly, you kind of have different strengths than he does. Don’t you think you should play to those?”

“But I’m only really good at Quidditch.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione said. “I think you’re pretty good at Defence—I know it’s hard to tell with Professor Lockhart,” she admitted. “And you’re pretty good at charms, too.” Then, she smiled: “ _I_ think you should take Arithmancy.”

“Oi, leave him alone, Hermione. That’s like the hardest class for normal people like us,” Ron said from nearby.

“I know it’s considered the hardest class, Ron, but Harry went to muggle primary school. Professor Vector says muggle maths classes prepare students better than most purebloods learn. I bet you’d do pretty well in that class, Harry.”

“You really think so?” he said hopefully.

“Yes I do, Harry. You’re not stupid, and with your background, you should have a good head start.”

“Okay, I guess I can try it, then,” he said.

Hermione smiled at him encouragingly.

“I can’t believe you’re going over to her side,” Ron complained.

“And just that’s supposed to mean?” she wheeled on her other friend.

“I mean you’ve got him taking the hard classes, like you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking the more challenging classes, Ronald,” she said, glaring at him. “And just what classes are _you_ signing up for.”

“Eh, I thought I’d go with Magical Creatures and Divination.”

“Divination? Really?”

“Yeah, so? Aren’t _you_ thinking of taking it.”

“I might, but only because it sounds interesting, and I’m not sure about it. Professor Vector says it’s really unreliable, and unless you have a really keen interest, you should think about taking something more productive.”

“Well, I’m _sorry_ if we can’t all be like you,” Ron snapped.

“You don’t have to be like me. You just have to apply yourself to something you’re good at.”

“I’m not good at anything, though,” he complained loudly. “I’m pants at our regular classes already.”

“You are not, Ron.”

“I’m sure not great at them. If I take an easy O, I can at least bring up my average.”

“I’m sure you can do better than an easy O.”

“Hey! Why don’t you just leave me alone and let me pick my own classes, Hermione?”

“Fine,” she snapped. “But, for Merlin’s sake, Ron, how can someone as… _smart_ as you be such an _idiot_?” She turned to leave.

“I’m not smart, Hermione!” Ron yelled back. They two of them didn’t even notice Harry edging away from the argument. “I’m not some genius who can do maths in my head and take all the classes and memorise my course books or however you do what you do. I’m just a _normal_ guy from a _normal_ family.”

Hermione ignored the slight and shot back, “Ron, I know your family. There’s not a single one of you who’s not brilliant at _something_.”

“Oh, come on,” he grumbled. “My dad’s stuck in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and Mum just stays at home.”

Hermione couldn’t help but gasp: “You shouldn’t talk about your parents like that,” she scolded, “and your dad’s not “stuck.” He loves his job. _And_ he’s brilliant, too. He enchanted a car to fly and turn invisible, honestly! Plus, he pushed controversial muggle protection legislation through the Wizengamot—it takes a lot of savvy to do something like that. I’ll grant he doesn’t have that good a grasp on muggle technology…but maybe you should take Muggle Studies, then. You could teach your dad a thing or two.”

Ron turned around to face her. “You really think so?” he said hopefully after a pause.

“If you really work at it. I’ve heard the curriculum is pretty weak, but if it’s any good at all, it’ll be thirty years ahead of what he took…And I’ll help you out when I can.”

“Wow, thanks…hmm, I guess I can take that instead of Divination.”

“Great. And I stand by what I said. Everyone in your family is brilliant.”

“Nah, my brothers, maybe, by my mum—she’s nice, and all, but she’s still…just Mum.”

“Ron, I’ve had your Mum’s cooking,” Hermione said flatly. “In the muggle world, she could have her own television show. Not to mention your house is still standing after fifteen years of Fred and George living there. Don’t put down your parents just because their skills aren’t in book smarts. Yes, that’s _my_ thing, but it doesn’t have to be everybody’s. And anyway, you know how good your brothers are—even Fred and George finished the Veritaserum flawlessly and concoct elaborate pranks on a weekly basis—” She lowered her voice to a whisper on that last part.

“Yeah, but me and Ginny don’t have that kind of talent—”

“Ginny’s got talent to spare. She figured out how to sneak your brooms out from the shed when she was six, and do you think just any first year could master that Bat-Bogey Hex of hers?”

“She snuck our brooms—?” Ron said in shock. “Wait, _that_ _’s_ why she flies so well? She’s been playing us the whole time!”

“Well, _you_ _’re_ the ones who never let her fly. Like I said, she’s got talent to spare, and so do you.”

“But—”

“Don’t. Even. Say it. Ronald Bilius Weasley. You’re better at chess than I am, and that’s saying something. Better than McGonagall, even. You’re a brilliant strategist. And you know practically everything there is to know about Quidditch. _And_ you’re great with voices and languages. Professor Babbling even said you have a natural talent for Ancient Runes at that last seminar, remember? I was going to say I think you should take that, too.”

“Seriously? But that was kid stuff.”

“She didn’t seem to think so. And you helped me figure out that runic circle last year— _that_ was enough to get your name mentioned in _The Practical Potioneer_.”

“It’s still not the same as the class.”

At that point, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore: “Oh…Ron, will you just get your head out of your arse and admit you’re actually _good_ at something for once?”

The entire Common Room stopped and stared, and she shrank back uncomfortably, rapidly turning red.

Ron gaped, staring speechless for a long minute. “Blimey, Hermione,” he said, “I never thought I’d hear _you_ say something like that.” Several people sniggered.

“Well…well…you deserve it,” she stammered. “I mean it; you should take Ancient Runes and Muggle Studies.”

Ron still didn’t look convinced: “But I kinda really did want to take Magical Creatures,” he said.

“You can take three electives,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“Are you serious?”

She glared at him.

“You are serious.” He sat still, not speaking as Hermione continued to glare at him. Finally, he broke. “Alright, I’ll do it,” he said. “But if I go mad next year, I’m hexing _you_ first.”

“It’s a deal,” Hermione said dryly.

As things finally calmed down in the Common Room, Harry nervously spoke up: “Well…then…I guess I’ll sign up for Magical Creatures as my other class,” he said. “Then, we’ll at least be having that one together.”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Hermione said, to Harry’s relief. They both knew languages weren’t his strong point, and he thought learning about magical creatures sounded fun and might serve him well someday.

As for Hermione, though, she still uncertain about what to do. After largely ignoring all the advice she was getting from students, she went to the one person whose advice she most respected and expressed her desire to take all of the classes.

“Are you really sure you want to do that, Hermione?” Professor Vector asked.

“I think so, Professor,” she replied. “I mean, if it’s possible. I know my schedule is already weird—”

“It’s not the schedule I’m worried about. There’s room to rearrange the classes without double-booking them. It’s you. I remember how much you overworked yourself in your first year.”

“Well, it was mostly reading—” Hermione corrected. “I understand what you’re saying, ma’am, but I’m going to have to increase my workload anyway, and all of the elective classes sound really interesting.”

“Do they? I’m a little surprised to hear that, even coming from you,” Vector replied. “If you want my advice, I really don’t think Divination and Muggle Studies are the best use of your time.” Hermione’s face fell a little. “I may be biased, but I’m sure you remember my opinion on Divination: that it’s terribly subjective and unreliable, far inferior to arithmantic prognostication, and to the extent that it works at all, it’s a gift that you either have or you don’t.”

“I’ve read that, ma’am, but then, don’t you think I should see if I have the gift?”

“I’m sure that Professor Trelawney would be _more_ than happy to evaluate you before you make a final decision. Even she will tell you there’s no use taking the subject in the, frankly, probable event that you don’t have it.”

“Oh…” Hermione said, disappointed. “But still, it could be interesting from a theoretical standpoint, especially since divination is by far the best-documented branch of magic in muggle history.”

“Is it? I wasn’t aware—but that bears on my second point: simply put, I strongly doubt that there is anything Professor Burbage could possibly teach you. She’s not a muggle-born herself, after all. And I would say that to _any_ muggle-born student. The subject is valuable to those of us who grew up in the wizarding world, but for you, all it would do is waste your time telling you things you already know, and probably know better.”

“I…I understand that, ma’am,” Hermione replied, “but I still think it would be valuable to see the subject from a wizarding perspective. Plus, the O.W.L. certification will look good on my resume.”

Vector smiled sadly. “Hermione, you can take the O.W.L. exam without taking the class. It’s not often done, but you can do it. I’m sure you would do well. I’m really worried that you’re going to push yourself too hard again. Remember that you’ll be in your O.W.L. year for Arithmancy, too.”

“I understand, Professor, and thank you, but I really want to at least try the classes first. I feel like it’s only fair to give them a chance. And other people _do_ take twelve O.W.L.s, don’t they? Bill and Percy Weasley even did it while they were prefects in their fifth years.”

“Yes, yes they did, but do you remember how stressed Percy Weasley was that year?” she replied. Hermione _did_ remember. “He was even worse when the other students couldn’t see. He needed far more support from the professors than he let on to do it. His brother Bill was much the same way. The only other student I’ve had who took twelve O.W.L.s was Barty Crouch, Jr.—he didn’t have as much trouble, but he turned out to be a sociopath, so it’s probably not a fair comparison. I don’t think you need to go through all that.”

“I…I appreciate your concern…” Hermione said, her eyes starting to tear up.

“Hermione, what’s really bothering you?”

“It’s just…they were able to do it…so I should be able to, too. I’ve done the maths—I know it’ll be really hard—I know it’ll take a lot of time, but I think I can do it, and…and after what happened last year, I don’t want to have to think I’m not strong enough,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to have to back out because I can’t cut it.”

“Oh, dear…” Vector laid her hands over top of the girl’s. “Hermione, I like to think that after two years, I know you pretty well.” The girl nodded tearfully. “I believe that you are perfectly capable—with a lot of care and support—of earning twelve outstanding O.W.L.s. You’re easily intelligent and dedicated enough to do it.” Hermione suppressed a sniffle and started to smile a little. “ _However_ …I do not think you would be _happy_ doing that.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open a little.

“I think that if you go for twelve O.W.L.s, you would be subjecting yourself to three very difficult and painful years for something that is of basically no value to you. As I said, you can get the Muggle Studies grade without taking the class, and in any job you’re likely to go into, the Divination cert. isn’t worth the parchment it’s printed on. Now, if Professor Trelawney says you have the gift, by all means, go for it. But otherwise—no, you wouldn’t have the even dozen, but your Arithmancy scores will more than make up for that.”

“But I—”

“I know you don’t want to back out,” Vector said gently, “but it’s not a matter of you not being strong enough. It’s a matter of having your priorities in order. I can see how much you live and breathe arithmancy. It’s too big a part of who you are—” She paused and seemed to struggle to find the right words. “I’ve seen you when you’re having a hard time. On some days, when you’re at the end of your rope, it’s only the thing that makes it worth it to get up in the morning—am I right?”

Hermione paled as that hit a little too close to home. Even after everything she said, it still surprised her sometimes how well her professor knew her, but the truth was she’d had more than her share of days like that. She nodded shakily.

“I thought so. That’s just the way your mind works. I suspect that if you tried to take Divination and Muggle Studies next year, you’d say they were both completely wasting your time by the end of the first week, and deep down, I think you know that, too, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Other people have a passion for those subjects, and they’re welcome to it, but for Hermione Jean Granger, they’re a waste of time that could be better spent on something else, be it Arithmancy or Runes or just having fun with your friends. I hope you can see that.”

Hermione was still blinking back tears, but she found she did understand. She remembered what she had said to Ron: _Yes, that_ _’s_ my _thing, but it doesn_ _’t have to be everybody’s._ It worked both ways. And try as she might, she couldn’t deny a single thing her teacher had said. As interesting as the classes sounded, she could do the maths, and she couldn’t see any practical value to them—certainly nothing worth the anguish of trying to handle that kind of workload. It didn’t take a brilliant arithmancer to figure that out.

“You…You’re right, Professor,” she finally admitted through her tears. “I…It’s not worth it…It’s not worth it. I’ll be better off with just three electives…Th-thank you…Thank you for talking some sense into me. I knew how awful it would be trying to overload my schedule like that, but it’s so hard for me to back down from a challenge.”

“I know, Hermione, and I’m glad you were willing to listen. It would hurt to see you like that again. I do hope you will still come to me if you’re having trouble.”

“Yes, of course, ma’am.”

* * *

Even after that conversation, Hermione decided it would only be responsible to climb up to the North Tower and ask Professor Trelawney for an evaluation before writing off her subject entirely. Her response was a little disappointing, but not unexpected: “I’m sorry my dear, but I’m afraid I sense very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future.”

For that matter, Hermione wasn’t convinced Trelawney had the gift, either, what with her nonsense about hiding in blue light or whatever it was she was trying to say, so there was really no point.

* * *

By May, exams were fast approaching, as were a rash of Quidditch matches, as the schedule had been back-loaded in response to the attacks last fall. Hermione drew up her revision schedules, Harry was spending his time at his many extra Quidditch practises, and Professor Sprout said the people who had been petrified would be cured in a few more weeks. In sum, Hermione was really thinking things were back to normal, but the night before the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match, life once again bowled her a googly, when Harry and Ron ran down the stairs to meet her in the Common Room, looking frantic.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione said when she spotted them.

“Someone stole Tom Riddle’s diary!” Harry said.

“What?”

“Tore apart the whole dorm to find it,” Ron confirmed.

“But…why? We don’t even know if what it said was true? And besides, only a Gryffindor could have stolen it. They’d need the password to the Tower.”

“Yeah, we know,” said Harry.

“Well, what d’you think it means?” Hermione said nervously.

“I wish I knew.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter processed through a filter function does not necessarily have his mother’s eyes, but still belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> Parts of this chapter are quoted from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione tried to put the stolen diary out of her mind so she could enjoy the Quidditch match the next day. She really thought Harry ought to report the robbery—even if the diary wasn’t intrinsically valuable, someone went to an awful lot of trouble to steal it—but he didn’t want to, lest the business with Hagrid and the Chamber of Secrets become common knowledge. But she tried to put it out of her mind and ate a good breakfast and speculated on the odds of Gryffindor beating Hufflepuff to anyone who asked.

After breakfast, they started up the Grand Staircase for Harry to get his Quidditch things, when, completely out of the blue, Harry shouted. “ _The voice! I just heard it again—didn_ _’t you_?”

Hermione hadn’t heard any voice, but she _did_ remember that there was something else Harry could hear that nobody else heard. Suddenly, so many things fell into place that she smacked herself in the forehead and shouted, “ _Eureka_!”

“What?” Harry and Ron said.

“I’ve found it! I think I figured it out. I have to go to the library to check.” And before they could respond, she sprinted up the stairs.

It took about ten seconds for Hermione to remember her promise back at Christmas not to go anywhere in the castle alone. She didn’t even break stride. Instead, she just grabbed the first prefect she saw, a curly-haired Ravenclaw girl. “You, what’s your name?” she said.

“Uh, Penelope Clearwater,” the girl said, blinking in confusion.

“Penelope, good, I’m Hermione. You need to come with me to the library.” She grabbed Penelope by the hand and dragged her along before she could object.

“The library? What? Why?”

She looked back over her shoulder: “I think I figured out what’s causing the attacks.”

“What? The attacks? But there hasn’t been an attack in months,” Penelope said.

“I think there’s gonna be another one.”

“What?! How…how do you know that?”

“Because Harry heard it. I think it’s a snake. I…I’m not explaining this well. Last fall, Harry was hearing this weird voice that nobody else could hear—one time was right before Mrs. Norris was attacked. At the time, I didn’t think it meant anything, but he just heard it again, and I realised he must have been hearing Parseltongue!”

“Parseltongue!” Penelope exclaimed. She was sped up to keep pace with Hermione. “So the monster is a snake?”

“Yes. I was researching it last fall, and I just passed that section over because it didn’t mention petrification, and I need to look at it again. I’m not certain, but I think the monster is a basilisk.”

“Basilisk?” Penelope said. “I don’t know that one.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure either. That’s why I need to look it up, but it’s known in muggle mythology as a snake that kills with its eyes.”

“Huh, that sounds vaguely familiar. I’m muggle-born, but I never got that deep into mythology. I was really freaking out last Christmas.”

“So was I. I almost didn’t come back, but I’m glad I did if I can solve this.”

They finally reached the library, and Penelope, who as a sixth-year Ravenclaw was even better than Hermione at working the place, pointed down one aisle and whispered, “Magical creatures this way.”

They hurried down the aisle and grabbed several books about magical reptiles and serpents before carrying them to the nearest table. Both girls started flipping through them, with Hermione muttering, “Basilisk…basilisk…basilisk…”

They barely even noticed that Rebecca Gamp from Hermione’s Arithmancy class was already sitting at the table and was not very happy with having her space invaded. “What’s going on?” the black-haired Ravenclaw demanded.

“Oh, hi, Rebecca,” Hermione said absently. She decided there wasn’t anything in the first book and moved on to the second. “It’s about the Chamber of Secrets thing—long story…” she trailed off as she flipped furiously through the book.

“Well, I’ll leave that to you, then,” Rebecca said. She gathered up her books and walked off in a huff. Hermione and Penelope were so engrossed by now that they barely noticed.

Hermione’s second book didn’t appear to be in any coherent order whatsoever. “ _Why_ don’t any of these books have indexes?” she hissed.

“I don’t know,” Penelope groaned. “It’s really annoying. We’d save so much time in here if wizards would just join the twentieth century.”

“We have to move fast. If Harry _did_ hear Parseltongue, that means the monster is on the move again.”

“I found it!” Penelope said. “Look at this.”

Hermione read the page:

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents. This snake, which may reach gigantic size and live many hundreds of years, is born from a chicken_ _’s egg, hatched beneath a toad. Its methods of killing are most wondrous, for aside from its deadly and venomous fangs, the Basilisk has a murderous stare, and all who are fixed with the beam of its eye shall suffer instant death. Spiders flee before the Basilisk, for it is their mortal enemy, and the Basilisk flees only from the crowing of the rooster, which is fatal to it._

 

“That’s it!” Hermione cried loud enough that Madam Pince shushed her. Then, more quietly, “Lives for hundreds of years, so it could survive all this time in the Chamber. Spiders flee before it—do you remember how all the spiders disappeared last fall? The crowing of the rooster is fatal to it—Harry said something was killing Hagrid’s chickens. It all fits!”

“Wait a minute,” Penelope said. “The book says the basilisk’s gaze causes instant death, so why were all of the victims just petrified?”

Hermione sighed and covered her face with her hands to clear her head. Her mind was racing to think of an explanation. “Because…because…” she mumbled. She remembered how Colin had been found. “Because Colin saw it _through_ his camera,” she exclaimed. “It only petrified him, but it completely destroyed the camera.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Penelope said. “And Justin was found with that ghost. He must have seen it through him. The ghost looked it straight in the eye, but he couldn’t die again. It’s kinda weird, but—”

“Yes, and Mrs. Norris…she saw it’s reflection on the floor! It’s just like Medusa.”

“Except it’s the reflection that petrifies, and the gaze kills.” Penelope finished. “But how is it getting around, though? The attacks were all in different places.”

Hermione sighed again, then pulled out her map of the castle. She examined its pages for a minute. There didn’t seem to be anywhere to hide anything that big. “I don’t know,” she mused. “You’d think if it was roaming the castle, it would catch a bunch of people in the corridors. Unless…maybe if it was in the walls—of course, it’s a snake. It’s getting around through the plumbing! Yes, this is it. We have to tell Professor McGonagall.” To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she said McGonagall. Surely Dumbledore—but his office was password-protected, and they didn’t have the time. Or Lockhart. For all his faults, the one thing he still had going for him was that he was a great dark creature hunter—but something still seemed off about him. Plus, McGonagall had more authority and was much more organised, so McGonagall it was. She jumped up and turned toward the door…and then quailed in fear and spun back around. “Oh my God!” she gasped.

“What is it?” Penelope said frantically.

“Penelope, do you realise what’s going on? There’s a giant snake that can kill with a look loose in the castle _right now_ , and we’re the bloody targets!”

Penelope gasped: “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! What’re we gonna do? The Heir’s after muggle-borns!”

“Alright, alright, don’t panic,” Hermione said, though she was nearly panicking herself. She knew now how Harry had felt last year, when he went completely paranoid over the Philosopher’s Stone (and turned out to be right). “We need to find a way to get to McGonagall without getting killed by the basilisk.”

“Wait, we know its reflection only petrifies. I’ve got a mirror here.” Penelope fished a hand mirror out of her robes. “We can use it to look around corners.”

“Okay, that’ll keep us from getting killed, but if we get petrified on the way there, no one will know we figured it out. Oh, if only we could get a message to her directly…” Then Hermione smacked herself in the forehead again. “Good grief, I’m such an idiot.” She checked her watch nervously: just barely in time. “Sonya?” she said.

There was a crack, and the little blond elf appeared beside the table. Hermione had never been so glad to see her. She’d nearly missed her going on her shift. “Miss Hermione Granger is needing Sonya’s help?” Sonya squeaked.

“You have a house elf?” Penelope said in shock.

“No, school elf. Long story.” Hermione pulled a notebook out of her robes and tore out a page. “Sonya, we think the monster is on the loose again.”

“Eek!” said Sonya.

“We need you to take a message to Professor McGonagall. Penelope, can you copy this page from the book?”

“Uh, sure.” She waved her wand, and in a moment, the page from her notebook looked exactly like it had been torn from the library book.

“Thanks. Now, just make a note…” Hermione circled the word _Basilisk_ on the page, drew a line, and wrote _Chamber_ and _pipes_ in the margin. “I wish there was some way we could block the stare completely,” she said. She circled _Serpents_ and drew another line to where she wrote _Parseltongue_. “Maybe some way to filter the light—if it even works like that.” Next, she connected _murderous stare_ to the phrase _mirrors petrify_ , and another idea struck her. “Penelope, what colour are a snake’s eyes?”

Penelope blinked in surprise and flipped through the books again: “Um…red, yellow, green—looks like it varies.”

“No blue?”

“Er, I don’t see any blue.”

“Great. It’s not perfect, but it’s a chance. Can you transfigure two pairs of sunglasses.”

“Sunglasses? Well, I guess. Do you think they’ll help?”

“It’s worth a try. We’ll use the mirrors, too. We _know_ they work.” She finished her note by connecting _rooster_ to _Hagrid_ _’s chickens_ before handing it to the nervous elf. “Okay, Sonya, I need you to take this note to Professor McGonagall right now. Tell her that Slytherin’s monster is a basilisk, that it’s on the loose in the castle, and that Penelope Clearwater and I are going to try to come to her. Do you have that?”

“Miss Hermione Granger, Sonya will protects you from the monster,” she started.

“No, Sonya, it’s more important that this message gets to Professor McGonagall, and then you need to stay out of the corridors, where it’s safe. We have our own way to protect ourselves. Please go, Sonya.”

“Yes, miss,” Sonya said reluctantly, her ears drooping. She snapped her fingers and vanished.

“Okay. Penelope, give me the sunglasses.” Hermione took them in hand and drew her own wand. She tried to envision a change from a normal, naive colour change to a strict colour filter that was darkened in a specific frequency range, hoping the intent component of the magic would accomplish her goal. She waved her wand and incanted, “ _Colovaria Azure_ ,” twice. She wasn’t quite sure the spell had worked as intended, but the sunglasses were now blue. “Here, put these on,” she said.

“Blue tinted glasses?”

“Uh huh. I’m hoping the basilisk’s eyes are yellow or red or something, and the blue filter will block them out so we can’t see them. Come on, we have to get to McGonagall’s office—and use the mirror to look around corners, just in case.”

The two girls looked around the corner with the mirror and exited the library into the torch-lit corridor. They must have looked a strange sight walking down the hall in their blue glasses, but they didn’t care at the moment. The one thing Hermione hadn’t counted on, though, was the lighting. The blue sky from the windows partially lit the corridor, but it was intermittent, and the torches were heavily dimmed by the blue filters.

“I can’t see a thing,” Penelope complained as they reached a particularly dark corner.

“Hold on a sec,” Hermione said. She pulled her old jam jar from her robes and, with an incantation of “ _Lacarnum Inflamari_ ,” filled it to the brim with bluebell flames. Holding it up like a lantern, it lit the corridor in a blue light that let them navigate with the glasses.

“That’s brilliant, Hermione,” Penelope said as they started off again. “How did you come up with that?”

“I’ve got a lot of mileage out of that charm,” Hermione said with a smile. Penelope smiled back.

But those smiles were short-lived, for when they looked around the next corner, they saw a glint of an unholy light in the mirror.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall’s mind was racing as she read the page the frantic elf had handed her. Miss Granger was quite right, of course, and the truth she had uncovered was terrifying. There was a basilisk on the loose in the school at that very moment. It was undoubtedly after a muggle-born student, maybe even Granger herself, but it could pop out anywhere and attack anyone through the castle’s plumbing system. And the only person who could track the basilisk was…“I have to find Potter,” she said. “Sonnitt, go back to Miss Granger and Miss Clearwater and tell them to meet me at the Training Grounds.”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall, ma’am.” The elf popped away.

Minvera quickly conjured a mirror and raced down the hall to get to the Training Grounds herself. But she’d barely made it a few steps when Sonnitt reappeared, looking even more frantic than ever.

“Professor McGonagall, ma’am!” the little elf squealed breathlessly. “Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater has been attacked!”

“What?!”

“They is just down the hall from the library. Sonya sees them!”

“Morgana’s feathered locks,” McGonagall muttered before deciding on a course of action. “Alright, Sonnitt, inform Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey at once, and tell them to use mirrors to look around all corners…and then Professor Vector. She’ll murder me if I don’t tell her. I’ll be up to the hospital wing as soon as I can.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sonnitt squeaked wearily. She took a deep breath and vanished again.

Minerva rushed out to the Training Grounds, using the mirror at every corner, though she pocketed it when she left the castle. If the basilisk was outdoors, they were all doomed regardless. Grabbing a large, purple megaphone from the broom shed, she ran flat out to the Quidditch Pitch. “The match has been cancelled!” she shouted to the packed stands. She was greeted with a torrent of protest, which she ignored as she sought out Potter. “All students will remain where they are and await further instructions. You will be escorted back to your House common rooms shortly.” It was a risk. A basilisk was an incredibly dangerous beast, and far more dangerous around a crowd, but she was banking on the Heir not wanting to kill so many purebloods. “Mr. Potter, come with me at once,” she said sternly when she spotted the boy.

“Professor, what is it?” Ron Weasley said, detaching from the crowd.

“Stay here, Mr. Weasley. I’ll send for you when it is safe. Mr. Potter, with me.”

Harry Potter followed her back to the castle, running to keep up with Minerva’s brisk walk. “Professor, what’s happened?” he said breathlessly.

“There’s been another attack, Potter. Another _double_ attack.” The boy gasped. “Now, stay close and inform me at once if you hear any unusual voices.”

“Voices?” he said in surprise. “You know about those?”

“I’ve just learnt that Slytherin’s monster is a snake, Potter. You were hearing it speak Parseltongue.”

The boy froze for a couple of steps before racing to catch up. “Oh my God, I should have known,” he said.

“Just keep an ear out now, Potter,” she replied. In another minute, they reached the infirmary. “Nothing?” Minerva asked.

“No, ma’am. And the first time, I heard it across three floors.”

“Then it’s probably gone back to sleep for the moment. Come here, Filius,” she called into the infirmary. “I’ll send the rest of the students to the Common Rooms and Mr. Weasley up here. You wait here with Madam Pomfrey—I’m afraid this will be a bit of a shock, Potter.”

As Professor McGonagall strode away with Professor Flitwick, Harry entered the infirmary. There on a bed, with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Vector standing over her, was Hermione. Harry’s chest clenched like icy claws were digging into his heart when he saw that she wasn’t frozen like the others. Her eyes were shut as if she were sleeping, and her arm flopped lifelessly in Madam Pomfrey’s hand.

“She’s…she’s not petrified…” Harry choked in horror, barely able to speak. “Is she…”

“She’s alive, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said. “They’re just knocked out—both of them.”

Harry nearly collapsed with relief as she motioned to the adjacent bed, where Harry saw a curly-haired prefect also lying as if asleep. Harry walked down the row and saw a smaller shape lying in the third bed. For a wild moment, he thought it was Dobby, but then he saw the snub nose and the short, scraggly blond hair. “Sonya? What’s wrong with her?” he said.

“Magical exhaustion,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Apparently, she apparated no fewer than seven times in the space of a few minutes. Even just within the castle, that’s a difficult feat.”

“Mr. Potter,” Professor Vector addressed him. “Hermione here has identified Slytherin’s monster as a basilisk.” Harry gave Vector a blank look. “It’s a giant snake that can kill with a single look.”

“Oh…that’s bad.”

“Yes, it is. Now, we’ve agreed that that information should not leave this room to avoid tipping off the Heir that we know. Do you understand?” Harry nodded slowly. “Good. Hermione and Miss Clearwater were found wearing these.” She held out the two pairs of glasses. “Do you recognise them as some kind of muggle artifact?”

“Blue glasses? No,” Harry said in confusion.

“I can only guess that they were intended to filter out the basilisk’s deadly gaze,” Vector said.

“I agree,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Probably why they were only knocked out instead of petrified.”

“So Hermione won’t miss any school?” Harry said. “Bet she’ll like that.”

Vector chuckled wearily: “I’m sure she will.”

Harry barely had time to get settled when Ron barrelled into the infirmary, flanked by Fred and George, who were still in their Quidditch robes. “Hermione!” they yelled, rushing to her bedside.

“She’s alright, Messrs. Weasley, she’s only unconscious,” Madam Pomfrey said, shooing them away. “The both of them were still hit pretty hard, mind you. They’re only responding weakly to my lesser restoratives, but they should be awake in a few hours.

“That’s a relief,” George said. “D’you think they got a good look at the Heir?”

“I hope so,” Fred growled. “If I get my hands on whoever did this to Hermione, I’ll—”

“You will let the adults handle it, Mr. Weasley,” Vector interrupted sternly. “The monster is far too dangerous for students to handle. This information must not leave this room, but before she was attacked, Hermione identified it as a basilisk.”

Fred’s and George’s eyes went wide: “Bloody hell!”

“She faced a bloody basilisk and _lived_?” Fred exclaimed.

“And didn’t even get petrified,” George added.

“That’s our Hermione,” said Fred, patting her on the head. “Impossible isn’t in her vocabulary.”

“Yes, only I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” said Professor Vector.

But as they sat and waited, there was a commotion outside the hospital wing, and they heard Professor McGonagall’s voice say, “Minister? Mr. Malfoy? What on earth are you doing here?”

* * *

As Hermione was wrenched back to consciousness, the first thing she was aware of was a pounding headache. She felt like she’d been struck with a lead pipe right behind her eyes. What happened? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was…the mirror! She’d been attacked by Slytherin’s basilisk! Her heart started pounding. Had the glasses worked? Had she been petrified? How long had it been? What horrible things had happened while she was asleep? She groaned and writhed on what she deduced must be a bed in the Hospital Wing, trying to assess the situation.

“Madam Pomfrey, she moved!”

Was that Harry? She tried to open her eyes, but the light was too bright. She heard footsteps rushing over to her, and the matron’s voice sounded, “Go inform Professor McGonagall, Mr. Potter. Easy does it, Miss Granger. I’m pretty sure what happened to you has literally never happened before, so you need to take it slow. How do you feel?”

“My…my head…” she winced.

“Headache…not surprising, considering,” said Madam Pomfrey. “Here, see if you can drink this.” She thrust a small bottle of potion into Hermione’s trembling hand and guided it to her mouth. She drank it slowly. Immediately, her headache lessened. She opened her eyes and squinted into the light.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Good, now is anything else hurting or not working?”

Hermione wiggled her fingers and toes painfully and winced again. Every muscle in her body was aching, but not nearly as bad as her head had been—more like a nasty bout of the flu. “Muscle aches…all over,” she said. “Please, how long was I out?”

“Only a few hours, Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey told her, but she sighed heavily as she said it before handing her two more potions. “It’s not quite dinner time. How’s that, now?”

Hermione drank the potions and felt her muscles loosening and the aches subsiding, although she still felt like she had badly overexerted herself. “Much, better, ma’am. Thank you. So the glasses worked, then?”

“If you mean they saved you from being petrified, then yes, although I suspect the muscle aches are from some sort of partial petrification. Fortunately, I didn’t need the mandrake draught to reverse it.”

Hermione pushed herself up on the bed to get a look around the Hospital Wing. Suddenly, there was a squeak from her left: “Miss Hermione Granger is being awake?” a soft, weary-sounding voice called.

“Sonya?” She saw the elf lying in a bed that was far too large for her two beds down. “Yes, I’m fine. What happened to you?”

“Sonya is needing to rest, miss. Sonya did too much apparating.”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry.”

“Sonya is glad to be helping Hermione Granger, miss.” She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

At that moment, Penelope Clearwater stirred on the bed between Hermione and Sonya. Hermione was relieved to see that the glasses had worked for her, too. “Ohhh…Did someone get the number on that lorry?” Penelope groaned.

Madam Pomfrey already had another batch of potions ready for her. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Miss Clearwater,” she said. “Stay still a moment. You’ll want these.”

Penelope groaned again and drank the potions, blinking her bleary eyes as her head cleared. “Hermione?”

“Right here,” she said. “The glasses worked. We were only out about six hours.”

“Great…”

“Unfortunately not so great,” Madam Pomfrey said. “It’s been a long six hours. I’d tell you to stay in bed, Miss Granger, but Professor McGonagall _demanded_ to be informed at once when you woke up.”

“Ma’am? What happened?” Hermione said worriedly. But she got her answer soon enough when the door burst open, and a veritable crowd of people poured in: Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, and Lockhart (Lockhart looked reluctant), along with Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy, all of them looking solemn or even tear-stricken. Hermione didn’t even have time to ask a question before everyone started talking at once.

“Hermione, you’re awake!” Ron started. “Oh, Merlin, it’s awful.”

“Fudge—”

“—got Ginny—”

“—and Malfoy—”

“—took Hagrid—”

“—into the Chamber—”

“—and Dumbledore—”

“HEY!” Hermione shouted. Everyone stopped. She rubbed her forehead and said, “One at a time. I just woke up.”

Professor McGonagall spoke up. She was pale, and her voice was trembling. She looked as frightened as she had last year when the Philosopher’s Stone was threatened, if not more so. “Miss Granger,” she said. “When you and Miss Clearwater were attacked, Lucius Malfoy used it as an excuse to strong-arm the Board of Governors into suspending Professor Dumbledore and removing him from the castle, on the grounds that he is no longer competent to protect the school.”

“What?” Hermione cried. (And Penelope echoed her.) “And they think we’ll do better _without_ him?”

“That’s what the entire staff said, Miss Granger,” Professor Vector said. “To a person. But Lucius Malfoy is very…persuasive. Dumbledore was out by lunch.”

“Unfortunately, that was just the beginning,” McGonagall said. “At the same time Mr. Malfoy arrived, the Minister for Magic also came to the school and arrested Hagrid for the attacks.”

“What? No! Hagrid would never do that.”

“We know that, Miss Granger. I’m afraid that has just been proved very clearly.”

Hermione’s stomach clenched: “What happened ma’am?”

But it was Ron who answered: “Slytherin’s Heir took Ginny!”

Hermione gasped. “Ginny?”

“Into the Chamber itself,” McGonagall confirmed.

“How? Why? Are…are you sure?”

McGonagall looked to be on the verge of tears, but she kept talking: “Not one hour ago, a new message was found underneath the one from Halloween… _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever._ The only student in the castle not accounted for is Ginny Weasley.”

“Even _we_ don’t know where she went,” Fred whispered. “And we can _always_ track her down.” Fred and George looked as pale as ghosts.

“But…but she’s a pureblood,” Hermione said frantically. “What would Slytherin’s Heir want with her?”

“Weasley’s are still bl-blood traitors,” George said.

“ _I_ reckon she knew something,” Fred suggested. “You saw how she was. He could’ve been bl-blackmailing her all year.”

“Miss Granger, Miss Clearwater, I won’t beat around the bush,” McGonagall started again. “There may yet be a chance that Miss Weasley is alive, but…but whether she is or not, if we cannot find and stop the Heir and the basilisk _quickly_ , Hogwarts will have to be closed indefinitely. If you saw anything…if you have any idea who the Heir is…”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. _Close_ Hogwarts? Where would the students go? What would happen if the castle was abandoned with the basilisk inside? What if the Heir escaped back into the population at large? She shook he head, becoming aware of the tears streaming down her face: “I’m so sorry, ma’am. All we saw was the basilisk. We didn’t see who was controlling it.”

The crowd deflated before her eyes. That was clearly their last best hope. Harry might be able to track the basilisk with Parseltongue, but if it had gone back to sleep, he would be useless.

“Gilderoy, you seem to think you’re quite on top of things here,” Professor Flitwick told the Defence Professor as a last-ditch effort. “Perhaps you might have some idea where the entrance to the Chamber is. Then, you could attack the Heir directly. I’m sure with your exploits, you know a way of killing a basilisk without a rooster.”

Lockhart seemed to be sweating profusely. “Well…” he stammered, “I might…but unfortunately, it would take me longer than we have to find the Chamber. I…I c-could manage it eventually, of course, but it seems to be very well hidden.”

Lockhart was sounding more suspicious that ever, but Professor Flitwick’s words got Hermione thinking. Her head was still a little sore, but under the gravity of the situation, her analytic mind lurched into gear again with a vengeance. “Wait!” she said breathlessly. All eyes turned to her. “I don’t know who the Heir is, and I don’t know where the Chamber of Secrets is, but I know someone who might.”

“Who?” came from several directions at once.

“Moaning Myrtle.”

“Myrtle?” Ron said. Then, his eyes lit up: “Hermione, the messages are right by her bathroom! The entrance to the Chamber could be right there.”

“Holy cricket, it could.” Hermione jumped out of her bed and landed almost-steadily on her feet. “We have to go talk to her.”

But McGonagall held up her hand: “Just a moment, Miss Granger. We need to be careful about this. I don’t want to put any more people at risk than I have to, especially students. Now, unfortunately, Mr. Potter, we will need you, if you are willing. You’re the only one who can hear the basilisk, and perhaps you can even control it.”

“I’ll do it, ma’am,” he said quickly. “Anything to save Ginny.”

“Very well. Gilderoy, you’ll go down to face the basilisk.”

“What? M-m-me?” Lockhart said, his voice breaking.

“You _are_ the dark creature expert here, are you not? I will accompany you myself and provide any assistance you need.” From the glances the professors exchanged, it was clear that McGonagall thought she would be doing all the fighting.

“Oh…y-yes, of course,” he replied, but he looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here right now.

“Professor, I think you’ll need me to talk to Myrtle,” Hermione said. “Unless you know somebody else who can talk to her for more than two minutes without setting her off crying.”

McGonagall sighed: “As much as I’m loath to say it, you’re right Miss Granger. You’ll have to come, too.” She turned to the Weasley boys. “You four should return to the Tower at once.”

“But Ginny—!” they protested.

“You’re no good to her petrified or dead,” she spoke over them. “This is a job for professionals. I promise you we will make every effort to save her. Now go.”

“Sh-she’s right.” Hermione turned toward the new voice. She hadn’t even noticed that Percy, pale and silent, had spent most of the conversation holding Penelope’s hand. That was a surprise. He whispered something to her and then said, “We n-need to go.”

Fred, George, and Ron hung their heads and turned to go. “Bring her back,” Ron told Harry and Hermione fiercely. “You’ve got to bring her back.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Hermione promised.

With the Weasleys gone, McGonagall prepared to set out, but Professor Vector stopped her. “Minerva…” she said. Her own voice was shaking, but she forced herself to stand up straight. “I think perhaps I should accompany Gilderoy and the students instead.”

“Septima? You don’t have to go,” McGonagall replied. “I’m quite capable of handling this myself.”

“I know you are, Minerva, but I was a fair duellist in my day, and more importantly, I’m a pureblood Slytherin, and all three of you professors are half-bloods. If there’s any chance of reasoning with Slytherin’s Heir, I’m the best choice. Plus, I promised Hermione and her parents that I would keep her safe, and I intend to keep that promise, and with Dumbledore gone, we need you here to maintain some semblance of order.”

McGonagall pressed her lips together and stared at her colleague, but the reasoning was sound. She nodded slowly: “Very well, Septima. Good luck.”

“Thank you, Minerva.” Vector took a deep breath. “We should go presently. Come along, Gilderoy, Mr. Potter. Hermione, if you’re feeling up to it…”

“I’ll manage,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Vector led them through the corridors, keeping a firm grip on Lockhart’s shoulder as they went and once again using a mirror to look around the corners. “Mr. Potter, speak up if you hear the basilisk,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Hermione, these blue glasses that saved you from being petrified. Can you replicate them?”

“I can _improve_ them now that I know they work,” she said confidently, and she started muttering to herself: “Need to choose a better frequency function. A parabola’s not gonna cut it…” In theory, _Colovaria Azure_ was a perfect parabolic blue light filter that didn’t let any other colours through. In practice, it was impossible to cast the charm with perfect precision, and thus, there were always higher-order square terms lurking about that would cause leaks of other colours—leaks that could be fatal in this case. That meant she needed a fancier function to suppress the higher-order terms. Perhaps a quartic function. She tried plugging in a few numbers.

“No, no, the numbers are too big. I could never _cast_ it precisely enough,” she muttered. “Ideally, I’d want some kind of box function—but no, that’s riddled with leaks in the Fourier expansion. Maybe a sine function that didn’t come back up until—no, that’ll never work…Of course, an ellipse!” She exclaimed. It was so simple: just use the regular parabolic form and take the square root. Its value would be imaginary outside the desired frequency range, so it would suppress the higher-order terms completely…at least in theory. Now, she just needed to be sure about the colour, and for that, she just needed Myrtle.

“Anything, Mr. Potter?” Vector asked as they reached the bathroom.

“No, I don’t hear it.”

“Alright, Hermione, do whatever you need to do, then.”

Hermione nodded and pushed the door open, with the others following. “Myrtle?” she called. There was a low moan from the toilet. “Myrtle, please come out. We need to talk to you.”

The ghostly girl glided through the stall door. “What do you want?” she said morosely.

“I need to ask you…about how you died.”

Myrtle glared at Hermione. “I already told you I don’t know anything.” She turned and glided back into her stall.

“Myrtle, wait! We…we’re going to try to avenge your death.”

At those magic words, Myrtle stopped cold. Slowly, she turned around and floated close to Hermione’s face. “Are you serious?” she said.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Myrtle. We figured out what the monster is, but we need your help to find it.”

Myrtle drew herself up and “stood” straighter with determination. She even seemed to glow brighter. “What do you need to know?”

“When you died…it didn’t ‘just happen’ one day, did it? You _saw_ something—a pair of eyes, right?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Th-that’s right,” she gasped. “How did you know?”

“Because the monster is a basilisk. It kills with its eyes. Where did you see them?”

Myrtle turned and pointed: “Over there, by that sink.”

Harry hurried to the sink and examined it closely. He quickly found that the taps wouldn’t turn.

“That tap never worked, even when I was alive,” Myrtle said.

Harry ignored her and kept examining the sink. Suddenly, everyone in the room jumped (Lockhart most of all) when he made a strange hissing sound. There was a squeak as the tap began glowing white and spinning all on its own, followed by an ominous grinding sound as the entire sink dropped down into the floor, revealing a large, open pipe, easily large enough for a man to slide down, or an enormous snake to slither up.

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Hermione whispered.

“We found it,” Harry said. “We’ll have to go down.”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Vector said. “Unfortunately, we may need you again. Hermione, the glasses?”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll need two more pairs. Myrtle, this is important. I need you to tell me _exactly_ what colour the eyes were that you saw.”

“Oh, they were yellow—definitely yellow. Big and glowing yellow.”

“What kind of yellow? Golden yellow? Jasmine yellow? Saffron yellow?”

“I suppose it was more of a golden yellow, then.”

“Was there any green or blue at all in them? Even a faint film or just little flecks?”

Myrtle closed her eyes in concentration. An uncomfortable frown crossed her face. It couldn’t be easy for her to relive it in detail. “No, there wasn’t,” she decided. “More like flecks of red and orange.”

“Perfect.” Hermione took the four pairs of sunglasses from Professor Vector and set about crafting the spell she needed. “A blue filter matching the wavelength response of the blue cone cells in the eyes—that’ll be about 400 to 480 nanometres,” she muttered. Vector and Harry both watched with interest, although Myrtle and Lockhart looked confused.

When dealing with colours in the _Lumos_ and Colour-Change Charms, as she had learnt over Christmas, the frequency of light was measured in units of the peak frequency of the spectrum of sunlight, which Hermione had looked up and found to be 340 terahertz. In those units, the frequency of visible light ranged from 1.26 to 2.20. The filters she wanted to make would allow frequencies from 1.84 to 2.20 units to pass through, so she just set the zeroes of the equation to those frequency limits, yielding a parabolic function of -(x - 1.84)(x - 2.20), or -x^2 + 4.04x - 4.048. Then, just take the square root and normalise by multiplying by…50/9, and she was good to go.

“No change to the wand movement, same as before,” she continued. “Then the incantation…” She started muttering the required rhythm to think of a word to go with it: “ _Da_ da da _dee_ da… _Da_ da da _dee_ da…Got it! She waved her wand at the first pair of glasses: “ _Colovaria Fluctuabrevis_!” The glasses changed from her earlier rough, intuitive attempt to a deeper royal blue. _Wow, ten syllables_ , she thought. That was longest spell she had ever cast, but very specific spells tended to be long. And yes, it was Dog Latin, but it was the rhythm that mattered, and no one ever bothered to decline spells. She put the glasses on to test them. The torches were considerably dimmer than with her previous attempt, which was a good sign, and Lockhart’s blond hair looked nearly as dark as Harry’s through them, which was an even better sign.

“I think it’s working,” she said, and repeated the spell three times on the other glasses and handed them out. She transfigured Harry’s into clip-ons.

“Hermione, did you just invent a new colour modifier in five minutes _in your head_?” Professor Vector asked in disbelief as she tried on her glasses.

“Professor, is this _really_ the time?” Hermione replied.

“Sorry,” Vector said sheepishly. “But that _was_ brilliant, Hermione.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You know your parents are going to kill me if I let you go down there.”

“I know, ma’am, but they’ll kill me first, so we’ll be even. You’ll need me down there in case something went wrong with the charms.”

“I know. Just promise you’ll be careful. You, too, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor,” both children said.

“Well—I cannot see a thing with these on,” Lockhart broke in, taking his glasses off. “I don’t see how you think they’re going to help.”

“They’ll save you from dying if the basilisk looks you in the eye,” Hermione said sternly, then added, “ _Lacarnum Inflamari_!” She put more power into that spell than she ever had before, and sprayed bluebell flames all around the bathroom, lighting it up in an eerie blue light. “Can you see now?” she demanded.

“Um…yes,” Lockhart admitted.

“Excellent. You can go first, then, Gilderoy,” Vector said.

But Lockhart didn’t budge. “Look, when I said I knew how to kill a basilisk, I may have been exaggerating a tiny bit…”

“Oh, no you don’t, Gilderoy. As the Defence Professor, it’s your job to take care of threats to the school.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m really going to have to resign, then. Now, I don’t want to hurt any of you, but—” He drew his wand.

There was a whispered word, and suddenly, Lockhart went sprawling flat on his back. Hermione and Vector looked around in confusion until they saw Harry standing by the Chamber entrance with his wand drawn and Lockhart’s wand in his other hand. The blue glasses had completely hidden the red light of his muttered _Expelliarmus_. “Shouldn’t have let Snape teach us that one, should you?” he said.

Lockhart went even paler than before as he sat up, although it was hard to tell with the glasses. “Now, see here,” he whimpered. “I’m really no good to you like this.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vector replied with a cold laugh Hermione had never heard from her before. “I’d say you just became the least valuable person in this room. So you can go first and make sure it’s safe.”

“What?!”

“Professor?” Hermione said in surprise.

“You see Gilderoy, I _was_ a Slytherin, after all,” Septima said. “You know, I always thought you were a complete duffer when you were a student, and I now that I see the truth, you still are. Now, get going.”

“I really don’t think—AHHHH!” Harry snuck around and gave him a shove, and he vanished down the pipe. A few moments later, there was a thud and a distant “Oww…”

“Well, he’s alive,” Harry said, and he jumped down after him.

“Harry!” Hermione protested. “Ugh. Boys. We’d better go after them, Professor.”

Vector nodded and they quickly lowered themselves down. The pipe must have gone down hundreds of feet, disgusting and slimy and slippery. Hermione was alternately cringing and screaming all the way down, and she had to hold onto her glasses to keep from losing them. After what seemed like an eternity, it began to level out at an angle that must surely be taking them all the way under the bed of the black lake, and she flew out the end at a probably-unsafe speed and landed with a wet thud in a large stone tunnel. She barely had time to roll out of the way before Professor Vector shot out of the pipe and landed beside her.

“ _Lacarnum Inflamari_!” she cried, spreading more blue fire around the tunnel. They looked around. Lockhart was leaning against the wall and cowering in fear. Then, up ahead, they saw something lying across the passageway—something huge and curved and…misshapen? Hermione squeaked and turned away.

“I’ll take a look,” Harry whispered.

“Careful!” she hissed. “Even with the glasses, you don’t want to look it in the eye.”

Harry was silent for a long moment as he approached it, while Hermione’s heart started beating faster and faster. But finally, he said, “It’s okay. It’s just a skin.”

Hermione turned around and saw the huge shape. “ _Just_ a skin?” she said incredulously. “That basilisk would have to be bigger than an anaconda to leave this.”

Suddenly, there was a thud and a cry behind them. They spun around and saw Lockhart standing over a staggering Vector, holding her wand. “Attacking me from behind, Gilderoy? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded in rage.

Harry and Hermione drew their wands, but Lockhart muttered something, and Hermione barely had time to see a glimmer of light before her wand was wrenched from her hand, and Harry lost both his and the traitorous teacher’s. Lockhart had just used Harry’s own trick against him. “Professor!” they protested.

But Lockhart was wearing a manic grin, now. He pointed his wand for the three of them to line up. “Complete duffer am I, Septima?” he said. “You want the truth? Alright, the truth is that I didn’t do a damn thing I wrote in my books.”

Hermione gasped. Even she had been starting to worry about his credentials, but she never would have imagined he was that much of a fraud.

“You’re right. I’m pants at fighting dark creatures, but I don’t let that stop me. No, I track down the people who _did_ do the deeds, interview them until I can tell their stories in my own inimitable voice, and then wipe their memories so they can’t talk about it afterwards. If there’s one I pride myself on, it’s my Memory Charms.”

“You what?!” Vector shouted. Hermione was too horrified to speak. Stealing other people’s exploits and wiping their memories? That was just sick! She also felt a small twinge of guilt. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d had Fred and George do to Malfoy? But that was just half an hour. These were major life events. She had to get away from this deviant. She turned and started to run…

“ _Incarcerous_!”

Hermione tripped and fell as she was bound in tight ropes from Lockhart’s wand.

“Don’t think nobody’s ever tried _that_ before,” he said smugly. And then, he tied up Harry and Vector for good measure. “I may be rusty, but I can’t afford to be _completely_ incompetent in this business. Now, now, Miss Granger, it’s nothing personal. I _do_ so admire a dedicated fan.”

“I take back every good thing I ever said about you,” Hermione spat.

“Oh dear. Well, it’s just good business,” Lockhart continued, revelling in his position of being the only one with a wand. “I’m much more photogenic than all the real dark creature hunters, you know. Now…what to do with you three…? I think _Brush with a Basilisk_ sounds like a nice title, don’t you? I shall take a bit of that skin up to show Minerva, tell her how I was _tragically_ too late to save the girl, and how the three of you lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body. Aren’t Memory Charms useful?”

That was enough to send Hermione into a full-fledged panic attack. Her teacher was going to wipe her memory. And he wasn’t just going to take half an hour. He was going to take Merlin knew how much. Enough to make people think she’d lost her mind. Her memories of her friends? Of her parents? Of maths and magic? She couldn’t _live_ like that! She had to get away! She started to feel tingly and light-headed, and her hands started to feel hot. She glanced down and saw that the ropes binding her were burning through. In the back of her mind, she realised that she was breaking out of her bonds with accidental magic, but most of her brain was too busy freaking out over the fact that she was already too late.

Lockhart levelled his wand directly at her and cackled leeringly, “Say goodbye to your memories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Fluctuabrevis: based on the Latin for “short wave.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Brokenly writhing worst jeopardy. (Four random common words.)

Fred and George Weasley reluctantly climbed up to their dorm room in Gryffindor Tower while Professor Vector, Harry, Hermione, and that twit Lockhart were going to try to save their baby sister from the Heir of Slytherin. After the things they’d already seen and heard her do, they quickly agreed that they would trust Hermione with their lives—as much as they trusted themselves, anyway. She obviously thought the world of Professor Vector, too, and Harry had done some pretty impressive feats himself, but this was _Ginny_ they were talking about. They would do anything for her, and it was painfully obvious that they’d been ignoring her real problems all year. If she didn’t come back from this, they’d never forgive themselves.

As for the fourth member of the rescue party, they knew Lockhart couldn’t duel his way out of a paper bag. They couldn’t figure why the professors would send him down to the Chamber unless it was as bait, and they were too worried to even laugh at that.

“Out!” Fred shouted the moment they burst into their dorm room.

Kenneth, Lloyd, and Raphael were all too scared of the Twins to dare to question them, and they fled from the room at once. Lee Jordan, however, hesitated and clapped a hand on each of their shoulders on the way out, saying, “I’m sorry, mates. I hope she’s okay.”

“Us too, Lee,” George said.

Fred and George Weasley were most definitely not content to twiddle their thumbs and wait to find out what was happening. Once the room was clear, Fred plunged a hand into his robes and pulled out the one secret they kept from Lee.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The Marauder’s Map unfolded, page by page, floor by floor. They immediately turned to the fourth spread, which showed the second floor, and found Myrtle’s bathroom. Inside the little square were writ the names _Septima Vector, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Gilderoy Lockhart,_ and _Myrtle Warren._

“Well, there they are,” said Fred.

“Yeah. Let’s just hope they find the Chamber,” said George.

“I wish the Chamber were on the map,” Fred complained. “We could have solved all this ages ago.”

They kept watching the Map for a few minutes. The dots shuffled around in the bathroom a bit, but didn’t move otherwise.

“They’re just sitting there,” said Fred.

“Probably still talking to Myrtle. Can’t be easy getting anything out of her.”

“Just a tick…Lockhart’s gone!”

George looked again and then jumped in surprise. “And Harry’s gone, too.”

“And there go Hermione and Vector. They must’ve found the Chamber.”

“Great, ‘cept now we can’t see ‘em.”

“Yeah…I guess there’s nothing we can do but wait for them to come back up.”

“Yeah…”

They sat and waited anxiously, but just a couple minutes they saw something else strange.

“Hey, what’s Ron doing?” said Fred.

George looked and saw a dot labelled _Ronald Weasley_ moving toward Myrtle’s bathroom.

“Must be going after them,” said George.

“Wow, he’s more Gryffindor than I thought.”

“And what does that make us?”

The Twins stared at each other and then started to rush down the Common Room. Fortunately, George kept his wits about him: “Wait a minute, they’ll see us leave. How did Ron get out?”

Fred stopped in his tracks. “I dunno,” he said, “but we’re gonna need a distraction.”

A minute later, something very strange happened, especially for a dire situation like this. A Filibuster Firework exploded in the Gryffindor Common Room, sending the students running for cover in terror of another attack.

“It’s crude, but it worked,” Fred said as they jumped out the portrait hole. And they took off down the corridor.

But they’d barely made it a few steps before George stopped and hissed, “Abort! Abort! Snape’s coming!”

“Snape? What’s he doing there?” Fred whispered, sneaking a peak at the Map.

“I don’t know, but we’ve gotta go back in and try again when he leaves. We’ll never get past him.”

“Well, that’s just great,” Fred growled, but he followed his twin back to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Unfortunately, this one time, they weren’t quite fast enough, and Snape spotted them climbing in as he rounded the corner. “Messrs. Weasley!” the greasy git snapped. “Under the circumstances, I will _assume_ that you were a bit late in returning to your tower.” The Twins glanced at each other nervously. “There has been a change of plans. Your parents have just arrived in Professor McGonagall’s office. Go find Percy and Ronald so that I may…escort you to them,” he grumbled.

Fred and George exchanged a nervous look as they realised they’d just lost their chance to help. This wasn’t going to end well.

* * *

Ronald Weasley was not going to take the kidnapping of his little sister lying down, either, doubly so when his two best friends were putting themselves in harm’s way to save her. By the time he made it back to Gryffindor Tower, he already had a plan—maybe not his best plan, but he had a plan. He rushed up to his dorm and set upon Harry’s trunk, ignoring the questions of Neville, Dean, and Seamus. In a few moments, he found Harry’s invisibility cloak and raced out of the room.

Unseen, Ron rushed through the corridors, narrowly avoiding Snape, among other teachers, until he came to Myrtle’s bathroom. Inside, he found no sign of any live people, but the whole place was filled with Hermione’s blue fire, and one sink seemed to have been ripped away, revealing a huge open pipe. He pulled the cloak partway off, revealing his head.

“AHHH!” Myrtle shrieked like she’d seen a—never mind.

“Myrtle, calm down, it’s me,” Ron said. He pointed to the pipe. “Did everybody go down there?”

“Yes,” Myrtle said uncommonly happily. “Are you here to avenge my death, too?”

Ron blinked in surprise: “Erm, yeah, I guess.” And before she could enquire further, he jumped down the pipe.

He sincerely hoped that Harry’s invisibility cloak had invisible stains, too, because the pipe was very long and very slimy. He wasn’t quite sure why he left it on, except maybe that he didn’t want to take the time to fold it up again. Finally, he hit the ground with a thud, skidding out of the pipe into a large tunnel that was also filled with blue fire. He staggered to his feet and tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

* * *

Lockhart pointed his wand at Hermione: “Say goodbye to your memories… _Obliv—_ ARGH!”

Hermione gasped as Lockhart spontaneously pitched forward and fell flat on his face. At that moment, the ropes binding her snapped by accidental magic, and, acting on instinct, she ran forward, kicked Lockhart hard in the stomach with a satisfying thud, and grabbed all four of the wands from his hands. It was only then that she looked up and tried to figure out what had interrupted his spell.

And Ron pulled off Harry’s invisibility cloak and appeared out of thin air with a half-grin on his face. “Been wanting to do that for months,” he said.

“Ron!” Hermione jumped over Lockhart’s winded form, grabbed the redheaded boy, and hugged him for all she was worth. “Oh, thank God! Thank Merlin! That was too close. Thank you, Ron, thank you!”

“Wow, Hermione, I didn’t think you’d be _that_ happy to see me,” Ron grunted, clearly struggling to breathe under her grip.

“Sorry,” she muttered, breaking off and collecting herself. “This filthy, lying… _bastard_ —” She kicked Lockhart in the arse, causing him to grunt in pain. “Was going to wipe our memories and leave Ginny to die just so he could write another book!”

“What!” Ron roared.

But before he could get in a kick himself, Professor Vector interrupted, “That’s enough. Miss Granger, my wand?”

“Oh, right, Professor.” Hermione handed her wand and Lockhart’s over and tossed Harry’s to him.

“ _Incarcerous_ ,” Vector said, and Lockhart was bound in ropes. She crouched down next to him and removed his sunglasses. “Here, Mr. Weasley, put these on. They’ll protect you from the basilisk—mostly. As for _you_ , Gilderoy, you nearly blasted the brightest mind to come through Hogwarts since before you were born. You have no idea what you’re dealing with here. It’d serve you right if I wiped _your_ memory, but I want you to remember that you don’t screw with Septima Vector, and you _especially_ don’t screw with my students.” Hermione’s eyes widened as she remembered the other moments she had seen her teacher like this—against the troll and Quirrel. She was definitely a fighter. Vector stood up, determined to ignore anything more Lockhart said. “Come along, Mr. Weasley, since you’re here, and we have no fast way to get you out, let’s go find your sister. And keep that cloak handy.”

Ron stood up straight and nodded, drawing his wand. He deliberately stepped on Lockhart as he moved forward.

Septima Vector walked on with the three children in tow—two of whose help she needed and the third just stuck with them out of stubbornness—and wondered how she’d got into this situation again. Twenty years of teaching at Hogwarts with no major incidents, including clear through the war, and now, the same three children had come into mortal peril three times in the space of two years, each time with her as the only adult around to help them. The thought crossed her mind that Harry Potter might be cursed—not that that would stop Hermione from being his friend. If the girl could survive a basilisk, she wasn’t sure anything could stop Hermione—at least that’s what she told herself.

The girl in question was moving holding a jar of bluebell flames aloft for visibility and casting the charm around the corridor every so often. Wand at the ready, though she really didn’t have much idea what spells to use against a basilisk, Vector tried to keep in front. Rounding another bend, they came upon a wall on which two emerald-eyed serpents were carved. At once, Potter made that eerie hissing sound that made her shudder in her shoes, and a door slid silently open.

This, they realised, must be the true Chamber of Secrets. It was high and vaulted like a macabre cathedral, supported by towering pillars carved like serpents,  barely visible in the dim light and stretching out and disappearing into the shadows. That little jar of flames wasn’t going to cut it.

“No element of surprise,” Hermione warned. She raised her wand and threw blue fire as far as she could into the Chamber, but even then, they couldn’t see to the other end.

“Stay alert,” Vector said, and she started forward.

Pillar after pillar they passed, the serpents looking frighteningly alive in the flickering firelight. Their footsteps echoed thunderously in the stillness. Hermione threw out another spread of flames what looked like about halfway down, revealing the shadowy image of an enormous statue in the distance with a long, thin beard, a glaring face, and sweeping stone robes.

“That must be Slytherin,” Harry said.

“Mm hmm,” Vector confirmed. “There’s a bust of him in the Slytherin Common Room. Hermione, are you feeling alright? You’ve been using that spell an awful lot. And you were unconscious an hour ago.”

“I’ll manage,” Hermione said, though truthfully, she was starting to feel out of breath. She threw out one more spread of fire as they approached the statue, and then she saw a small, figure sprawled on the floor as if she had fallen down in homage to the statue, her long, _black_ hair fanned out around her head.

Hermione was the first to remember the effect of the glasses on colours. “ _Ginny_!” she cried and ran over to the girl.

“ _Ginny_!” Harry and Ron repeated, following close behind.

She turned the girl over, putting her rusty first aid knowledge to good use and feeling for a pulse. “She’s alive,” she said with a sigh of relief, although the pulse was weak, and she felt ice cold to the touch.

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Ron said. He shook Ginny’s shoulder: “Ginny, wake up! We have to get out of here!” Ginny flopped around limply. “Wake up!” he said more frantically.

“Maybe the basilisk knocked her out somehow,” Hermione suggested. “Let’s just find a way out and get her to Madam Pomfrey.”

She and Ron started to pick her up, but then a deep voice said softly from behind them, “She won’t wake.”

The four of them spun around to see a tall, handsome, dark-haired boy of about sixteen leaning against a pillar. He had a strange look about him: blurry around the edges, maybe even a little translucent. Hermione couldn’t tell with the glasses if he was in full colour or in black and white, like a ghost, and she wasn’t going to risk taking them off.

Harry gasped as he recognised the boy: “ _Tom_?”

“Tom?” Ron said.

“Tom _Riddle_?” Hermione asked. “From the diary?”

“Diary?” Vector said in confusion.

“Very clever, Miss Granger,” said Tom Riddle with a grin. “I wasn’t sure whether to believe Ginny’s stories about your intelligence. But seeing your ingenious means of defending yourself against my basilisk convinced me. I admit even _I_ would have never thought to use blue-tinted glasses.”

“ _Your_ basilisk?” Ron said. “ _You! You_ _’re_ the Heir of Slytherin! What did you do to Ginny?” He jumped up and charged Riddle.

“Weasley!” Vector shouted, but she was too slow. Ron passed straight through him like a ghost.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Weasley,” Riddle said, holding his hand aloft. Impossibly, he had picked Ron’s pocket and was now holding the redhead’s wand in his hand.

“W-what are you?” Vector asked fearfully. She’d never heard of a spirit doing that, and she could practically smell dark magic on him. She had a feeling negotiating wouldn’t do much good here.

“A memory,” Riddle said. “Preserved for fifty years in my diary.” He motioned to the stone steps at the base of the statue, where lay the diary Harry had found in Myrtle’s bathroom, and then, looking back and forth between Ginny and the black book, Hermione finally remembered where else she had seen it before.

“Oh, my God, I’m such a fool!” she cried. Everyone turned to stare at her, even Riddle. “I _saw_ Ginny with that diary the day we went to Diagon Alley. She asked me if it was mine. She didn’t know where it came from, but she started acting funny the day after she got it. I…I never even thought of it again,” she said sadly.

“Oh, yes, Miss Granger,” Riddle said, his evil grin growing wider. “Of all the people in the school, you came the closest to derailing my plans. Even closer than Percy, despite his constant snooping. I was expecting a girl with no friends her own age, who despaired over coming to school with secondhand books and robes, who was constantly teased and overshadowed by her brothers—” Ron face turned eerily dark through the glasses, which meant he was flushing deep red. “—and then _you_ came along and befriended her, giving her a real human being to prattle to about all of her pitiful worries and woes, forcing her brothers to recognise her Quidditch skills, helping her prank them back when they pranked her. You very nearly wrenched her from my grasp.” Tom let out a cold, high, almost falsetto laugh. “But I’ve always been able to charm the people I’ve needed, and as soon as you felt that your own life was in danger, suddenly, you were too wrapped up in your own worries to pay attention to her.”

Hermione sank to the stone floor in horror. How much of this mess had _she_ brought about?

But Ron was growing increasingly enraged: “Tell me what you did to Ginny!”

A bang issued from Ron’s wand in Riddle’s hand, and Ron was thrown back into Harry and Hermione and lay sprawled on the floor.

“Ah, Ronald, the most clueless brother,” Riddle said. “It’s not what _I_ did. It’s what _Ginny_ did. I was the only one there for her when all her friends and family abandoned her, when she didn’t think she could talk to anyone else, when she despaired that the famous, great, good Harry Potter would never like her…” He let out a creepy, girlish sigh. “And, of course, when she started having blackouts and tried to figure out why—that was about the only interesting thing she wrote, mind you, but I was patient while she poured out her soul to me, and she became close enough—she _trusted_ me enough, that I was able to put a little of myself back into her.”

The answer clicked in Vector’s mind: “You possessed her!” The children gasped and turned to her. “You’ve been controlling her all year. Your…diary thing made _her_ open the Chamber, attack the students, write those messages…”

“Smart group here,” Riddle laughed again. “Quite the catch. To be honest, I was only hoping for Mr. Potter.”

“M-m-me?” Harry stammered. Hermione could see his eyebrows shoot up behind his clip-on sunglasses.

“But of course. Such a _fascinating_ story you have there. It was a lucky break for me when Ginny stopped trusting her diary and threw it away, only for you to find it. Unfortunately, you weren’t quite as trusting as she was—”

“You tried to turn me against Hagrid!” Harry protested.

“Yes, that oaf Hagrid. That was one of my rare miscalculations, showing you that. You saw through it almost as fast as Dumbledore did, and I spent the next two and half months trapped at the bottom of your trunk. I was most displeased when Ginny panicked and stole the diary back, but I had to make do. I was _sure_ I could lure you down here if one of your little friends was attacked, but then, I seemed to have underestimated _you_ , Miss Granger—the brains of your little trio. As soon as I saw that the blue glasses had protected you, I knew you’d solved the mystery, and I had to move up my plans.”

“T-taking Ginny,” Hermione said. Riddle smiled and nodded.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Ron shouted.

“What? Haven’t you figured it out yet, Weasley? No? Pfft. Children these days. Perhaps you, Professor? You were a Slytherin, weren’t you? Seen a fair bit of dark magic in your day?”

Vector shook her head: “I don’t…I’ve never seen…” She stopped and looked at the Weasley girl, and then took another, careful look at the strange boy. “You’re drawing on her life force, somehow,” she said. “You’ve got more solid since we came down here. You’re using her to…what? Come back to life?”

“Oh, _bravo_ , Professor. Ten points to Slytherin. That was a difficult one. Yes, Ginny poured enough of herself into me for me to leave the pages of my diary at last. And the process is nearly complete…”

Ron tried to leap to his feet again, but Harry and Hermione held him back. He was no good without a wand.

“You let her go!” Vector shouted. “ _Stupefy_!”

The professor’s Stunner passed straight through Riddle’s head. He laughed evilly and brandished Ron’s wand: “Ah ah ah. You can’t hurt me, but I can hurt you. I suggest you behave, Professor. I have questions for Mr. Potter, here.”

Harry’s nostrils flared: “Like what?”

“Like how _you_ , a scrawny boy of no great magical talent, defeated the greatest wizard of all time. How is it that you came away with only a scar while Lord Voldemort’s powers were destroyed?” Vector and Ron gasped.

“Why do you care?” Harry said defiantly. “Voldemort was after your time.”

At this, Riddle laughed the most heartily that he had all night. His laughter echoed through the Chamber as if reaching to the deepest depths. “Foolish boy, do you still not see,” he said? He raised Ron’s wand and began drawing letters of blue fire in the air:

 

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

 

Hermione was looking for it once, and she gasped when she saw it. Then, with a flourish, Riddle guided the letters to rearrange themselves. Then, Vector must have seen it too, because she gasped and started shouting the nastiest spells she could think of before he finished, “ _Reducto! Brachium Emendo! Defodio! Viscera_ —”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Riddle said lazily as the curses passed through him, some of them blasting craters in the Chamber wall. Vector’s wand was flung from her hand.

In the air between them, the letters had rearranged to spell:

 

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

 

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered.

“Not again,” Hermione mumbled flopping down on her hands and knees directly beside Ron. Ron looked like he was about to faint.

“You see, Potter? Not one of you can touch me,” Riddle— _Voldemort_ said. “You cannot stop me. Ginny will die, and Lord Voldemort will return, _very much alive_.”

“NO!” All eyes turned to Hermione. She seemed to be trying to scramble away in a panic and looked to be unable to get a grip with her hands and feet. “No, no, no, no, NO!” Suddenly, she staggered to her feet and ran away as fast as she could.

“Hermione!” Harry cried in disbelief.

“Hermione?” Ron said.

Riddle just laughed again. “Run all you want, girl!” he called after her. “It’s too late to get help! Well, Mr. Potter, it looks like your friend is still the same scared little mudblood as ever, running away when things get too tough.”

“Hermione’s ten times as good a witch as you are a wizard!” he said defiantly.

“From what I could gather, your mudblood couldn’t even take on Draco Malfoy herself when she thought _he_ was the Heir of Slytherin. She’s just one more person who says she’s on your side, but you _can_ _’t_ rely on when you really need help. Just like your teachers, who ignore all of your concerns. Just like Dumbledore, who left you with such awful relatives—oh, yes, Ginny told me everything.”

“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard in the world! He’s the only one _you_ were ever afraid of.”

“Albus Dumbledore has been driven from this castle by the mere _memory_ of me.”

“You’re wrong!” Harry levelled his wand at Riddle, even though he didn’t know what he’d do with it. His face was white as he tried to bluff Riddle: “I’m with Dumbledore. _We_ _’re_ with Dumbledore. Every single teacher in this castle is with Dumbledore. They told us so. He’ll never be gone while we’re here!”

Riddle started to laugh again, but he froze. Music began to fill the Chamber—an unearthly music—Harry, Ron, and even Vector were convinced it was the most beautiful music they had ever heard—a sweeping, courageous, uplifting music. And then, a huge bird, as large as a swan, appeared on top of a pillar and swooped down to land beside Harry, dropping something at his feet. The bird was a deep midnight blue in the glasses, but it seemed to shine like starlight around the edges, and its eyes glowed like sapphires. Harry had never seen the bird in its prime, but he knew the shape at once.

“Fawkes?” he said.

“Fawkes!” Vector exclaimed, relieved at the help.

“A phoenix,” Riddle breathed.

“ _Dumbledore_ _’s_ phoenix,” Harry told him. “You see?”

Riddle looked down at the small bundle that had fallen at Harry’s feet. “And the Sorting Hat, it seems,” he smirked, twirling Ron’s wand in his hands and levelling it at Harry, probably to cast some horrible curse. “So this is what Dumbledore sends his champion: a songbird and an old ha—AHHH!”

Ron’s wand jerked in Riddle’s hand. Something appeared to have attacked him from behind, passing through his ghostly body, but physically fighting with him for the wand. His arm shook more and more violently, and he tried to cast a couple of spells, which went wide. He groped about blindly with his other hand, forgetting that his body was still intangible.

Then, a hand appeared from thin air, and another voice cried out, “ _Lumos Solem_!”

“AHHH!”

A brilliant flash of sunlight was visible around the rims of the onlookers’ glasses, and a fair bit of blue got through the lenses. Riddle took it point blank in the face. There was a sickening crack, and he staggered back, covering his eyes with his hands.

Harry, Ron, and Vector watched in awe as the hand appeared again, and pulled off Harry’s invisibility cloak.

“Hermione!” they said.

There she was, standing in her stocking feet for quiet, the tip of her wand still glowing, and glaring as fiercely as she could at Riddle. “I’m not running away anymore,” she said.

Then, she looked down at her other hand: “Oh, Ron, I’m so sorry.”

Ron paled when he saw her hand. His wand was snapped clean in two. “My wand!”

“I’m sorry Ron. I had to get it away from him. I’ll…I’ll buy you a new one—wait a minute.” She raced over to Ginny and felt around her robes. In a few moments, she fished out Ginny’s wand. “Here, use hers for now.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ron whined, but he took Ginny’s wand.

They heard a growl. “Forget the questions!” Riddle said. Then, he let out a long string of hisses. There was a stony grinding sound, and the mouth of the huge statue of Salazar Slytherin opened.

“The basilisk! Run!” Harry yelled. He snatched up the Sorting Hat and backed away, trying to hiss back.

“Parseltongue won’t save you now, Potter. It only obeys the Heir of Slytherin,” Riddle said.

Ron and Hermione scattered. Vector picked up Ginny and threw her over her shoulder before heading back toward the exit.

Riddle hissed something else. Hermione didn’t know what he said, but from the way Harry screamed, “Hermione, watch out!” she could guess that it was something along the lines of, _Kill the mudblood!_

She ducked behind a pillar and tried to think of a spell that she could possibly use. As a powerful magical creature, the basilisk was sure to have a powerfully magic-resistant hide that would block most of the spells she knew. Professor Vector was firing curses blindly behind her as fast as she could, hoping that something would get through: “ _Conjunctivitis! Diffindo! Percutio! Reducto! Defodio! Bombarda! Confringo! Depulso! Incendio! Immobulus_!” Hermione could only cast a handful of those spells, and not as powerfully. Dazzling the basilisk with light like she had Riddle was the only thing that came to mind—if only she knew some kind of armour-piercing spells.

“What the—?” she heard Harry say, and she saw him pulling something long and glittering out of the Sorting Hat. But then, the worst happened.

The basilisk glided into view, turned its head, and looked at her.

She couldn’t make out where its eyes were in that split second, but she felt them hit hard. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. She was still conscious, but it was like being hit with a lead pipe. She had a whanging headache again, and all that spellcasting before was catching up with her. Good God, it was huge! Forty feet long, maybe fifty. She could hear it slithering closer and closer, looming over her. A drop of deadly venom dripped down from its fangs and burned a hole clean through the skirts of her robes…

“Hey!” Harry yelled, and at the same time, Fawkes screeched. Hermione squinted in the flickering light and thought she was hallucinating. She saw Harry running straight at the basilisk with a huge _sword,_ but he staggered and fell to his knees, clearly having been caught by its gaze. It lunged to strike, but it jerked back when Fawkes screeched again and dived at it. The snake roared in pain, and Hermione chanced another glance up at its head, confirming what she expected: Fawkes had pecked out its eyes, preserved by the regenerative powers of the phoenix.

“It’s blind!” Hermione screamed. She whipped her glasses off her face. The world looked green from the yellow afterimage combined with the bluebell flames strewn around the Chamber, but it was much brighter and clearer. “Fawkes blinded it—AHHH!” In its flailing, the side of the basilisk’s head struck her in the chest and knocked her into the wall. She was sure she felt a rib crack, and she collapsed in pain.

Riddle was hissing with rage. The basilisk turned on Harry again, striking blindly. Harry was on the floor holding the sword up above him. He rolled out of the way as the King of Serpents’ many fangs missed and gouged into the floor inches to his right—its teeth scraped on the stone. Then his left—a fang broke off on the floor. Over his head—Harry thrust the sword upward, gouging into its throat and tongue. It jerked back in pain, but lined up again, ready to strike directly at Harry’s face.

“Hey!” Professor Vector and Ron were running at the basilisk, sunglasses off and shooting spells. Ron’s hexes were sure to do no more than annoy the beast, but Hermione pulled herself up joined in with what spells she knew, anyway. Vector, however, was aiming powerful curses at its mouth and empty eye sockets. Most of her spells splashed off the armoured skin of its face, but one _Incendio_ slipped between its jaws and struck the sensitive flesh in the roof of its mouth.

The basilisk roared in pain again, and it lunged toward the source of the spells. It barely missed as Vector jumped back. Not bothering to remove his clip-on sunglasses, Harry flipped over and scrambled forwards, sword in hand. When the snake brought its head down again, he pushed off with his feet, running the two or three steps of space under the huge arc of its body, and thrust the sword into its jaw with all his strength. The glimmering steel thrust through the cut flesh of its lower jaw, through the burnt flesh of its upper jaw, and straight through the beast’s brain, emerging from the top of its head. Hermione, Ron, and Vector gasped as the Monster of Slytherin, a thousand years old, shuddered once and collapsed lifeless to the Chamber floor.

Right on top of Harry!

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione yelled.

“Potter!” Vector said. She didn’t even try to levitate the carcass. She just pointed her wand and yelled, “ _Depulso_!” The snake’s body rolled off of Harry under the Banishing Charm, flipping Harry over in the process. “Are you alright, Mr. Potter?” she said worriedly, casting what few diagnostic charms she knew.

“Oww…I’ll live,” Harry groaned. Hermione wasn’t sure Harry was the best judge of that, but her teacher seemed to calm down as she examined him—a little. “Is it dead?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, it’s definitely dead. Now, lie still. You’re still in bad shape.”

“Ginny?” he said weakly.

“Still out cold,” Ron said. He dragged Ginny back to the group from where Vector had set her down. Hermione staggered toward them, clutching her chest above her cracked rib and still nursing her headache, feeling like she was about to collapse from exhaustion.

And then Riddle—Voldemort—strode toward them in a rage—still blurry, still transparent, but nearly solid, now. “You think you’ve won, Potter?” he ranted. “You’ve lost! You may have killed Slytherin’s beast, but you still can’t save Ginny! Lord Voldemort _will_ return, and then I will kill every one of your friends and save you for last…I think I’ll start with the mudblood.”

Hermione started at the wicked wizard like a deer in headlamps. She didn’t know what to do. Ginny was going to die, and her own chances of making it out of here still looked slim. But then, she made the connection: the diary, the broken fang, the hole burnt through her robes. She straightened up and pointed her wand not at Riddle, not at Ginny, but at the diary, and she prayed she had the strength to cast one more spell.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

“What!” Riddle shouted.

The diary was light, but it was a small target to levitate across a large distance, and it was much harder than usual. It wobbled as she levitated it toward her with shaking hands, and then dropped as Tom lunged at her, quite possibly solid enough to touch her now, forcing her to duck and roll out of the way, further hurting her chest.

But it was then—not when Lockhart tried to Memory Charm them, not when she found out what had happened to the Weasley girl, not when the basilisk came out of the statue, but now, when he tried to throttle Hermione—that Septima Vector’s anger boiled over, and in a moment of sudden clarity, she knew what she had to do.

“Not today, you son of a bitch! _Accio_ diary!”

“No!”

But Riddle wasn’t fast enough. The diary flew into her hand, and she threw it on the floor next to the broken off, foot-long basilisk fang and knelt over it. Hermione knelt over it, too, and recognition flickered in Harry’s eyes, and he rolled over painfully to reach it. All three of their hands reached it at the same moment, and Ron’s hand joined them a split second later when he saw what they were doing, even as he cradled Ginny in his other arm.

“No! Stop that!” Riddle shouted. He lunged at them again, but there was nothing he could do. The foursome lifted up the fang like a dagger and plunged it with all their might into the cover of the diary. Ink poured out of the cover like a torrent of blood. Riddle screamed a long, piercing scream that seemed to emanate from the diary itself, and then he vanished in a flash of light.

And Ginny’s eyes flew open, and she gasped for breath.

“Ginny!” Ron cried with joy and clutched his sister tight to his chest. “Oh, thank Merlin!”

“R-R-Ron…?” Ginny said weakly.

“You’re alright,” he said.

“Ron! The monster! We have to get out of here!”

“It’s okay, Ginny,” Hermione said. She held up the destroyed diary for her to see. “It’s all over.”

“Hermione?” the younger girl said in confusion. Her eyes wandered from the diary to Professor Vector to the dead basilisk to Harry lying in pain on the ground. “Harry?” she gasped and started sobbing into Ron’s shoulder: “Oh my God, Harry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to do it, I swear—Riddle made me—he took me over—I couldn’t stop him—I wanted to tell someone, but I was so scared—what happened? How did you kill it? What happened to Riddle?”

“Please calm down, Miss Weasley,” Professor Vector said. “Riddle is gone, and Mr. Potter killed the basilisk. You’re safe, now.”

“But I’ll be expelled!” Ginny cried. “I set a giant monster on the school!”

“I highly doubt that. Riddle told us everything. Being possessed by You-Know-Who is hardly grounds for expulsion. Now, we need to get you four to the Hospital Wing. Can you walk, Miss Weasley?”

“I…I think so.” Ron helped her to her feet.

“Hermione?”

“I’ll manage,” she said for the third time that night, although she was wobbling and slipping in her sock-clad feet.

“Come here, Hermione,” Vector said, and she propped up one of Hermione’s arms on her shoulder and summoned her shoes. Harry tried to right himself, but it was clearly impossible. The professor pointed her wand at him and said, “ _Mobilicorpus_.” Harry rose off the ground, lying flat in the air. “Try to relax, Mr. Potter. We’ll get you to help as soon as possible. Mr. Weasley, could you get that sword and the Sorting Hat, please?” Ron nodded and stuck them in his belt. Vector turned to the phoenix and said, “I’m sorry to trouble you further, Fawkes, but do you think you could carry the five of us—damn, Lockhart—the five of us plus one more up out of the Chamber?”

 _Caw!_ Fawkes crowed, and he nodded.

“Thank you, Fawkes. Let’s go.”

“Hermione?” Ron said as they stumbled toward the exit.

“Yeah?”

“Did you just hex You-Know-Who in the face _again_?”

“Oh, no,” Hermione said in embarrassment, and she covered her face with her free hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percutio: the Piercing Hex, based on the Latin for “pierce.”
> 
> Viscera—: the beginning of the Entrail-Expelling Curse, based on the Latin for “organs.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Draw two socks at random from JK Rowling’s sock drawer. If they match, the probability that Dobby is involved is low. The probability that Harry Potter is involved is high regardless.

Six witches and wizards appeared in Myrtle’s bathroom in a flash of flames and tumbled to the floor in a heap.

“You’re alive!” the ghost said, making no effort to hide her surprise. “Did you…did you do it?”

“It’s done,” Hermione said wearily. “The monster’s dead. This was controlling it.” She held up the diary. “Of course, the man who made it is still out there, but—”

But that seemed to be enough for Myrtle already: “Oh, thank you, Hermione—and all of you!” She swooped down and gave Hermione an awkward, ghostly hug that made her feel like she’d been dunked in ice water. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me since I died. How can I ever repay you?”

“Well,” Professor Vector spoke up, “you can start be finding Professor McGongall. Tell her we got Ginny—and Ronald—and we’ll meet her in the Hospital Wing.”

“Yes, _ma_ _’am_!” she saluted and zoomed away through the wall with a smile, shining brightly.

“Wow,” Hermione said, “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Myrtle smile before.”

When they reached the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey already had six beds ready with potions for whatever she might find. (Myrtle had probably not been very specific.) Professor McGonagall was already there, along with five frantic Weasleys.

For a moment, there was silence as the six newcomers stood in the doorway, covered in muck and grime, three of them with dark blue glasses pushed up on their foreheads, leaving comical-looking clean marks on their faces. Ron—the one who wasn’t supposed to be there—was supporting Ginny, carrying a sword on his belt, and leading Gilderoy Lockhart by the wrists on a _leash_. Septima Vector was supporting Hermione, levitating Harry in front of her and carrying a beautiful red and gold bird on her shoulder.

Then, there was a chorus of shouts, most of them saying, “ _Ginny_!”

Mrs. Weasley was the first on her feet. She leapt forward and flung herself on her two youngest children with tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Ginny, thank Merlin you’re alive!” she sobbed. “ _Ronald Bilius Weasley, what were you thinking?_ Ginny, are you alright? What happened? Ronald, why do you have a _sword_?”

Mr. Weasley raced forward, too, with Fred and George following (Percy hung back uncomfortably, clearly struggling with his usual stoic facade), but there wasn’t room for them to join the crush, so they turned to Harry, Hermione and Vector.

“You saved her—” Fred started.

“Thank you so much,” George finished.

“Harry, mate, you okay?” Fred added.

“He will be if he gets help,” Vector interrupted. “Poppy, quickly.” She laid him on the nearest bed, and he groaned softly.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him: “Merlin’s beard, what happened to him?”

“The basilisk _fell_ on him.”

“ _Fell_ on him? Just how big a basilisk are we talking about?”

“I’d say about fifty feet,” Hermione said flatly.

“What!” most of the adults in the room exclaimed.

Mrs. Weasley broke away from Ginny and Ron and rushed towards Hermione. Hermione threw her hands up to stop her, but it was no good. “Oh my goodness, and you saved her,” she said, hugging Hermione tight.

“ _Ow, ow, OW! Cracked ribs_!”

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry.”

Finally, Professor McGonagall took charge: “Please lie down, Miss Granger. We’ll sort this…Gilderoy? What happened to you?” She finally noticed the leashed Defence Professor.

“Oh, Professor, I want to press charges against this… _criminal_ ,” Hermione spoke up, still wincing. She kicked Lockhart in the back of the leg, causing him to stumble down onto one knee.

“Miss Granger!”

“Ow!” Lockhart complained. “Again with the kicking!”

“I want to press charges for attempted use of Memory Charms on a minor.” McGonagall, Pomfrey, and the Weasleys gasped.

Professor Vector nodded in confirmation. “It’s true; he told us everything. He’s been Memory Charming people for years to steal their stories for his books. If the Ministry can find them and restore them, he’ll be going to Azkaban for a long time.”

Mrs. Weasley was livid. “You—you—to think I bought _all_ of your books!”

McGonagall grumbled to herself, “It gets worse every year doesn’t it? Alright, Lockhart, we’ll hold you here for the time being. Poppy, see he’s restrained. Please lie down, Miss Granger. We’ll sort this out once you’ve all been helped. Professor Dumbledore is on his way.”

“Dumbledore?” Harry slurred excitedly.

“Yes, as soon as they heard Miss Weasley was taken, the governors called him back. Hagrid should also be back in the morning.”

Hermione lay down and immediately felt weariness overtake her. Ginny took the bed next to her and continued to be peppered with questions from her family that she really didn’t want to answer until Madam Pomfrey told them to back off and wait for Professor Dumbledore to arrive. Lockhart was tied to a bed at the end of the ward.

She spent the next half hour or so half asleep, barely remaining alert enough to tell roughly what was going on. Her cracked ribs (there were two) were mended in a trice, but she was still pretty banged up and suffering from magical exhaustion from casting so much Bluebell Fire. Ginny was physically fine except for a few bruises from being thrown around in the Chamber. Harry was stabilised quickly, but Madam Pomfrey said he was lucky to be alive, since he had at least five hundred pounds of the basilisk’s body fall directly on him, and he wouldn’t be walking for a while. Finally, Hermione drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

She awoke to the sensation of someone gently sponging her forehead. Remembering Harry’s story from last fall, she snapped upright, but the elf by her bedside had a short nose and blue eyes. “Sonya?”

“Hello, Hermione Granger, miss,” the elf said buoyantly. “Sonya is very happy you is alright.”

“Er, yeah, except for the magical exhaustion.” She still felt like she’d just run a marathon. She chuckled weakly. “Heh, I guess we’re even, now.”

Sonya blushed and said, “Sonya was happy to help. You is very brave to fight the giant monster, miss.”

“Thanks. What time is it?”

“It is being ten o’clock, miss. You was asleep for about an hour, but you needs to wake up now because Professor Dumbledore is being here, miss.”

“Professor Dumbledore!”

“Yes, Miss Granger,” the kindly headmaster said from across the room. Fawkes was sitting on his shoulder, now. “I am glad to see you are all recovering nicely. I’m sure this has been a difficult ordeal. I think a round of hot chocolate for all will be a help.”

Hermione looked around as she took a steaming mug of cocoa from Madam Pomfrey and saw Harry blinking awake in the adjacent bed. The destroyed diary was on the bedside table between them. The same crowd was there as before, sitting around the infirmary in a scene eerily reminiscent of the aftermath of last year’s adventure.

“Alright, we’re all awake, now,” Mrs. Weasley spoke up impatiently. “Now could someone _please_ tell us what happened to Ginny?”

“Well, it really started at breakfast…was it this morning?” Hermione started. How had so much happened in the last twelve hours? She told everyone how she had realised Harry was hearing Parseltongue, identified the monster in the library, sent Sonya to warn Professor McGonagall, and then been attacked by the basilisk herself. McGonagall then explained her actions to secure the school and retrieve Harry to listen for the basilisk, and being informed that Hermione and Penelope were attacked. Then, Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge stuck their noses into it, and finally, Ginny was taken into the Chamber.

After that, Hermione, Harry, and Professor Vector spoke in turns explaining the plan they had formulated after Hermione woke up, going down into the Chamber, and fighting Lockhart and then Riddle. There was a commotion when Hermione mentioned the diary, and Ginny shivered and started crying into her hot chocolate.

“But then Riddle told us he was really You-Know-Who—” Hermione said.

“W-what?” Mr. Weasley gasped. “You-Know-Who p-possessed _Ginny?_ But how—?”

“His d-diary!” Ginny sobbed. “It wrote back when I wrote in it. He was wr-writing to me all year. I t-tried to fight him, but I c-couldn’t!”

“Ginny!” Mr. Weasley scolded harshly. “Haven’t I taught you anything? Never trust anything that can think for itself _if you can_ _’t see where it keeps its brain_. That diary was _obviously_ dark magic, and—”

Ginny spilt her hot chocolate on the floor and buried her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Please calm yourself, Arthur,” Dumbledore said softly, waving his wand idly to clean up the hot chocolate and get her another mug. “Your daughter has been through a terrible ordeal, and far wiser witches and wizards that she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort. I think that being possessed is more than punishment enough. And fortunately, no lasting harm has been done.”

Ginny was still shaking on her bed. “Daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” she whined softly. “I found the diary in with my books. I thought you or Mum got it for me.”

“Oh dear…” Mr. Weasley said. “I’m sorry, Ginny. Afraid I overreacted a bit, there.” Ginny shifted in her bed and let her father wrap her in a hug.

“Professor,” Hermione jumped in, remembering something else from last year, “what happened to keeping a closer eye out for possessed people?”

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both turned and glared at Dumbledore. The Headmaster sighed and answered, “Unfortunately, Miss Weasley what not possessed until she was already _inside_ the castle. It is one thing to monitor the ward boundaries for possessed individuals—though I’m afraid even that is not completely foolproof—but it is far more difficult—and would face far more opposition—to police the students so closely at all times inside the castle. Even the types of wards and monitoring that would be required are different.”

“But what is it good for, then?” Mrs. Weasley.

“I assure you that the new measures would have easily stopped the _real_ Voldemort from entering the castle,” Dumbledore replied apologetically.

“Ahem…We will certainly be reviewing our security again,” McGonagall interrupted,“but I should think we should like to hear how you defeated…You-Know-Who and the basilisk.”

“Oh, right,” Hermione said. “Well, I knew we needed to get Ron’s wand away from Riddle—I mean, he could’ve just summoned our glasses, and it would’ve been over, but there was no way we could get him from the front, so I…I ran away screaming, like I was scared.” She didn’t mention that she only tried it because she discovered she had her hand on Harry’s invisibility cloak and had discreetly tucked it up against her chest before running off. That was Harry’s story to tell. “But I took my shoes off and snuck around behind him, and I hit him in the face with _Lumos Solem_. The blue glasses blocked most of it out.”

“Wait,” Fred jumped in, “you hexed You-Know-Who in the face _again_?”

Hermione groaned and laid a hand on her forehead. “ _Anyway_ , I got Ron’s wand, but, well…”

Ron sadly pulled his broken wand from his robes.

“Ron, your wand!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. “You broke his wand?”

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley. I had to do _something_. I’ll pay for a new one. And that was Charlie’s old wand, wasn’t it. He really shouldn’t be using a secondhand wand, anyway.”

Mrs. Weasley relented and let her continue the story: how Riddle had called the basilisk and how Vector and Harry had brought it down.”

“Wait a minute,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted. “You looked a basilisk in the eye, without a mirror, and remained _conscious_?”

“Um, yeah, I guess I did,” Hermione said.

“Uh huh,” said Harry. “So did I.”

Professor Vector smiled at her: “Hermione, that’s _easily_ worth an article in _Magizoology Monthly._ Maybe even a letter.”

Fred and George laughed. “Only you, Hermione,” Fred started.

“You can fight a giant monster, and you _still_ get an article out of it,” George concluded.

“I’m sure our brother, Bill, will want to hear about that, too,” Percy spoke up. “Cursebreakers _do_ encounter dangerous magical guardians from time to time.”

Hermione smiled a little as they finished the story, ending with the four of them destroying the diary with a broken-off basilisk fang. The whole story took more than half an hour, but she figured it was good practice for when she inevitably had to tell her parents. Oh, _that_ was gonna be good: _Dear Mum and Dad, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the we stopped the Heir of Slytherin, the monster is dead, and I walked away from it. The bad news is that I think we_ _’re going to need to have another one of those_ _talks_ _when I get home. But at least it can never happen again._

Yeah, that was gonna be a hard sell this time.

“A very impressive tale,” Dumbledore spoke up. “You have all shown great courage tonight. Arthur, Molly, I think that Ginny will be quite alright with a good night’s rest. There will be no punishment—for anyone.” He glanced at Ron kindly. “If I may be so bold, I should like a private word with our four heroes before they fall asleep again.” He was mostly looking at Harry with that last bit.

The rest of the Weasleys reluctantly agreed and left the infirmary. Fred and George started apologising profusely to Ginny for how they had treated her over the past year, but Ginny was distracted and looking back nervously at Harry and Hermione as she left. Hermione didn’t think she looked like she’d be fine with just a good night’s rest. Hermione didn’t think she would be herself, and Ginny was in this a lot deeper than she was. But she could at least try to help her when she got out of this place.

“I am very proud of all four of you,” Dumbledore said warmly. “You have saved Miss Weasley from a terrible fate; you saved the school from closing and removed the threat of Slytherin’s monster forever; you prevented Voldemort’s return for a second time, and I daresay each of you saved all of your lives at least once tonight. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger, you will each receive Special Awards for Services to the School.” The three children grinned at each other in amazement. “And Septima, I think an Award for Exceptional Service as a Professor. I also—” He stopped as he idly picked up one of the pairs of blue glasses and examined it closely: “Miss Granger, this spellcrafting is truly inspired. And you say you did this without quill or parchment?”

“Um, yes, Professor.”

“I’ve been telling you for two years how brilliant she is, Albus,” Vector said as Hermione blushed.

“Indeed. Very few second years could craft such a charm, much less mentally. But as I was saying, I also want to thank you personally. You must have showed me real loyalty down in that Chamber to call Fawkes to you.”

“That was Mr. Potter, Albus,” Vector said. “I believe his exact words were, “He’ll never be gone while we’re here.’”

“I’m not surprised,” Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. (How did he make them twinkle like that? Hermione wondered.) “You have a true Gryffindor spirit, Harry. Of course, only a true Gryffindor could have pulled _this_ out of the Hat.” Dumbledore held up the sword Harry had pulled from the Sorting Hat close for them to see. The hilt was set with enormous rubies that would be worth a place beside the Crown Jewels in the muggle world, and there, just below the hilt a name was engraved: _Godric Gryffindor_.

Hermione gasped when she saw the name. “That’s Godric Gryffindor’s sword?” she exclaimed. “The one that he used to fight Lord Foul and banish Salazar Slytherin? Harry, that’s a priceless historical artifact!” _And he just killed a giant monster with it_ , she thought. _Oh well, at least he used it for its intended purpose._

Harry, Ron, and even Professor Vector laughed to see Hermione back to her usual self.

“But Professor,” Harry said. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. If I’m _not_ the Heir of Slytherin, how can I speak Parseltongue?”

At this, Dumbledore became more solemn. “My boy,” he said slowly, “you can speak Parseltongue because Lord Voldemort, the true Heir of Slytherin, can speak Parseltongue. Unless I am much mistaken, his curse gave you more than that scar on your head. I believe he also gave you a fraction of his powers.”

Hermione, Ron, and Vector gasped at that along with Harry. “He—Voldemort—gave me some of his powers?” Harry said in horror.

“He did,” Dumbledore confirmed, “but thankfully, he left you not a whit of his cruelty and malice. I am pleased to say that you have proved your noble character time and again.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled at her friend and thought that he had really done far more than he ever should have had to (and so had she and Ron). And for what thanks? Certainly a lot less than he deserved. “Professor,” she said, “is there any way that Harry wouldn’t have to go back to his relatives this summer?”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose. “Surely you would like to see your family, Harry,” he said.

“N-not really, Professor, I could definitely do without,” Harry replied. “I…I could probably get a better deal out of them with the runes this year, but I know I’m not really supposed to.”

“We could take him,” Ron spoke up. “It’d be great having him at the Burrow for the whole summer.”

Dumbledore sighed: “Harry, I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Voldemort—the _real_ Voldemort—is still on the move, and unlike most witches and wizards, your relatives’ location is not widely known. I allowed you to spend the month of August at the Burrow last year because, by Professor McGonagall’s assessment, your relations with your relatives had reached an unacceptable low.” Ron and Hermione both scoffed at the understatement, and Professor Vector frowned at the Headmaster. “But you will still be safest at your relatives’ house, and if it is at all possible for you to coexist with them for the summer, you should go back there.”

“Professor!” Hermione said indignantly. “Do you really think Harry can coexist with people who locked him in his room with bars on his window?”

“I am sure that Professor McGonagall will pay Mr. Potter some additional visits this summer, Miss Granger. Indeed, I do not think I could stop her. Harry, I hope you would not have to resort to violence or threats, but would feel more at ease if you were with your relatives.”

“Well…I’d still rather not, sir,” Harry said slowly. “But if it’s okay if I can show them I can do a little magic with the runes, and if Professor McGonagall checks on me, I guess I can try it again.”

“Harry, are you sure?” Hermione said.

“Well…if I’d be safer there…”

“But you’ve at least gotta visit sometime,” Ron exclaimed.

“Er…I can always take the Knight Bus, right?” he said.

Ron shuddered as her remembered that eventful ride at the beginning of the year.

“If you are comfortable with that, Harry, I think that would be for the best,” Dumbledore said.

Hermione sighed: “If you really want to try it, Harry, okay, but please be careful.”

“I will.”

“I think I may visit once or twice as well, Mr. Potter,” Professor Vector said with a sly smile. “After all, you will be in my class this fall, and I’ll want to make sure you’re preparing adequately.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said.

Just then, there was a commotion from the door. Hermione could hear Madam Pomfrey shouting indignantly, and then, the door burst open with a loud bang. In strode Lucius Malfoy with Madam Pomfrey shouting in protest behind him. He looked oddly dishevelled, as if he had come in a hurry—unsurprising, given the late hour. “Dumbledore? What is the meaning of this?” he roared.

But before the Headmaster could answer, Sonya, who was still sitting by Hermione’s bedside, reacted. “Dobby!” she cried, and she clamoured over the bed. Sure enough, Dobby was hiding, cringing behind Mr. Malfoy’s robes. He tried to back away as Sonya rushed him, but he couldn’t stray too far from his master. Mr. Malfoy raised his cane to the attacking elf.

“Sonnitt, stop!” Dumbledore ordered.

Sonya froze in mid-leap and fell on her face.

“My apologies, Lucius,” the old wizard said. “Just a misunderstanding, I assure you. What can I do for you this evening?”

“You can tell me what you’re doing back here, Dumbledore. The Board removed you just this afternoon.”

“And they reinstated me four hours later when they learnt that a pureblood girl had been kidnapped,” he smiled, his silver beard twitching. “And most eager they were to do it, too. Some of them seemed to be under the impression that you threatened them to get them to agree to get rid of me in the first place.”

Mr. Malfoy paled a couple of shades in his anger, but Hermione’s eyes were drawn to Dobby. Now that she saw him for herself, she agreed with Harry: the elf _was_ in bad shape. He was wearing a filthy pillowcase, he was hunched and cowering, scarred all over and seemingly nursing several fresh bruises. Even with Hermione’s limited experience, she could tell he was abused, and worse, many of the wounds were probably self-inflicted. She also noticed that he was presently behaving very oddly. He kept pointing at Mr. Malfoy behind his back, pointing at the diary, and then hitting himself in the head.

Sonya made the connection first. Her eyes went wider than normal, and she hopped back to Hermione’s bedside and whispered in her ear, “Dobby’s master is being the one with the bad book, miss.” Mr. Malfoy didn’t even notice her speaking. No one ever paid attention to house elves. Hermione understood at once and nodded her head slightly. She looked at Harry and tilted her head in Dobby’s direction. After another minute, Harry’s eyes widened in recognition, and he also nodded.

Dumbledore seemed to have guessed it, too, for he told Mr. Malfoy, “I’m sure Arthur Weasley will be watching far more carefully should any of Voldemort’s other old school things emerge. After all, it is very fortunate that Miss Granger here was able to devise a defence against the basilisk and help Mr. Potter and his friends save young Ginny.”

“ _Well_ ,” Lucius Malfoy said, looking particularly at Hermione. “Let us hope that Mr. Potter and his mu— _friends_ will always be around to save the day.”

Hermione looked the blond man in the eye and said, “Don’t worry. We will be.”

He glared at her for a moment before turning and saying. “Come, Dobby!” He kicked the elf out the door. Hermione winced, and Sonya clapped her hands to her mouth in horror when the screams continued in rhythm from through the door. Hermione desperately wanted to do something for the elf, but what could she do? House elves were property, to do with as their masters pleased. She could look the other way with the Hogwarts elves because they were well treated and well educated and seemed to take genuine pride in their…unique culture, but Dobby had none of those advantages.

But Harry, it seemed, already had a plan. Whilst groaning in pain, he reached down and pulled off one of his muddy socks, which he carefully folded and pressed into the diary. “Professor Dumbledore,” he said quickly, “do you need to keep this or anything?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled: “No, Harry, you may do as you like with it. It is quite dead.”

“Great. Hermione—?”

“I’ll take it.” Hermione wearily pushed herself out of bed. It was a wild plan, but it was worth a shot.

“Miss Hermione Granger, what is you doing? Yous cannot be freeing an elf!” Sonya squeaked in horror.

“Please don’t interfere, Sonya,” she said. “We have to do _something_.”

“But—”

“I think that this is the best course of action, Sonnitt,” Dumbledore said knowingly.

With that, the elf had no choice but to sit nervously and twiddle her thumbs. Meanwhile, Hermione struggled to push her body forward and ran out the door. “Mr. Malfoy!” she called. He stopped and turned at the top of the stairs. She ran up to him breathlessly.

“What is it, Miss…Granger, was it?”

“Yes, sir. Hermione Granger.” Dobby’s eyes widened in recognition. She handed Mr. Malfoy the diary: “Harry and I wanted to give this back to you.”

The man scowled at her and cast the diary aside, and to her delight, Dobby took it from him. “Insufferable mudblood,” he hissed. “One of these days, your friend will meet the same sticky end as his parents, and I sincerely hope that you meet it with him.”

Hermione said nothing, but she held his gaze. _I faced a basilisk; I can handle Mr. Malfoy,_ she told herself. Beneath his gaze, she made a gesture of opening a book in Dobby’s direction.

“Come, Dobby,” he said as turned to go again, but Dobby didn’t move.

“I said come!”

“Master has given Dobby a sock…” the elf whispered in awe.

“What did you say?”

“Master has given Dobby a sock,” he repeated, lifting the grimy thing out of the book. “Dobby is free!”

Lucius Malfoy’s gaze snapped to Hermione in horror.

“Thank Harry,” she said.

“You lost me my servant! You’ll pay for this, mudblood!” He drew his wand.

_Uh-oh._

But Dobby stepped in front of her, shouting, “You shall not harm Hermione Granger!” He snapped his fingers.

Lucius Malfoy was unceremoniously blasted down the stairs, landing in a crumpled heap. He staggered to his feet and looked up in rage, but Dobby was still protecting Hermione, so there was nothing he could do—nothing he could get away with in the school, anyway. He turned and hurried out of sight.

Hermione sank to her knees in exhaustion and wheezed, “Thank you, Dobby.”

“Harry Potter and Hermione Granger set Dobby free!” the elf squealed with joy, and Hermione was positive she had done the right thing. “Harry Potter told Dobby of Hermione Granger’s kindness toward elves, and she has helped free Dobby!” He threw his spindly arms around her.

“It was the least we could do Dobby,” she said. “No one deserves to be treated like that, not even an elf.”

“Hermione Granger is greater than Dobby knew. Dobby must go thank Harry Potter, too!” He ran off back to the infirmary.

Hermione watched him go with a weary smile and then pulled herself to her feet and dragged herself back the same way. She arrived just in time to see Dobby hug a bemused Harry and then vanish into thin air.

Sonya was watching the spot where Dobby vanished with open mouth, looking shell-shocked.. “Miss Hermione Granger, Dobby is being a very sick elf,” she whispered as the girl climbed back into bed. “He is being _happy_ to be freed.”

“Sonya, you saw him,” Hermione countered. “He was being beaten. Serving the Malfoys was horrible for him. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’ll be better off this way.”

“Sonya is not so sure, miss…Dobby will not be treated bad by a bad master anymore…” She dropped her voice even lower, as if she were speaking about something horribly scandalous: “but he says he is wanting _wages_ now.”

“So? What’s wrong with that if a few elves want wages?”

“But miss, it is very hard for a free elf to find work, and _never_ for wages. Elves is almost never freed unless they is bad elves, miss.”

“And then no one will want them,” she muttered. “Well, what about Hogwarts? There’s work to spare here.”

“Of course, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said. “I see no objection to the school hiring an elf for wages. If Dobby returns he may speak to me directly.”

“There, you see, Sonya. It’ll all work out.”

Sonya looked most uncomfortable with the thought of such a disturbed elf joining the Hogwarts staff. “The other elves will not be liking that you freed an elf, miss.”

“Oh…Well…I guess that’s a fair price, if that’s what it takes,” Hermione mumbled sleepily. She had a lot more on her mind, now, but she’d worry about the details tomorrow…or maybe the day after.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Quantum mechanics says that Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling…probably.
> 
> Well, here’s the end of Hermione’s second year. I had a surprising amount of stuff to wrap up the year with. What new adventures does third year have in store? With O.W.L.-level Arithmancy, it won’t be boring.

Hermione was still tired, sore, and a little shell-shocked when she trudged up to her room after breakfast the next day, lost in thought about a certain wild plan for the summer that had come to her in the night. Harry would be in the Hospital Wing for another day, and Ron and Ginny were keeping to themselves for the moment, but of course, her four roommates cornered her at once (Dumbledore had only told them that the Heir and the monster had been defeated at breakfast) and demanded to hear the whole story. Sally-Anne hugged her tight and thanked her profusely when Hermione explained what had happened, and she didn’t blame her. There were finally safe now.

All of her roommates were horrified at what she’d had to go through, especially for the second year in a row, but Parvati was especially concerned. “Hermione, we’re sorry we haven’t been more help to you this past year,” she told her. The other girls nodded in agreement. “It had to have been terrifying with all those attacks on muggle-borns. We’re sorry we weren’t paying more attention.”

Hermione blushed. She couldn’t help thinking how she’d been ignoring Ginny for so long. “It’s okay, girls,” she said. “I got by well enough on my own.”

* * *

“You! Potter! Granger!” Draco Malfoy stormed up to the two of them (and Ron and Ginny) once Harry was out of the infirmary. He was so livid that he had run ahead of Crabbe and Goyle, leaving them panting to catch up. “My father told me you _tricked_ him into freeing our elf,” he spat.

Harry and Hermione stood their ground against the Slytherin brat. Ginny trembled, but Ron supported her.

“Yeah? Well, he deserves worse than that for what he did to Ginny,” Ron shot back.

“The way your father treated that elf was abominable,” Hermione added. “In the muggle world, he could get in trouble treating so much as a ferret like that.”

Ginny conspicuously looked Malfoy up and down and quipped, “Looks like it’s a good thing he doesn’t,” to general laughter.

For a moment Malfoy looked more like a fish than a ferret, but he collected himself and said, “You stay out of this, Weaslette. _You_ two—” He pointed at Harry and Hermione. “—you owe us a new elf.”

“Dobby was freed fair and square,” Hermione informed him. “I even checked with the kitchen elves.”

Malfoy made an exaggerated retching sound: “Ugh, figures the mudblood would be an elf-lover.”

“You shut up about her!” Ron yelled. However, as he had not yet received a spare wand (Bill was sending him his old one), he couldn’t hex Malfoy this time.

“It’s a good thing I am, Malfoy,” Hermione replied. “My having an elf as a friend probably saved Ginny’s life.”

“Oh, yes, tragedy averted,” the Slytherin replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ron growled, and Harry said, “Sod off, Malfoy,” and drew his wand. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle did, too, and Hermione was close behind them.

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Harry said, while Hermione cast, “ _Lumos Solem_ ,” both of them using the same spells they had used in the Chamber.

Harry’s spell hit Crabbe before he could get one off, and Hermione blinded Goyle, causing his spell to go wide. Malfoy, however, had got creative. Ron’s large Herbology book was transfigured into an equally large spider, which clung to his robes. Ron screamed like a girl and ran in circles, trying to knock it off.

“You—you—!” Ginny stammered as Malfoy laughed. She drew her wand, and Hermione knew at once what was going to happen and watched Ginny’s hand carefully.

“ _Chiroptera Mucosa_!”

“ARGH! You’ll pay for this, Weaslette!” Malfoy choked before running away from the black bats crawling out of his nose and beating him about the head.

“Ron, hold still!” Hermione said. She shot the strongest un-transfiguration spell she knew at his chest, and the spider turned back into a book and fell to the ground.

“Phew, thanks, Hermione,” he said.

The boys went outside after that, with classes over for the day, but Hermione hung back, saying, “Ginny, could I talk to you in private for a minute.”

“I’m still not gonna teach you that spell,” she said with a smirk.

Hermione rolled her eyes: “Not about that.”

“Oh…okay.”

Hermione was suddenly aware that more parts of the castle didn’t really feel appropriate for this kind of conversation, and she tried to think of an appropriate place to go. Empty classrooms were usually good for a private chat, but they weren’t particularly comfortable or intimate, which she really wanted in this case. The Common Room almost always had people in it—not the privacy she was sure they needed. The library was better, but even there, there tended to be prying eyes. It seemed odd, now that she thought about it, that there was no really comfortable place in the castle where two students could go alone to talk without fear of being interrupted…Actually, no, it wasn’t odd, she realised. It would discourage amorous upper-year students. She pulled her map from her robes, though it was still missing a few of the secret rooms, to look for more ideas.

“Is that the famous map?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah, I just thought I’d look for something more comfortable than an unused classroom.”

“Is it really that big a deal?”

“Maybe not. But I really wanted to find someplace where you could—where both of us could talk comfortably.” Then, she remembered something Sonya had said: _Hogwarts is always having more secrets_. She knew a secret or two herself that she hadn’t— _couldn_ _’t have_ —drawn on her map. “Ginny, would you mind doing a bit of climbing?” she said. “I want to show you something that very few people know about.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her friend’s suggestion, and Hermione led her to the Grand Staircase. They climbed. They passed the seventh floor and into the Great Tower proper. They passed the fourteenth floor, the highest that students could climb in any of the other towers. Finally, they hit the seventeenth floor, where things started to turn strange. Everything was a copy of something else in the castle from the seventeenth floor upwards—more and more distorted copies the higher one went. The portraits were blurry and didn’t speak, the stairs were crooked, the stones in the walls weren’t square cut, and the rooms were based on other rooms in the castle.

Ginny was panting. She’d only really conditioned herself to climb up to her dorm on the eighth floor (besides Astronomy once a week) rather than Hermione’s dorm on the fourteenth. “How high up are we?” she asked.

“High,” Hermione said. She was looking in each room they passed, now. “Higher that the whole castle from the outside.”

“Really? How high does it go?”

“Forever, I think. It’s a weird place. I think it’s kind of generated by the magic of the castle. The rooms change when you turn your back, and if you go up another ten floors, it’s downright scary, but we should be okay if we don’t go much higher than this floor. Fred and George might have mentioned when I sent them up here.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember. That was a good prank.”

Hermione kept looking in the rooms as they passed: classroom, study room, bedroom, seventeenth floor, eighteenth floor, nineteenth floor—jackpot. It was a miniature common room, with a single sofa, a table, and a small fireplace (that might or might not work). It was decked out in Ravenclaw colours, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and she didn’t feel comfortable going any higher. She laughed at her find. How many amorous upper-year students knew about this little trick?

“Hermione, what is this place?” Ginny asked in surprise.

“Don’t know. The castle just created it. My best guess is that there’s some magic that expands the Great Tower, but the castle doesn’t really know what to _put_ here, so it just fills it in with bits of the rest of the castle. Come on, let’s sit down.”

Ginny sat next to her on the single sofa.

“Look, maybe I’m overreacting here,” Hermione started, “but I wanted to sit somewhere comfortable where there was no chance of anyone walking in on us. No one ever comes up here…we’re not really _supposed_ to come up here.”

“Hermione, what’s wrong?” Ginny asked nervously.

“Well, the first thing is…I want to apologise to you, Ginny.”

“Me?” the younger girl said in surprise. “Why would you need to apologise to me? _I_ was the one who—”

“No, Ginny. We’ve been over this. What Riddle did wasn’t your fault. That was all on him.” Ginny swallowed hard and nodded sadly. Hermione continued, “I wanted to apologise because I’ve been a terrible friend to you.”

“No you haven’t,” Ginny said automatically.

“Yes, I have. I saw how lonely you were at the beginning of the year, and I tried to be your friend. But then, when the attacks started, I got scared, and I started ignoring you. If I’d been there for you, maybe you could have…”

Ginny started to crack. With tears forming in her eyes, she said, “No, Hermione, I was the one hiding everything. Tom was…he was trying to _make_ me hide it. I was so scared of Percy turning me in or something…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Hermione said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “And I mean it. I’m going to try to be a better friend to you next year. I’m going to be really busy with all my classes, but I’m going to try not to leave you out—and I’ll tell Ron not to leave you out, either.”

Ginny chuckled weakly at that. “Thanks, Hermione.”

“It’s really no trouble. The other thing was…I wanted to ask how _you_ _’ve_ been holding up.”

“What? I mean—I’m fine. I mean…I’m doing okay.”

“Ginny, please. I know Harry thinks you’re perfectly happy again. And I’m sure Ron _wants_ to think that. But I’m not so sure. I know _I_ _’m_ not okay right now. I’m already having nightmares, and I feel close to panicking sometimes.” She could see the dark circles under Ginny’s eyes, too. “I’m honestly not sure even the boys are okay, but I really don’t think you are. And that’s nothing on you, mind. We’ve all been through a really traumatic experience, and as brilliant as Dumbledore is, in the muggle world, you don’t just send someone to bed with a mug of hot cocoa after something like that. You give them someone to talk to…if you want to, that is.”

Ginny started shaking and crying openly. Suddenly, she threw her arms around Hermione and clung tight to her chest. “I…I can’t…” she muttered.

“It’s okay,” Hermione whispered, stroking her hair. “I understand if you don’t want to, but…I don’t know how much Ron told you about what happened last year, when Professor Quirrell died. I was there, remember? And it was scary. But last summer, my parents made me talk to a counsellor—it’s like a…a muggle mind healer, except they mostly try to help by talking—we used a cover story. Anyway, at first, I didn’t want to talk about it any more than I had to, but after I did, I was glad I had. It really did help.” Actually, it was why Hermione had thought to have this conversation with the little redhead in the first place.

Ginny whimpered softly and sat still in Hermione’s arm for a few minutes. And then, haltingly, she started to speak: “With Tom, he…he was always there to talk to me…He was always nice to me…He…he had…he had nice things to say when I was scared or worried…I thought he was helping me—he even helped me with my homework sometimes—but…but then it was all a lie, wasn’t it?” She was suddenly very glad that Hermione had insisted on such a private setting.

Hermione tried to remember the way her counsellor had talked to her and said, “That must make it really hard to trust people, doesn’t it?”

Ginny clutched Hermione’s robes even tighter and nodded. “I…I thought he was my best friend,” she whispered. “He was just using me the whole time…H-Hermione, where do I go from here?”

“There, there, Ginny,” she replied. “Just think about what you really do have. You…you trust your Mum and Dad, don’t you?”

She looked up and nodded again: “Uh huh.”

“And you trust your brothers, right?”

“Yeah…except…” She broke away and curled up in the corner of the sofa.

“What?”

“It’s hard with Percy,” she admitted.

“You know he loves you just as much as the others,”  Hermione insisted.

“I know, but…I just don’t think he _gets_ it. He’s so worried about becoming _Head Boy_ ,” she complained. “I was…I don’t know.”

“You said you thought he would turn you in,” Hermione recalled. “Why?”

“Because he’s _Percy_!” Ginny burst out. “Because that’s what he always does.”

“Because that’s his automatic response? Because you thought he’d do it ‘for your own good’ whether it was the right thing to do or not?”

“Yes! Exactly! I know he wants to help, but I thought he’d just make it worse.”

Hermione could see it now. Percy was what she could have become if she hadn’t met Harry and Ron: an overachiever, a stickler for the rules, and always deferring to authority, right or wrong. She could see how it would grate on all of his younger siblings—after all, _she_ had grated on Ron pretty hard at first.

“I trust you, too,” Ginny blurted out, and immediately regretted it. It made her feel incredibly vulnerable. Hermione had been good to her, but she wasn’t family, and if the girl said anything to shake that trust now…

“I…er…it’s good to hear that,” she said lamely. She couldn’t help but think it was more than she deserved.

“I couldn’t believe after I tried to—” Ginny stopped herself. “After you were attacked by the basilisk, and you still came down there to save me.”

“Ginny, I tried running away at Christmas, and I hated it. I’m not gonna be stupid about it, but I don’t want to run anymore. I’m really glad that you trust me, and I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I will promise to try my hardest never to betray that trust.”

Ginny hugged her again and said, “Thanks, Hermione. You really are a good friend, and…and I’ll try to come to you if I feel like I need to talk…Actually, there _was_ something else.”

“What is it?”

“Harry,” she said nervously. “What does Harry think about me?”

“What, you mean being a clueless boy and thinking you’re perfectly happy again? Or what does Harry think about Ginny Weasley in general?”

“Um, the second one, I guess,” Ginny said, blushing.

“Well, I know he’s really happy you’re alright. He thinks you’re a nice kid. He _knows_ you’re good at flying. And I know he likes your entire family. He thinks you’re all fun to be around—and so do I for that matter. But…I think he doesn’t really know you all that well. To be honest, I feel like _I_ don’t know you all that well, and I was at least halfway trying.”

She sighed: “I was afraid of that.”

“Hey, it’s okay. There’s always time for us to get to know you better.”

“Yes, but…” Suddenly the words came tumbling out: “You know I really like Harry, Hermione. I mean, I’ve liked him _forever_ because I’ve heard all the stories, and I know most of them are made up, but when I heard what he did in the Chamber— _with a sword!_ That was _amazing!_ There’s so much more to him than the stories. I couldn’t believe he’d risk his life like that for me.”

“Of course he would. He’s _Harry_. Besides, you’re Ron’s sister. We couldn’t just leave you down there. We’re all here for you.”

Ginny didn’t know what to say, so she just hugged Hermione again, but she still sounded sad. “Harry doesn’t even know I’m there, though,” she said. “Not…not normally, anyway. I want to get closer to him, but I can’t even talk to him! I try, and I just freeze up, and it’s got even worse now. I’m so worried he’s never going to notice me. I…I know he could wind up with somebody else someday, but…but I at least want to have a chance.”

Hermione looked at her awkwardly. This was fast getting out of her area of expertise. “Well, I don’t have much more experience with boys than you do,” she cautioned, “and I wouldn’t trust my roommates’ advice as far as I could throw them. But…I think Harry notices you a little more than you think…but honestly, Ginny, I think maybe you need to stop trying so hard to talk to him. Hear me out. You freeze up when you try to talk to him, so maybe you need to back off and just try to relax around him. Be yourself, and don’t worry about what Harry will see. I saw you fly back at the Burrow, and I spent the whole week with you. Believe me, there’s definitely a girl in here worth noticing—” She laid a hand on Ginny’s chest. “—but you have to be able to let her out.”

Ginny smiled at this more brightly than Hermione had seen in months. Hermione really thought she _would_ attract Harry’s attention if she managed to loosen up, especially if she kept flying like she had last fall. Of course, this _was_ Harry they were talking about; he was almost as clueless as Ron sometimes. She didn’t want to get the younger girl’s hopes up too much, so she continued, “And one more thing, Ginny: you and Harry are both still really young. You have plenty of time for romance. Right now, you should focus on getting to know each other, and when you get a little older, maybe even consider dating somebody else for a while. Who knows—maybe you’ll find out somebody else was really the right one for you all along. Or maybe not. The important thing is you shouldn’t put your own life on hold for Harry. You should go out and live for yourself. Plus, Harry’s has a rough childhood, and frankly, I have a feeling he’s going to be a bit slow on the uptake.”

“Well…I’ll think about that,” Ginny said, clearly overwhelmed by the unexpected advice. “Thanks…for everything.”

* * *

“How are you holding up, Hermione?” Professor Vector asked.

Hermione took a contemplative sip of tea as she sat in the parlour of her teacher’s apartment. “It’s hard,” she said slowly. “It’s strange—I felt like I knew exactly what I needed to say to Ginny, but it’s so much harder to deal with it myself.”

Vector smiled kindly at her: “I’m not surprised. It’s always one of the hardest things to deal with your own problems. Plus, I could tell almost from the beginning that you’re one of those people who’s your own worst critic. But I hope you feel comfortable coming to me any time you need to talk.”

“Mmm…thank you, ma’am.” Hermione took another slightly shaky sip of tea. “You know what the craziest part is?”

“Hmm?”

“The scariest thing that happened to me down there—it wasn’t anything to do with the basilisk. It wasn’t anything to do with Riddle…It was when Gilderoy Lockhart tried to wipe my memories!” Her hands started shaking so hard that she had to set down her tea.

Causing almost as much buzz as the slaying of Slytherin’s monster was the arrest of Gilderoy Lockhart for illegal use of Memory Charms. The news was met with outrage, shock, and outright denial from many of the girls, while many of the boys claimed they knew he was a fraud all along. After being taken away and questioned by the Aurors, the charges piled up, as it was revealed that he had memory charmed dozens of people around the world, who were now being sought out for treatment, enough to potentially send him to Azkaban Prison for life.

“Honestly, that’s not all that surprising, either,” Professor Vector said. “Unusual, perhaps, but not surprising. I know you place a great deal of value on the integrity of your mind.”

“Well, shouldn’t everyone?” Hermione said hysterically. “I mean, Memory Charms are terrifying! Just a wave of his wand, and he could make everyone think we’d lost our minds? How much is that? Months? Years? Isn’t that almost as bad as killing somebody? I mean, I’ve seen _Short Circuit 2_ —”

“What?”

“Muggle film…never mind. It’s just that it’s so horrible. You can have everything you are taken away in an instant…Professor…are Memory Charms reversible?” she asked, fearing what the answer would be.

“Well, it’s complicated,” Vector said apologetically, “but usually yes, except in the rare event something goes wrong. Specific, recent memories can be removed more thoroughly than older or more general ones and are very hard to get back. On the other hand, large memory wipes still require intensive healer’s therapy…and roughly as much time as the amount that was lost.”

“But that’s still horrible! I could have been laid up for _years_ getting my memory back, even if anybody knew what really happened. We _all_ could have!”

“I’m sorry, Hermione. I don’t know what to say. Lockhart is a bad man. Fortunately, he was stopped, and he’ll be brought to justice.”

“And his story was so ridiculous, too!” she went on. “Lost our minds at the sight of her mangled body? Emotional trauma doesn’t cause memory loss. Not that much. Not permanently.”

Vector set down her teacup and looked at her with intense interest: “Hermione, what would your parents have done if you’d come home missing months or years of your memory?”

She shuddered at the very thought. “My parents both have muggle medical training. They…they would’ve taken me to a muggle doctor for a second opinion,” she realised with a start. “And they would’ve given me an MRI to see what was wrong with me. Ma’am, what does a Memory Charm physically _do_ to the brain?”

“Physically? Nothing. The memories aren’t gone. You just can’t access them. Otherwise it wouldn’t be treatable. Hermione, are you saying that your parents would have recognised that magic had been used on you?”

“Yes! I’m sure they would. If they saw I’d lost my memory, but nothing was physically wrong with me, they’d immediately think magic—especially after last year.”

After this, Vector laughed loudly and heartily. “Merlin’s beard! I think Lockhart made a very big mistake trying to Memory Charm a muggle-born. You see, so many strange things can happen in the wizarding world—and he was so famous—that most wizards would have believed his story without questioning it, but you say your muggle parents would have seen right through it, gone to get you treatment, and caught him anyway. I’ll have to tell the Aurors to tell him that.”

“Wow…I guess so…but still, I could have lost years of my life and _spent_ years getting it back. I would have lost my friends, my teenage years, my career—”

“Not if I had anything to say about it. Once I got my own memory back, I would have tutored you as far as I could take you. You might have got a late start, but witches live a long time.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I certainly would. Seeing your spellcrafting skills in action, well, I’ve rarely seen such a combination of raw intelligence, courage under pressure, and dedication to your friends. After the past two years, I’m not going to leave you, Hermione Granger, and I don’t think your friends would be ones to abandon you, either.”

Hermione leaned across the table and hugged her teacher: “Thank you so much, Professor. I know my friends, too—of course, Harry would’ve been in there with me—but when Ron came and knocked Lockhart down and took off the invisibility cloak—erm, _that_ was pretty impressive.”

Vector smiled to herself as her student’s face lit up talking about her friends. She was in for a rough summer, perhaps, but she was going to be fine. “Muggles call that “the cavalry,” no?” she said.

“Yes, that’s right,” Hermione laughed.

“I never thought I’d be so glad to see a student breaking the rules,” her professor laughed with her.

“Things have got _really_ weird around here.”

“Sadly, yes…” An awkward silence stretched after that painfully true assessment. “So how are your differential equations going?” Vector asked.

Hermione shrugged. “They’re going—on schedule. It’s kind of creepy because I can already see the elements of curses in them.”

“It can be, yes, but you get used to it for the most part, and many other powerful spells are described with differential equations.” Hermione nodded to her. “So what’s next for you?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe linear algebra.”

“ _Really_?” Vector said interestedly. “You know, that is starting to touch on advanced arithmancy research.”

“It is?”

“Of course. A lot of advanced techniques are in linear algebra—solving arbitrary linear systems, regression techniques, Fourier expansions…”

“I’m pretty sure it’s the maths in quantum mechanics, too.”

“Quantum mechanics?”

“The muggle science of the fundamental physics underlying all matter and energy.”

“Well, then, it’s not surprising it’s involved in so much advanced magic.” She gazed off into space in thought for a moment. “Hermione, would you be interested in an independent study in advanced arithmancy?”

Hermione’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Professor…do you mean, like, N.E.W.T.-level arithmancy?”

“Strictly speaking, I’m talking about _masters_ -level—but that’s not really the sense I mean. I mean that if your linear algebra book is as thorough as your calculus book, you may well reach the point where you could teach _me_ a few things this fall. Don’t mistake me—you still have a long way to go in actual spellcrafting, but I’m suggesting that we could explore the applications of the maths you’re studying with those arithmantic techniques that you already know. It won’t exactly be cutting edge, at least at first, but I think we may be able to put together a paper for the _Annals of Arithmancy_ by the end of next year. It wouldn’t need to be a major commitment. I know you’ll be very busy with your new classes. Perhaps just an hour a week would be enough.”

“Ma’am, I…I don’t know what to say,” Hermione stammered. “That would be _wonderful_. But…why are you offering this to me?”

“Because I’m very interested to see what you’ll come up with. Because you’re easily capable of it. And one other reason: a mastery normally takes three years of study post-Hogwarts. But if you get a head start on the research before you take your N.E.W.T.s, I believe you could complete one by the time you graduate.”

Hermione squealed with delight as she ran around the table to hug her professor. Yes, Vector thought. She’s going to be just fine.

* * *

“So let me get this straight,” Cedric Diggory said. Life went on after the incident, as did Arithmancy class, and so the study group. “You invented a new variant of the Colour-Change Charm.”

“On the spot—in your head,” Roger Davies emphasised.

“And it let you look a giant basilisk in the eye without even losing consciousness, let alone being petrified.”

“Basically, yes,” Hermione said. “I blocked out almost all of its eye colour, so I pretty much couldn’t actually _see_ its eyes. And even then, it felt like being hit in the head with a Bludger—or so I assume.”

Cedric threw up his hands at that—although he and the others were still smiling in admiration. “That’s it,” he said. “You win. You win at Arithmancy forever. I could never come up with a spell in my head like that.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could in a pinch,” Hermione said. “Especially one that we’ve studied in so much detail, like the Colour-Change Charm.”

“Yeah, we _could_ ,” Roger said, “but we could never make it look easy, like you can.”

“We’re proud of you, Hermione,” said Alicia Spinnet. “I _know_ Gryffindor is—”

“Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had victims, too,” Cedric pointed out.

“Yeah, you might’ve saved Penelope’s life,” Roger said, “and I think _everyone_ _’s_ glad the school won’t have to close.”

“Mm-hmm,” Hermione blushed. “Oh, and Filch even came up to me yesterday and thanked me for defeating the monster.”

“Filch being nice,” Alicia said, shaking her head. “Only you, Hermione. So how are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m getting by. Professor Vector’s been a big help. But I’ll feel better when I convince my parents to let me come back again.”

“They wouldn’t withdraw you!” Alicia gasped.

Hermione shook her head: “They wanted to last year, and again at Christmas. I’m gonna try my hardest to come back.”

“You’d better. The monster’s dead. The threat’s gone, now.”

“I know, but you how parents can be. I’m gonna try, though.”

“Well good. And you know you can still come talk to us, too.”

“Uh huh. Thanks.”

“You know, this polyhedra stuff is actually pretty interesting,” Roger said, opening his Arithmancy book.

“Yeah, it’s nice that they actually teach the Archimedean Solids…” Hermione replied.

They were interrupted as they saw a girl with black hair and tanned skin approached the table. “Oh, hi, Rebecca,” Roger said.

“Hey, Roger,” Rebecca Gamp replied before turning to her youngest classmate. “So is it true what they’re saying, Hermione?” she asked. “About the basilisk and the spellcrafting and stuff?”

“Well…not a hundred percent,” Hermione said, “but most of the rumours I’ve been hearing are more or less right.”

Rebecca shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know _how_ you got so good,” she muttered. “Hey, I’m, uh, sorry I didn’t help you out the other day, but you _were_ being pretty vague.”

Rebecca sounded more annoyed about it that anything else, but Hermione replied politely, “It’s alright. It all worked out in the end.”

* * *

It had taken three long weeks for the mandrakes to mature after the basilisk was killed so that the victims of its petrifying gaze could be revived. Once that happened, Hermione worked up the nerve to talk to a certain one of them—one she had wanted, and feared a little, to talk to for months. Things had got a lot better for her now, but on top of the nightmares and the horrors of Riddle, the basilisk, and Lockhart, there was still one nagging fear that was eating at the back of her mind.

“Excuse me, Sir Nicholas?”

The ghost turned in the air. Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape, and Professor Dumbledore had put their heads together and decided to just spray the Mandrake Restorative Potion _through_ Nearly-Headless Nick in a mist. Even though ghosts couldn’t taste food, it actually worked, and Nick was back to his usual, mournful, silvery self.

“Why, hello, Miss Granger,” he replied.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a few things, Sir Nicholas. I’ve tried to ask Myrtle, but, well, I think she’s too young—and being a muggle-born doesn’t do her any favours.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Nick sighed. “Actually, I suppose I must thank you, both for defeating the monster and saving the school, and also for helping Myrtle. The change that has come over her is simply miraculous. What did you want to know?”

Hermione’s folded her hands to suppress their trembling as she asked, “Well, the first thing was…how does someone actually become a ghost?”

Nick’s shimmering countenance fell. “You are very young,” he said. “You do not know what you are asking.” He started to drift away.

Hermione ran after him: “Please, Sir Nicholas. I’ve faced death enough times, now; I think I need to know.”

The ghost’s eyes narrowed in evaluation of her. He seemed to be considering whether to respond, but finally, he said slowly, “A witch or wizard may choose to remain behind when they die—may choose to leave an imprint of themselves behind, to walk palely where they once trod in life. But very few choose that path, and it is not a path I can recommend.”

 _What?_ she thought. Did Nick think she _wanted_ to become a ghost? He had to be mad! “Talking to Myrtle, I couldn’t recommend it either,” she said.

Nick was so surprised that his head wobbled on his neck. “You—couldn’t?” he stammered. “But then, why would you want to know?”

“Because I wanted to know how you—Myrtle—all the ghosts…I’m sorry, but how you became…trapped like this, Sir Nicholas. You say it’s a _choice?_ What, some kind of spell? A ritual?”

“Nothing so concrete,” Nick replied coldly. “Our secret is only that we were afraid of death. The choice is the choice to give in to fear—to remain behind, trapped forever between the world of the living and what lies Beyond. I am here because my Gryffindor courage failed me.”

Hermione frowned and shook her head: “But that doesn’t make any sense. Lots of people are afraid of death. But I can do the maths, and ghosts have to be rare—one or two in a hundred wizards, by the look of it. What’s so different about them—no offence?”

“It is not ordinary fear,” Nick clarified. “A witch or wizard becomes a ghost if they are _more_ afraid of death than they are of the pale half-life of a ghost, even if they are not consciously aware of that choice.”

“Ohhh…” Hermione sighed with relief. Hadn’t she told herself explicitly that the fate of a ghost was a fate worse than death? It was a strange comfort to hear that magic itself was aligned with her values. She feared death, certainly. How could she not when she was confronted with it at thirteen? But she would not give in to fear. Still, it wasn’t good that the ghosts who had made that choice were forced to suffer for it. “Isn’t there any way for ghosts to…move on?” she asked. “That’s what happens in muggle stories.”

Nick shook his head sadly: “We do not know—or if we do, I’ve forgotten. None have seen it. Since only magical beings can become ghosts, there are some who believe that if all the magic were somehow drained from the world, Merlin forbid, then all the ghosts would fade. There are others who believe that if a ghost came to regard the unknown that lies beyond the Veil as less frightening than their own meagre existence, then they would go _on_ , but because ghosts cannot grow beyond what they were in life, none has ever been seen to do so.”

Hermione nodded solemnly. So there was no real help for Myrtle or any of the others, then. “There was something else I was wondering, Sir Nicholas.”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking about your deathday party. Where do ghosts get quills, ink, and parchment to write letters? Where do they get musical saws to play or ghost horses to ride?”

Nick tilted his head (to the non-flopping side, of course) as he regarded Hermione. “Strange to see such an interest from one so young,” he said. “As for the horses, ghosts may take some of their property with us when we die. Just as we retain imprints of our clothes, swords, and jewelry, so may avid riders ride into the afterlife on ghostly horses. As for the other effects, there is a ritual, of sorts. When an object is burnt in a magical fire, a ghost can reach in while it is burning and pull out a ghostly copy of it, provided it is small enough to lift.”

“You can?” Hermione said. “But then you could make food—”

“Not food. The burning is still a transformation, of sorts. Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration applies to ghosts, too. Just as our wands become mere sticks in the afterlife, so too we cannot acquire intangible food.”

“Ah, I understand,” she said. That actually makes quite a lot of sense.

“Was there anything else, Miss Granger?”

Hermione thought about another tidbit she’d learnt recently: “Well…”

* * *

“Come on, Myrtle,” Hermione said. “I arranged the whole thing with Sir Nicholas. We’ve got all the ghosts in the castle and a few from outside, and five live guests—and the Bloody Baron’s even agreed to keep Peeves away. You’ve been feeling a lot better since the whole basilisk incident, haven’t you? You should get out and live— _afterlive_ a little.”

“Oh…I guess, since you’ve been so nice to me.”

Myrtle Warren floated through her stall door and followed Hermione out of the bathroom.

Hermione had noticed the dates in passing and subconsciously subtracted them to discover that the thirteenth of June was Myrtle’s fiftieth deathday. It would be a crime, she thought, not to have a party for her on such an important day (in ghost culture), especially when she had cheered up so much—though “cheered up” was still pretty maudlin coming from Myrtle—after having her death (partially) avenged. Convincing Nick to help set it up was the easy part. Convincing Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Professor Vector to attend was the hard part.

They descended the stairs to the dungeons, turning the heads of the few people they met on this Sunday afternoon to see Myrtle out of her bathroom. All of the live guests were wearing their winter cloaks, fully prepared for the cold this time.

The party was a lot smaller than Nick’s, but the atmosphere was similar. The dungeon was lit with tall black candles burning blue. There was no orchestra of musical saws at this party, but it turned out the Fat Friar played a mean fiddle, and there was passable dancing. And rotten food was laid out on a table, including a tombstone-shaped cake reading,

 

MYRTLE WARREN

DIED 13TH JUNE, 1943

 

Myrtle began crying, uncharacteristically, with joy when she saw the festivities, and of the other ghosts greeting. “Thank you, Hermione, Sir Nicholas,” she said. “No one’s ever done this much for me before.”

“Well, you helped us, too,” Hermione said. “And besides, no one should have to be alone…on…their…fiftieth deathday…” she trailed off awkwardly.

Myrtle stopped crying and turned to her curiously: “Hermione, you’re a muggle-born. _How_ did we get to the point of putting those words together?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for two years, now, Myrtle. I have no idea.”

* * *

“This is all, miss,” Sonya squeaked. “This is being the whole castle.”

“Really?” Hermione said excitedly. “The whole thing?”

It was the last week of the term, and Hermione had finally— _finally_ completed her map of the castle. Sonya was showing her around the last section, the seventh floor of the East Wing, and had stopped beside a ridiculous magical tapestry of trolls in tutus. Next year, she decided, no more pacing off and detailed measuring. Just a quick once-over to see what had changed.

But then, Sonya clarified her statement with a cheeky grin: “There is being one last secret room, miss. It is right here, miss, but it is being _extra_ special, and Sonya will tell Miss Hermione Granger about it in the fall.”

“What?” Hermione said in disbelief.

“Sonya will tell Miss Hermione Granger in the fall,” the elf repeated.

“But that’s—but…why?” she whined.

Sonya giggled: “Because this room is being extra special, and Miss Hermione Granger will want more time to explore it.”

“Sonya, you can’t do this to me!” She couldn’t believe the elf would make her wait all summer to learn about the one last room on her map. She might not even be coming back in the fall—but no, she refused to think that.

“Well, Sonya supposes Miss Hermione Granger _could_ order her to tell…” Sonya said innocently.

That little rebel! She knew Hermione didn’t like giving elves orders, no matter how willing she was to accept their station in principal. “Alright, you win,” she grumbled, causing the elf to giggle again. “Should we go back to your quarters, then?”

With that, Sonya’s ears drooped, and she looked down at her feet. “Sonya is not thinking that is such a good idea, miss. The other elves is scared to be close to you, miss…They is afraid you will try to free them, miss,” she whispered.

“That’s ridiculous,” Hermione said. “Dobby’s situation was completely different. All the Hogwarts elves are happy here. Didn’t you convince me not to try to free them when we first met?”

“Of course, miss, but freeing an elf is a very great offence, and the other elves is still not liking it.”

Hermione sighed, remembering the plan she was working on. She had cleared everything with Professor Dumbledore and had mentioned her plans to a few people as she wrote her parents, pleading with them to hear her out when she got home. “Well, they’re going to have to get used to it,” she said. “One way or another, Dobby’s going to be working here next year.”

Sonya winced slightly, but she nodded. She seemed to think Hermione’s plan was as bizarre, if not outright wrong, as Hermione found the enslavement of the elves in the first place, and she wasn’t crazy about Hermione’s idea for a number of reasons. “What is going to happen next year, miss, if Hermione Granger is not needing to call Sonya?” she asked.

“I’ll still visit, of course, Sonya,” she assured the elf. “Even if some things change, you’re still my friend, and I don’t abandon my friends.”

Sonya smiled at that and hugged Hermione: “Thank you, miss. You is a good friend, even if you is a strange witch.”

Of course, Sonya wasn’t exactly a normal elf either to be brave enough to say that out loud. Yes, by witch standards, Hermione’s life was pretty strange. _Huh, why do I suddenly feel like Luna Lovegood?_ she thought.

* * *

It wasn’t until the very last day of the term (she’d passed her exams with flying colours, of course) when Hermione finally got the visit she’d been waiting for. She was sitting under a tree out on the grounds working on her differential equations, when she heard a pop beside her. She looked up and saw a middle-aged elf with a long, thin nose and tennis ball-green eyes. He still looked pretty badly scarred, but his bruises had faded, and he was proudly standing up straight and tall (all three feet of him).

“Miss Hermione Granger!” the elf said. “Miss Hermione Granger put out word to the elves for Dobby to come speak to her, and Dobby has come!”

Hermione smiled as she remembered the unusual letter she had posted to her parents a month earlier: _Dear Mum and Dad, This is going to sound really strange, but could you please tell me what is the most money you_ _’d be willing to pay for a live-in domestic worker who is allowed to use magic at home. Please just give me a number, even if it’s lower than you could in good conscience pay somebody. I’ll explain when I come home. Love from Hermione._

“Hello, Dobby,” she said, rising to her knees so that they were eye to eye. “Would you like a job?”


	39. Third Year, Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not making any money from this, but somehow, I don’t think a Society for the Promotion of Fanfic Authors’ Welfare would go over too well.

Daniel Granger took a deep breath and said, “I need another drink.”

The Granger Family was feeling a definite sense of _deja-vu,_ as Professor Vector had again bought them dinner at the Leaky Cauldron to explain what horrific events had nearly killed Hermione _this_ year. It wasn’t pretty.

“So, just to review,” Dan said to Professor Vector, “a cursed _book_ containing the memories of the same evil wizard as last year possessed Hermione’s friend, Ginny Weasley, and forced her to unleash a giant snake on the school that can kill with its _eyes_ , and Hermione was the only one to figure out what it was and how to protect herself from it, and _you_ took _her_ , Harry Potter, and a another professor who wound up trying to erase all of your memories down to a hidden chamber under the school, with Ron Weasley sneaking down with you, and you killed the monster, destroyed the book, and saved Ginny together…Did I miss anything?”

“No, I think you got it,” Hermione said as she leaned into her mother’s side. Her mum’s arm had wrapped tight around her from “kills with its eyes.”

“Do we really need to say it, Professor?” he asked.

Vector sighed and said, “I have no defence, Mr. Granger, except to say that your daughter saved her own life and a number of others by her actions, and saved the school from being closed, _and_ , may I add, helped to prevent You-Know-Who from returning to power _again_. I allowed Hermione to come because time was of the essence, and I didn’t believe I could understand her protective spell quickly enough. I had no choice but to bring Mr. Potter, as he was the only person in the castle who could open the Chamber. As for Mr. Weasley, once he was down there, there was no time to find a way to get him back out. I also believed that between myself and the Defence Professor, we could keep them safe. That obviously didn’t go as intended, but we did succeed in the end.”

“You said Hermione still got hurt—” Emma said shakily.

“Mum, it was two cracked ribs that Madam Pomfrey healed right away and a case of magical exhaustion,” Hermione defended herself. “That’s not much by wizarding standards.”

“Don’t give me that, Hermione,” Emma snapped. “It was sheer dumb luck that it wasn’t a lot worse. And don’t think we’ve forgotten _your_ part in all this, missy.”

Hermione hung her head: “I’m sorry, Mum. I know I was being reckless. I should have gone straight to a teacher instead of the library. Everything else, though…I had to do it. I mean, I wouldn’t have gone down there if I didn’t have to, but there was no time. We barely got to Ginny in time, and as it was, I had to invent a new protective spell on the spot. And Harry really was the only one who could open the Chamber. _Plus_ , Lockhart was supposed to have the skills and responsibility to protect us. It’s not my fault he turned out to be a dirty, filthy, memory-charming fraud.”

Emma was surprised at the disgust in her daughter’s voice, even if she wholeheartedly agreed. Someone tryig to wipe her daughter’s memories was a really nasty thought, although she was a little concerned that Hermione sounded more shaken up about that tnhan the whole giant snake thing. “Well…be that as it may…that’s still…” Her voice cracked, and she held her daughter tighter. “…how many times have you nearly been killed at that school now?”

“Three, by my count,” Hermione muttered, though it was something of a matter of opinion how to count them. She patted her mother on the back and said, “But Mum, those things can’t happen again.” _Well, another troll could possibly get in, but it would be very unlikely._ “The monster’s dead, and You-Know-Who can’t get back in the school. Dumbledore made sure of that.”

“Just like he was supposed to last year?” Dan said skeptically.

“Dad, there was nothing he could do about the Chamber. Only a Parselmouth could open it. It’s just bad luck something like this happened two years in a row.”

“I would have to agree with her on that—” Vector started.

“I think you’ve said enough, Professor,” Dan snapped.

“Daddy! She’s just trying to help,” Hermione insisted.

“Well, I’m sorry, Professor, but your help hasn’t been very helpful lately.”

Hermione wasn’t about to take that. “Professor Vector took Professor McGonagall’s place going down into the Chamber because she promised to protect me,” she said.

That was enough to make her parents stop and take another look at her favourite teacher. Truthfully, she had half a mind to add that Professor Vector had been firing off spells like she had never seen before during that fight. Vector definitely had solid fighting skills, and Hermione was starting to realise just how far she had to go in the area of duelling.

“We’re very grateful to you for protecting Hermione,” Emma told Vector. “And we can recognise that it was a difficult situation, but obviously, we would much rather she was never in danger in the first place. And with three incidents like this in two years, it’s getting really hard to keep making the case for Hogwarts.”

“But Mum—”

“We’ll discuss this when you get home, Hermione,” Emma said sternly.

“Wait, Mum, Dad, look,” she cut in, “ _before_ you start talking about transferring me to Beauxbatons again, there’s something I need to talk to you about first.”

“And what’s that?” her father said with a sigh.

“Just a moment.” She extricated herself from her mother’s grasp and got up to open the door. “Dobby,” she called, “could you come in here, please?”

“Dobby is here, Miss Hermione Granger.” Dan and Emma watched with wide-eyes as Hermione ushered the timid-looking creature into the room. They had heard Hermione’s descriptions of house elves, but they had never actually seen one before. He was as she described him, though: three feet tall, bat-eared with huge green eyes, still wearing a dirty pillowcase and one human-sized sock, and covered with old scars.

“Mum, Dad, this is Dobby, the elf who…tried to warn Harry about the monster.”

“Goodness, what happened to him?” Emma said when she saw the scars.

“His old masters happened to him,” Hermione said angrily. “Some wizards are really abusive to their elves. Harry and I…convinced Mr. Malfoy to free Dobby after the whole basilisk incident.”

“And by “convinced,” you mean…?” Dan said shrewdly.

“It was all perfectly legal,” Hermione said quickly. “But Mr. Malfoy was pretty angry.”

Dobby trembled and whispered, “He was…He was trying to curse Miss Hermione Granger, but Dobby stopped him, sir.”

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She could have done without him mentioning that part.

“Er…thank you for that,” Emma said uneasily.

“You is most welcome, ma’am. Dobby is very happy to be a free elf, and he is honoured to be meeting Mister and Missus Granger.” He shook both of their hands.

“So…Dobby…” Dan asked, “you knew about the Chamber the whole time?”

Dobby’s ears drooped, and he lowered his head: “Yes, Mister Granger, sir, but Dobby could not tell. Dobby could not be revealing his masters’ secrets while he was bound, sir. Dobby is very glad to get away from his bad…his bad…” He started shaking in his one sock.

“Oh no,” Hermione said. She lunged forward and grabbed the elf’s arms, pulling him away from the table just before he could smack his head into it. “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” he yelled. Both of her parents and even Professor Vector flinched away from the display. “Dobby, stop!” she shouted.

The elf shuddered and went limp at once. “Dobby is sorry, miss. It is hard to be learning to be a free elf.”

“You see, it’s just awful,” Hermione said, tearing up at little. “He’s been trained to punish himself. We had to do something for him.”

“Well, of course you did,” Emma said gently, pulling Hermione back into her seat. “But what does all this have to do with us besides making Mr. Malfoy mad?”

“Well…the thing is, Mum…” she said hesitantly, “Dobby wants to work for wages now, but all the other elves say no magical family would ever want to pay an elf. I mean, Professor Dumbledore would, but still…I thought it would be nice…if we could hire him.”

“As a live-in domestic servant,” her mother finished. “So that’s what this is about. Oh, Hermione, I know you want to help, and I know we do pretty well for ourselves, but you must know we couldn’t possibly afford that.”

“You gave me a number, though.”

“Only because you insisted, dear. I thought it was one of your little maths projects. We could never actually pay him that.”

Hermione snorted with laughter in spite of herself. It really shouldn’t be that funny, she thought. It was another sign of how badly messed up Dobby was (or elves in general, maybe), but it was hard not to laugh when she said, “Mum, Dobby refuses to work for more than a third of that.”

“What?” Dan and Emma both said in disbelief.

“I couldn’t get him to accept more than one galleon a week and one day off a month,” Hermione said flatly. “You can try to convince him otherwise if you want, but you wouldn’t believe how stubborn elves can be.”

“But…Dobby…” Emma addressed him, “we know how much a galleon is. That’s not very much at all for your work.”

“Oh, but Dobby is not a greedy elf, Missus Granger, ma’am. Miss Hermione Granger offered Dobby three galleons a week and weekends off, too, but Dobby beat her down. Dobby is liking being free, ma’am, but he is still being an elf at heart. He is liking to work better, ma’am, if it is for good masters.”

Emma’s mouth hung open for a minute. Hermione had told her parents how strange elf psychology was, but they hadn’t believed her until now. “Professor?” she looked to Vector for insight.

“Don’t look at me, Mrs. Granger,” Vector replied. “This is all Hermione’s idea. I don’t really understand it myself, I’m afraid. An elf who actually wants wages is like an evil Gryffindor or a cuddly werewolf. They’re so rare they might as well not exist.”

“And you…you’re okay with this, Hermione?”

“Well, I do think it’s a slave wage myself, but it’s better than outright slavery,” Hermione replied. “And technically, it’s a galleon a week plus room and board—although the room doesn’t cost us anything, and the board—well, look at him: he’s not even two stone. But anyway, it’s all technically legal. It’s not like the elves have a trade board.” She sighed wearily. She didn’t like the house elves’ situation any more than the next muggle-born, but this had been a bit of a sore spot with her parents with her befriending them. “The fact is, elves are wired differently than were are. They’re not even modified humans. They’re uplifted animals. It’s not an ideal situation, but I thought maybe Dobby could set an example for the other elves by working for a family that cares about him—you know, show them there’s an alternative.”

Hermione pulled some official look parchments out of her bag and laid them on the table. At the top, they said, _Ministry of Magic, Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Office for House Elf Relocation._ “Listen, I talked it all over with Professor Dumbledore before I came home, and he really liked the idea. He even helped me with the paperwork at the Ministry. The joke’s really on them: you see there’s a heavy tariff on bonding an elf to your family—to keep less well-off families from snatching up dismissed elves—but there’s no fee for hiring one for pay because no one ever bothered to create one.” She laughed a little. “Anyway, Professor Dumbledore said we could hire Dobby, and he could work for us during breaks as our family elf, but then during the school year, we could subcontract his services to Hogwarts at parity. Then, he’ll be right there in the castle, and under the contract, Professor Dumbledore says I could still call him on an as-needed basis or buy back his contract at three sickles a day.”

Dan’s and Emma’s heads were spinning as they looked over the paperwork. Everything was there in the contract. It looked much simpler and more straightforward than any muggle contract. Clearly, wizards preferred not to complicate matters—or didn’t have as much experience with such things.

“Well, this is…” Dan searched for the words he wanted to say. “This is all very thorough, and I…guess it looks like a very generous offer, but honestly, Hermione, we’ve always got on just fine without domestic help. I don’t see why we need any now—um, no offence, Dobby.”

“Maybe not at home, but what about at Hogwarts?” Hermione said, going in for the proverbial kill. “That’s why I wanted to arrange for him to work there. I know that you think Hogwarts is dangerous, now. I still believe Professor Vector that all of this was just bad luck, but I figured that if I have Dobby with me, I can call him if I get into trouble without having to worry about when Sonya’s shift is or anything like that.” Except just then, Hermione remembered something Sonya had said that might derail the entire plan. “Oh, but Dobby,” she said nervously, “can you use that tracking spell that lets you come when we call without being formally bonded to us?”

“Yes, miss,” Dobby smiled. “With the bond of contract, Dobby can puts an Elf-Trace on all of you, miss, even if he is working for wages. But that is being Old Elf Lore, so not all the elves knows it.”

“Good. Thank you.” It was very lucky Dobby was from such an ancient and traditional elf family. “So there’ll be no problem. Under this contract, I can call him for help anytime.”

Dan let out a heavy sigh. Hermione really was bound and determined to go back to that place, it seemed. True, he and his wife could both see how much good it did her and how dedicated her friends were there, but at this point, they really felt it would be better to cut their losses. Even if they could see how the horrors she had witnessed in the past two years might be a terrible coincidence, they just weren’t prepared to trust that anymore…But then again, everything Hermione had ever told them about house elves said they were dead useful and loyal to a fault if they were treated well. Maybe…

“Professor, could you and Hermione—and Dobby—step out for a little while? I think Emma and I need to discuss this in private.”

“Of course, Mr. Granger. Come on, let’s go.”

Vector led Hermione and Dobby out to the main part of the pub, where they took a table and waited nervously. Hermione was fidgeting badly in her seat.

“Hermione,” Vector whispered, “I want you to know that whatever happens, I’m proud of you, and I want to keep up that independent study I mentioned.”

“You do?” Hermione said hopefully.

“Yes—whatever we can manage by owl correspondence, certainly. I wouldn’t worry about your studies at Beauxbatons, either. I’m sure you would shine just as brightly there.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

They made uneasy small talk after that for a while, until Dan came out and beckoned them to come back into the private room.

“Okay, first things first,” he said. “Dobby, we’ve have decided that we would like to offer you employment on this contract at least through the end of August. We’ll consider continuing after that once we’ve solidified our other plans.”

At that, Dobby leapt up with glee and shook Dan’s hand again. “Master Daniel Granger, sir!” he squealed. “You is being most generous to Dobby. Dobby is so happy to be working for wages, sir. Dobby will be the best elf for Miss Hermione Granger and her family.”

“Um, thank you, Dobby. Hermione, your mother and I have agreed that we won’t decide about Hogwarts just yet,” he said reluctantly. “We’ll try this deal with Dobby for the summer to see how he works out and decide closer to September.”

Hermione sighed with relief. At least she had some time to convince them. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said. “I really appreciate that.”

“And Professor Vector, thank you for being so open with us again. We have a lot to think about, but we’ll keep you informed of our decisions.”

“Thank you, Mr. Granger. I’m glad Hermione has such a supportive family. I can see that she draws a lot of her strength from having people around her who care about her.” Hermione blushed deeply. “I just want you to know…your daughter is _not_ defenceless. I know she’s only completed two years of schooling, but she can protect herself better than you might think…Good evening…and thank you for hearing me out.”

Dan and Emma watched her go, and they couldn’t help turning and giving their daughter a curious look. At distressing as the whole thing was, it did sound like she had pulled off an impressive feat of magic, not to mention hexing that evil wizard in the face _again_ , as insane as that sounded. It made them wonder just how far she would go by the time she was done.

* * *

The drive home was a strange one. Dobby had never ridden in a car before, and the Grangers all hoped no one noticed as he gazed in awe out the window at the sights of muggle London. “The muggle world is being very huge and shiny, Mistress,” the elf squeaked. “There must be…over a hundred thousand muggles in London, Mistress.”

The Grangers all suppressed a laugh. Dobby had obviously just picked a number that was much bigger than the population of magical Britain without knowing anything else. With his disconcerting use of the word “Mistress,” Hermione needed a moment to realise that he was addressing her. She’d have to do something about that. “Dobby, there are about seven _million_ muggles in Greater London,” she said gently.

Dobby’s large green eyes looked like they might pop out of his head: “Millions of muggles! Dobby never knew. Dobby’s M—” He shivered, and his voice dropped to a whisper: “Dobby’s old Master says…he says the muggles is animals scratching the dirt…Pardon Dobby, Mistress. Dobby never knew there could be so many muggles to build such a great city.”

Hermione decided not to overload his brain with the knowledge of just how many other great muggle cities there were. Instead, she just said, “Well, your old master’s so insulated he probably never set foot outside the magical quarter of London.”

Dobby nodded his head, and then Hermione had to grab his hands before he smacked himself. They would have to work on _that_ , too.

Dobby had never travelled any significant distance by a mundane method before, either, so driving through the countryside in the fading light was also a new experience for him, but finally, they made it back to their home in Crawley. “Well, this is our home, Dobby,” Hermione said as they stepped inside. The eager elf was already getting to work, helping to levitate Hermione’s trunk in from the car. “I’m sure it’s not as big and fancy as the Malfoy’s place, but I think it’s pretty nice.”

“Dobby is thinking it is a fine home for a small family, Mistress. The Masters Malfoys was having a much bigger family when Dobby was young.”

“We’re happy to have you, Dobby,” Hermione said, crouching down to get close to him and hoping she was speaking for her parents too. “However, if you’re going to work for us, there are some rules.”

Dobby looked up to face her: “Yes, Mistress?”

“Rule One: you are _not_ to punish yourself. If you think punishment is needed, ask one of us, and we’ll decide.”

Dobby nodded happily: “Yes, Mistress.”

“Rule Two: you don’t have to call any of us Master or Mistress. You can just use our names, okay?”

“Yes, Mist…Miss Hermione,” the elf forced himself to say. Hermione didn’t bother trying to disabuse him of the verbal tick all elves seemed to have to say “sir” or “ma’am” every other sentence. To be honest, it was actually kind of cute.

“And Rule Three: if you feel the need to protect somebody by doing something really odd, like…smashing a pudding on the floor…or sealing the barrier into Platform Nine and Three Quarters…or jinxing a Bludger to attack someone—unless it’s an emergency, _ask one of us first_.”

Dobby gave her a sheepish, toothy grin and nodded.

“Good. I think this’ll work out just fine,” Hermione said as she stood up. That was wildly optimistic, she had to admit. Dobby had been pretty messed up probably for decades and had no options to see a proper counsellor. She also knew how good elves were at exploiting loopholes in rules—an awful lot of Sonya’s antics involved loopholes—but she hoped that working for a family that actually treated him well would help Dobby and make him less likely to do things like that.

As they finished their conversation, Hermione’s mother regarded her with a curious look. “You wouldn’t _really_ punish him, would you?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, I’d never hit him like the Malfoys did—but I _did_ make Rule Three for a reason. I just figure if he acts up, we’ll do like with a little kid and take away something he likes…like making him watch while we cook dinner.”

At that, Dobby let out a small squeak of horror. “Miss Hermione is very crafty,” he said nervously. “Dobby will be a good elf.”

Hermione giggled, while her parents looked bemused. _Yes, he_ _’s still a house elf at heart_ , she thought.

“He should really get some proper clothes,” Dan observed. “Um…no offence, Dobby, but it’s really bad form to have a domestic worker wearing something out of a Dickens novel.”

“That is alright, Mr. Granger, sir. Dobby can be getting clothes now that he is working for wages.” The Grangers noticed that he smiled broadly every time he mentioned that.

“We can always go shopping tomorrow,” Hermione suggested. Then, she broke off as a loud yawn captured her. “Oh Merlin, it’s been a long day,” she said, maybe a little over the top. “I’d probably better get some sleep…” She started up the stairs.

“Hold on, there, young lady,” her mother interrupted. “There’s still the matter of _your_ punishment.”

Hermione gulped and turned around. “Punishment?” she said nervously.

“Yes, we’re proud of you for saving your friend and stopping that evil wizard, but we still don’t like how it happened. Personally, I’m still not convinced that your only choice was to go down into that Chamber place, but even if we allow that, you admitted yourself that you should have gone straight to a teacher instead of the library. Now, we overlooked your unsafe behaviour last year, given the circumstances, but we’re not going to do that again.”

Hermione Granger could face a basilisk, sure, but her parents? That was another matter entirely.

* * *

“Grounded,” Hermione griped as Dobby helped her unpack her clothes. “I can’t believe I got grounded for saving the world. I feel like I’m in one of those silly cartoon programs.”

“If Dobby may be saying so, Miss Hermione, Dobby is thinking you is being grounded for disobeying your parents. Master Draco…” The elf shuddered as he forced himself to reveal private family information. She made ready to grab him again, but he handled the impulse with just a twitch. “Master Draco was being punished much worse if he disobeyed when he was young, miss, and so was Master Lucius and Master Abraxas,” he whispered.

Hermione blinked in surprise. Dobby knew three generations of Malfoys as children? “Dobby…” she said, “if you don’t mind saying, how old are you?”

“Dobby is being sixty-five, miss.”

That was a surprise, although maybe it shouldn’t have been. Maybe it was the childish way they spoke, but Hermione found it hard to picture most elves as old. Flory the Head Elf at school was an exception, but even Tilly, who was Sonya’s grandmother and probably older than Dobby, was hard to picture as such. Also Dobby only looked middle-aged under the scars, but she remembered that elves lived longer than wizards.

In any case, she actually wasn’t surprised that the Malfoy family sounded so strict. Indeed, she wouldn’t have expected much less, given what Lucius Malfoy had tried to pull at school. It almost made her feel sorry for Draco—almost.


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Heat Harry Potter to 37 degrees Celsius and serve. Do not store in cupboard. Garnish with credit to JK Rowling.

While the Grangers went off for dinner with Professor Vector, Harry was getting his own meeting with a teacher, albeit a much shorter and blunter one.

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,” Professor McGonagall said.

The Dursleys all flinched, and Aunt Petunia scowled. “You—What do you want?” she said.

“I wanted to let you know,” she replied primly, “that unfortunately—and I say that for your nephew’s sake, not yours—Mr. Potter will need to stay with you again this summer. And after the…unfortunate events of last summer—” She glared at the Dursleys to indicate that she remembered they went well past “unfortunate.” “—I will be checking up on Mr. Potter periodically—making sure he is doing well, that he is able to complete his summer homework—just written, I assure you: no magic—and that he is able to maintain correspondence with his friends. I am sure that as a courtesy, your nephew will limit himself to sending messages at night so as to attract less attention.” She looked pointedly at Harry.

“Huh? Uh, yes, Professor,” Harry said quickly. Despite the good news, he was still a little shaken from the carriage ride that morning. Hermione had explained to him and Ron about the thestrals, but it didn’t reduce the impact. It was the kind of thing that stuck with you all day and could only be (hopefully) dispelled by a night’s sleep.

Vernon and Petunia went from red to white and back to red through that little speech, although they looked a little mollified by the concession.

“Good. Our Arithmancy teacher—what you would call a maths teacher—Professor Vector, may visit in my place at times. Finally, Mr. Potter, you remember how to use the Knight Bus?” Harry nodded. “If you experience an emergency, simply hail the Knight Bus and tell them where you need to go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry was already formulating an idea about that.

“Very good. And just one more thing, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley. I thought you should know that your nephew recently killed the world’s largest snake with a sword, saving several of his friends’ lives in the process.” The Dursleys paled, especially Dudley, remembering the boa constrictor incident. “You may think he is a—what did you always call your sister, Petunia? A freak? But in my book, you are not worthy of his presence, and it is by great misfortune that he is saddled with yours. Good evening.” She spun on her heel and walked away.

The Dursleys all eyed Harry nervously, as if he would produce a sword from his trunk at any moment. But when he just stood there, waiting, Vernon muttered, “Get to the car, boy,” and that was that.

When they made it back to Privett Drive, safely away from prying eyes, Harry made his move. Before his uncle had a chance to take him up to his room, he said, “Alright, Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, I have a couple of things to say, too.”

“I think you’ve said enough, boy,” Uncle Vernon growled.

“No, I don’t think I have,” Harry replied. He fished in his pocket and pulled out a runic circle: “You see this? I’ve got it working this time.” He pointed the rune at a hideous flower vase on the end table and said, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” The vase rose about a foot into the air, and then settled back down.

Dudley screamed and ran into the kitchen. Uncle Vernon turned his trademark shade of puce and looked like he was about to blow his top. Only Aunt Petunia retained the power of speech. “You…you can’t do that!” she stammered. “They’ll expel you!” She looked to the windows fearfully, waiting for the letter to come.

“No they won’t,” Harry said smugly. “No owls coming this time, Aunt Petunia. I won’t get in trouble if I use these instead of my wand—and there’s a lot more where that came from.”

“And you’ve got a lot more coming to you!” Uncle Vernon roared. He lunged at Harry, but Harry was ready and held up another rune to his face. This one said _Flipendo._ Not being a _complete_ idiot, Vernon stopped in his tracks.

“Wanna find out what this one does, Uncle Vernon?”

Vernon stood there in silence, sweating profusely. “W-what do you want?” Aunt Petunia asked for him

Harry knew he couldn’t ask for too much. He only had so many runes, and he still wasn’t sure how long they would last. “Just some basic courtesy,” he said. “You leave me alone, and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll even still do my chores, within reason. But if I decide to take the occasional day trip to visit my friends, I will ask you to keep out of my way. Besides, it’ll get me out of your hair for a few hours.”

Now, the Dursleys weren’t keen to give Harry any sort of pleasure in his life. Was it really cheaper to dye Dudley’s old school uniforms a new colour instead of just buying new ones? Cheaper, maybe, but also more effort, and if there was one thing the Dursleys hated more than spending money on Harry, it was expending effort on him. No, they went out of their way to make him miserable, and the thought of giving Harry a day trip to visit his freak friends was an infuriating one. But despite appearances, they weren’t stupid, and Harry was still holding an unidentified spell to Uncle Vernon’s head.

“Alright, alright,” Petunia said in an attempt at a calming tone to try to talk her nephew down. She’d never admit it, but she was inwardly cursing herself for never paying attention to Lily so she would know what Harry could actually _do_ to them. “Just put those… _things_ away, and we won’t give you any trouble—and we’ll let you disappear for an afternoon once in a while.” Vernon stayed that unhealthy shade of purple in anger at the deal, but he was in no position to argue. “ _If_ you get your chores done,” Petunia added lamely, knowing deep down that there was no way she could enforce it.

“Within reason,” Harry agreed.

* * *

The next morning, Hermione had decided to have a lie-in on her first day of summer, and her parents had a similar idea for a lazy Sunday morning and hadn’t bothered to move very fast. That had never been a problem before. Why should it be now?

BOOM!

The house shook. There was a loud yelp and a thud from downstairs, and her parents screamed in fear. Hermione’s mind subconsciously ran through the various possibilities of monsters, dark wizards, a car crashing into the living room, and so on, and settled on the correct explanation in a fraction of a second: there was an elf in the house.

“Damn, I should have thought—” she cursed her shortsightedness. A loud beeping sound and more yelps were coming from downstairs, but by then she was already in motion. She grabbed her wand from her desk drawer (she’d take the warning and call it an emergency if she had to) and burst out of her bedroom, running past her panicking parents and practically jumping down the stairs to reach the kitchen. The moment she got there, she threw open the cupboard door, grabbed the fire extinguisher, pulled the pin, and spun around to face the flames.

Dan and Emma Granger thought they’d had quite enough excitement for one year and were just hoping for a quiet summer, but it was not to be. Hermione had only been back twelve hours before something exploded, and she ran past them, wand in hand. They stumbled after her, and when they reached the kitchen, they were greeted by a sight disturbingly like one of her stories. Their daughter was standing there with her wand in her teeth, brandishing the fire extinguisher like a weapon, putting out the fire on the cabinets around the stove while their newly-hired house elf stood in the sink, wielding the sprayer faucet like a fire hose, valiantly trying to help. In seconds, the flames were miraculously beat down to the stove top, and Hermione dropped the fire extinguisher, reached out, lightning-fast, and turned all the knobs on the stove to OFF.

“Phew!” She sighed with relief as she wiped her unused wand on her sleeve and turned back to her shocked parents. “Um…morning?”

CLANG!

“Dobby, stop!” She grabbed the elf by the scruff of the neck to stop him from cracking his head on the rim of the sink. He began bawling loudly.

“Is this what your life if like all the time, Hermione?” Dan asked, saying the only thing that came to mind.

“Only about once a month or so,” Hermione deadpanned as she pulled up the overturned chair that Dobby had clearly been standing on to reach the stove and lifted him out of the sink to sit him down on it. “Dobby, please calm down,” she said.

“Dobby, is so sorry, Miss Hermione!” he wailed. “Miss Hermione’s family was so kind to hire Dobby, but Dobby failed! Dobby set his new masters’ home on fire! Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!” He shook violently, trying to bang his head on something again.

“No, Dobby, it’s okay! It’s not your fault!” Hermione said, but the elf barely heard her.

“It’s not?” Emma said incredulously. “Do you mind explaining that?”

“Dobby is a bad elf! Dobby did wrong. Dobby must find new work!” the elf cried.

“No, no, Dobby, we’re not going to fire you,” Hermione insisted, hoping her parents would agree. “And you didn’t do wrong. It was _my_ fault.” Dobby’s sobs cut off to a soft whine in surprise at a witch taking the blame. “I should have thought to teach you how to use our muggle appliances. You’ve never seen this kind of stove before, have you?”

Dobby looked up at her with wide eyes and tears rolling down his long nose. He gave a loud sniff and then shook his head.

“You haven’t?” Emma said in surprise.

“Hogwarts uses wood-fired stoves,” Hermione explained. “And I’m sure the old families all do, too. He’s probably never seen an electrical appliance in his life.” Dobby sadly shook his head again.

“Wood-fired?” Dan said.

“Why mess with what works? That’s how wizards think. Plus, an electric starter wouldn’t work at Hogwarts, so it’s probably safer.”

“So then…what exactly happened here?” he pressed.

Dobby looked up and tried to answer, but he just gave a shudder and started sobbing again.

“Shh, Dobby, it’s okay,” Hermione said before turning back to her parents. “Obviously, he wanted to make breakfast for us. So he started playing with the knobs, trying to figure out how the stove worked, turned the gas on for all the burners, and then the electric starter ignited it and blasted him off the— _Dobby, are you alright_?” she said frantically. She quickly looked the elf over, and her mother rushed to help. They soon found that Dobby had a bruise on the front of his head from where he’d banged it on the rim of the sink, and another one on the back of his head where he’d fallen on the floor, and his pillowcase looked a bit singed, but amazingly, he didn’t appear to be burnt.

“Oh dear,” Emma said. “You should really put some ice on that. I’ll make an ice pack for you.” She quickly retrieved the first aid kit and some ice from the freezer.

“M-M-Missus Granger is too kind to Dobby, ma’am,” the elf sniffed. “Dobby’s old m-masters never…never helped Dobby when he was hurt.”

“Well…well, we’re not like your old masters, Dobby,” Emma said. “In the muggle world we have something called workplace safety laws.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dan said grudgingly, obviously not liking how this arrangement was turning out. “Just let us show you how to use the kitchen before you try to cook anything.”

“Dobby is sorry about the kitchen, Mister Granger, sir,” he said as Emma applied the ice. “Dobby will accept any punishment—”

“Dobby, please stop. You’re not in trouble,” Hermione interrupted, glaring at her father to indicate that he had better agree. “Nobody got burnt, and this damage really isn’t that bad. Um…and in the muggle world, it’s the responsibility of the employer to train the employee in their job, so we can’t blame you for not knowing what you were doing.” Of course, she was sure the Malfoys would have blamed him anyway and beat him within an inch of his life, but that was all the more reason to show him there was an alternative.

“There, that should help,” Emma said when she had done what she could for his bruises. “We’re glad you’re not hurt too badly…” She regarded the elf carefully, not really sure what to say. How does one talk to a non-human? Hermione seemed to know how to talk to him easily, but Dan and Emma knew only the barest amount from her descriptions. Still, remembering the letters over the past two years and the conversation last night, she gave it a try: “If you’re up for it, let’s make breakfast together so we can show you how it’s done.”

Dobby leapt to his feet with elation. “Oh, yes, Missus Granger, ma’am, Dobby would like that very much. Dobby will be a very good student for his new family, ma’am.”

“I’m sure you will, Dobby,” Hermione said gently.

They set Dobby back on his chair (“We should really see about getting him a rolling chair or stool for this,” Hermione said) and showed him how to use the stove properly without destroying anything, although he would need some practice to get the heat just right for different things. They also showed him how to use all the other appliances, which made for a little bit different breakfast than normal, but they wanted to get it all out of the way quickly. Dobby thought that the toaster was very clever, the blender and rubbish disposal were both a little bit frightening, and the microwave might as well have been magic to him, especially as it came with the arcane warning, “Whatever you do, don’t put anything metal in there, or bad things will happen.” Hermione also tried to convince him to sit at the table with them, but that proved to be a step too far for the little creature, and they had to let him sit off in the corner to keep him coherent. Hermione decided they would have to work on that bit.

That day was a busy one. There were no more disasters, since the plumbing and cleaning supplies all worked more or less like Dobby was used to, but the Grangers did have to make sure he knew his way around electricity enough that he wouldn’t get electrocuted, and how the washer and dryer worked. Then they had to take his measurements and buy him some proper clothes. They bought an assortment of little boys’ clothes including (with difficultly, but at Hermione’s insistence for special occasions) a tiny tuxedo for a butler’s uniform. It wasn’t really all that much, but when Dobby saw the pile, he promptly fainted.

Over the next few days, although Dobby continued to be supervised whilst preparing meals, Dan’s and Emma’s anxiety over the arrangement lessened, and they discovered, to their delight, that Dobby was actually a pretty good cook. Granted, his choice of fare wasn’t as healthy as it could have been, but Hermione explained that wizards probably didn’t know a lot about such things, so Emma vowed to teach him about modern nutrition over the summer.

The most awkward part of the week was when Dobby insisted he didn’t want to take up the Grangers’ guest room, even though they had plenty of space. They didn’t really have a room that would make a good elf-sized bedroom, but Dobby suggested that if he cleaned up the cupboard under the stairs, it would make a good room. Even Hermione didn’t like that because it was so small and didn’t have a window, and she reminded him that the school elves had bigger rooms than that, but Dobby told her it was better than what he had before, and he needed a place to go when visitors came so they wouldn’t see him. And besides, he would be living with the school elves for most of the year, anyway. It took some convincing, but Hermione was quickly reminded how stubborn elves could be in their own, codependent way, and they agreed to give him the cupboard.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_I have some good news for once: my plan to hire Dobby worked out pretty well. It was a steep learning curve at first, but we_ _’ve ironed out the kinks, and my parents are really warming up to him. I think he’s much better off now that he’s well treated, and—let’s say he’s getting much easier to be around._

_I_ _’m sorry to hear about what happened with Ron’s phone call. We really need to be more precise when describing muggle technology to magicals. Dobby nearly destroyed our kitchen when he tried to work our gas stove on his own. (That was the steep learning curve I mentioned.) Don’t worry, though. We’re all fine._

_I couldn_ _’t write earlier because my parents grounded me for my “reckless behaviour,” but I’m ungrounded now, so if your relatives will still let you, you can come over for dinner sometime. My parents would love to get to know you properly, and I’m sure Dobby will be excited to see you again. (Don’t worry; we can keep him in line.)_

_I really hope your relatives aren_ _’t treating you too badly this summer. I’m sure some of the things they’ve done to you before are illegal, and I honestly think you’d be better off somewhere else. I didn’t want to push you, but please tell Professor McGonagall if something is wrong when she visits before things get as bad as last year._

_Love from Hermione_

_P.S. And be sure to get your summer homework done before it gets too late._

* * *

Harry really did appreciate his friend’s concern, but his summer was actually getting off to a pretty good start. There had been no weird disruptions, he was getting his mail, and even with his chores, with nothing else to do, he _was_ making good headway on his homework. Sure, the Dursleys were still glaring at him with their usual hatred, but that was par for the course, and with a professor visiting every week or two, they didn’t dare try anything.

Once he was settled into his routine at Privett Drive, he felt confident enough to arrange a dinner with the Grangers, and a date was quickly agreed to. He made sure all his chores were done for the day, so that there could be no (legitimate) complaints, and he boarded the Knight Bus, eager for a blessed, Dursley-free evening.

The Grangers’ house looked nicer than the Dursleys,” although still very formal and proper. Like Privett Drive, there were few signs that a child lived here, but then, Hermione was anything but a conventional child. In fact, conventional went right out the window when he rang the bell, and the door was answered by a hyperactive, green-eyed elf wearing a _tuxedo_ that looked like a wedding somewhere was missing its ring bearer. Harry only had a split second to register the odd sight before Dobby abandoned all decorum and jumped up and hugged his hero around the middle with more strength than he looked like he possessed. “Harry Potter, sir! Harry Potter!” he squealed. “Dobby has been hoping to see Harry Potter again, sir, and Harry Potter has come to see Dobby’s new family!”

“Erm, yeah, it’s good to see you too, Dobby,” Harry replied with as much sincerity as he could muster. He could have done without having the life squeezed out of him.

A giggle came from down the hall: “Alright, Dobby, let him breathe.”

Dobby slipped to the floor and escorted Harry into the house. “Yes, Miss Hermione,” he said sheepishly.

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said.

“Hey, Harry.” She hugged him much more gently than Dobby did. “How have you been doing?”

“I’m fine—a lot better than last summer, really.”

“Your relatives—?”

“Same as always, but they’re scared of McGonagall.” Harry smiled at that, but Hermione had to force it.

“Hello, Harry,” Mr. Granger cut in.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Harry said, shaking both of their hands. “Thank you so much for letting me come over. I’d probably go mental and turn Dudley into a newt if I couldn’t get away from him all summer.”

“A newt?” Mrs. Granger said worriedly, looking to her daughter.

“Would he get better?” Mr. Granger added, only joking a little.

“He doesn’t mean literally,” Hermione assured them. “We don’t get to human transfiguration until sixth year.” For some reason, they didn’t find that too reassuring.

“Well, we’re happy to entertain one of Hermione’s friends,” Mrs. Granger said. “Please come in. Dobby’s got dinner all ready.”

When Harry saw the dining room table all laid out, a lot of his reservations about Hermione hiring Dobby evaporated. He might be a little off his rocker, but he could cook as well as the next elf, and any time he could get a big meal over the summer was good in his book. Dobby still looked giddy as he sat at the table to eat with them (on a stack of phone books). He raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“It took us a week to get him comfortable with that,” she muttered.

That must be a sight that was never seen in magical households, Harry thought, and he wondered with amusement what Draco Malfoy would say if he walked in right now. “This is very good, Dobby, thank you,” he said after taking a few bites.

Dobby blushed: “Dobby is happy to serve, Harry Potter, sir.”

“So, Harry,” Mrs. Granger said. “We haven’t had a chance to talk to you since last summer, but Hermione’s told us all about your year—including that business with the basilisk. That was very…brave of you to go against that thing.” She wanted to say reckless, irresponsible, and insane, but she held back for Hermione’s sake.

“Well, we couldn’t leave Ginny to die,” Harry replied uneasily. “And Riddle would have come after the rest of us sooner or later. He’d already attacked Hermione once, and he wanted to get me, too—”

Hermione glared at him to be careful what he said. The one thing she hadn’t told her parents about the whole ordeal was that Riddle had specifically targeted her to get to him. She didn’t think they would take that very well. “We’re just glad he’s gone, now,” she said. _Well, that version of him is gone_ , she added mentally.

“Yeah…It’s Hermione who really deserves the credit, though,” Harry said, trying to be helpful. “We never would have found the Chamber _or_ known how to fight the basilisk without her.”

“But you were the one who actually killed it and practically got flattened for your trouble,” she tried to deflect attention away from herself.

“Yes, but you were the one who figured out how to get rid of Riddle.”

“Well, like Professor Dumbledore said, we all saved each other at least once that night,” she said quickly.

“Yeah, I guess we make a pretty good team, huh?” Harry said awkwardly.

Hermione just nodded noncommittally and said, “Let’s just hope we don’t have to test that again.”

Even so, it was a very good visit. In fact, he had never before been able to just sit at a dinner table and talk like a normal family. (The Weasleys didn’t count as a _normal_ family, he reminded himself.) The Grangers told him about their lives and clarified him on some of the finer points of goings on in the muggle world that he couldn’t keep up with. Harry didn’t have much in the way of life experience to talk about himself, but they were all very understanding. He wondered if this is what things would have been like had his parents lived. Would he have had brothers and sisters? Would they have had an elf? Would the elf have eaten at the table? Probably not on that last one, but still, he hoped Hermione could appreciate how lucky she was. He got back to Privett Drive late, but smiling, and no amount of grumbling from his relatives would get him down. That visit would definitely keep him going for a few more weeks.

* * *

Hermione found that she was as busy as ever this summer. Between summer homework, getting a head start on her new linear algebra studies, crash courses in muggle science and history, and her writeup for _Magizoology Monthly_ , there wasn’t much time to devote to her little spellcrafting side project, but she definitely wasn’t about to abandon that one.

She had learnt the basics of reverse-engineering spells in Arithmancy class last year, along the same lines as spell detection, analysis, and modification. She hadn’t had much cause to use these skills in practice yet, besides her basilisk-defying Colour-Change Charm, but she decided now would be a good time to put them to good use, when she had some spare time over the summer. After all, there was a certain spell she really wanted to learn how to cast, and it was only by reverse-engineering it that she would be able to understand it well enough to do it.

She started with what she knew. First, it was a spell that affected people. That meant that it had to include certain arithmantic elements that made it more complicated than many basic charms. Just as Gamp’s Law prohibited transfiguring true life as one of its five principle exceptions (that is, real living things as opposed to just magical constructs), so too were many spells less effective or ineffective on living things.

Second, it was a hex (unless it was one of those that were mislabelled, like the Leg-Locker Curse was arithmantically a jinx). That meant that its main mechanism of action was described using transcendental equations. Those were sixth-year-level maths, for the most part, but that was trivial for her, and the techniques were much the same.

Third, the spell was, at its heart, a transformation spell. That was the hardest part. In class, they had focused less on the arithmancy behind transfiguation than on that of charms, and the textbooks were the same, but she was pretty sure she had enough to go on.

Finally, she knew what the spell was supposed to do, what the incantation was, and a decent idea of the wand motion. That by itself wasn’t enough to cast the spell, although one could probably get it by grinding away at it for a while. Instead, an understanding of the energies involved was what was required, and for that, she needed to work backwards through the arithmancy to reverse-engineer and re-craft the spell based on those parameters. It was far more difficult than anything they had done in class, but she also had all summer to do it. And as she looked at the notes she had laid out, she was pretty sure she could do it, even if she couldn’t test it.

Hermione started working on the problem again, as she had been off and on from the start of the break, but today, she was soon interrupted by the arrival of a bedraggled-looking owl that proved to be bearing a letter from Ron. She gave Errol some water while she took the note and read it over with growing surprise. This _was_ good news. It looked like the Weasleys had got a seriously lucky break. It actually worked out for her. Mum and Dad wanted to take a holiday soon, too, so they’d be away then, anyway. She just hoped Harry wouldn’t take it too badly.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_Guess what! Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw! That_ _’s the big yearly lottery from the newspaper. It’s 700 galleons! We’re gonna blow most of it on a holiday in Egypt to visit Bill, but Mum and Dad can get me a new wand now, so Hermione’s off the hook. We want to have both of you over for dinner before we leave. Do you think you can come next Saturday? Hermione’s folks are coming, too. Let me know what the muggles say, and don’t let them get you down!_

_Bye,_

_Ron_

* * *

Flooing to the Burrow last year was disorienting, but the Grangers thought it was probably preferable to what they were doing now: riding the Knight Bus.

“Next time, we’re taking the car,” Hermione yelled. She and her parents were huddled together against the wall, trying to keep from sliding out of their seats and hoping the bus didn’t crash horribly.

“That’s what Ron said last year,” Harry replied. He wasn’t having much fun on the Bus himself, but he’d been on it enough times that he just gritted his teeth and held on tight.

They made it to the Burrow in one piece, being dropped off at the end of a long driveway—the edge of the property’s wards. As they walked up the driveway, Mrs. Weasley came out of the house, flanked by several of the younger Weasleys.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it’s good to meet you again,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You, too, Hermione, Harry. Come in, come in.”

They all filed into the house, where they could already smell the scent of one of Mrs. Weasley’s famous dinners in the oven. The Burrow had the same warm, homey, chaotic look as last year, except for the pile of suitcases by the door, where they were half-packed to leave on their trip. The children mingled in the crowded living room while Mrs. Weasley went back to the kitchen to set the table.

“Hey, mates,” Ron said, slapping Harry on the back. “Good to see you.”

“You, too, Ron,” Harry said.

“H-hi, Harry,” a timid voice said. They turned to see Ginny blushing furiously and struggling to meet his eyes.

“Hi, Ginny,” Harry said, waving slightly. Ginny waved back, but then turned her attention elsewhere to catch her breath.

“Congratulations on the trip,” Hermione said. She hugged Ron kind of awkwardly and standoffishly. “It sounds like fun. We’re going to France next week ourselves.”

“Cool. Are you gonna see the magical part of Paris?”

“I want to, but we don’t really know how to find it.”

“Percy probably knows,” Ginny spoke up. “He knows about all that Ministry-type stuff.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” George said, leaning in with a grin. “He’s got it all worked out to become Minster for Magic. He’s already writing some bloke from International Cooperation or something like that.”

“It gets right annoying,” Fred added.

“But I’m sure he can find out for you.”

“Thanks, I’ll ask him.”

Percy, as it turned out, was mostly holed up in his room these days. From his younger siblings’ letters, Harry and Hermione had learnt that the Weasleys had had a long family discussion about last year. It turned out that while Percy was concerned Ginny might be ill, he wasn’t snooping on her, like she thought. In fact, he thought she was snooping on him, trying to catch him with his girlfriend, who happened to be Penelope Clearwater. Percy still felt guilty about that, and it was awkward for him and Ginny to be in the same room. Or perhaps it was more that, as the Twins suspected, he was spending a lot of time writing Penelope. In any case, when Hermione caught him and asked, he didn’t know where to find the magical quarter in Paris off the top of his head, but he said it was listed in a directory in his room that he would check for them later.

“Well, it’s not going to eat itself,” Mr. Weasley said once they were all seated at the table. “Tuck in.”

The food was excellent, just like at their last visit. Mrs. Weasley truly did have a gift for it, and they could be sure she wanted to treat her guests. “I wanted to thank you personally for raising such a brave and caring daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” she said. “We’re all so grateful to her and Harry for saving Ginny.”

“Um, well, she certainly is one of a kind,” Emma said uneasily. _If only that didn_ _’t nearly get her killed_.

Thankfully, no one pressed the point (Hermione glared at Harry and Ron not to make a big deal out of it), and they soon changed the subject. Ron mentioned the latest news in the group phase of the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione hadn’t been paying much attention to that—she had barely registered that there _was_ a Quidditch World Cup—but she wondered if it might be an interesting exercise to take a look at the statistics. The entire Weasley Family was into Quidditch (to varying degrees, of course), so the Grangers were treated to a lengthy discourse on the subject. Ginny’s interests, though, were a little closer to home. She had been practising her flying a lot now that her brothers were finally letting her fly with them, and Fred and George, at least, had good things to say about her skills. Hermione was glad to see Ginny wasn’t hanging on Harry anymore—not ignoring him by any means, but trying to open up to Hermione and her own brothers and not freezing up trying to talk to Harry directly. It was hard to tell, but she thought Harry looked a little more at ease about it, too.

Meanwhile, Mr. Weasley had a whole new batch of questions about the muggle world, and it took the combined efforts of Mrs. Weasley and Percy to keep him in line. This year, though, the Grangers had some more questions about the magical lifestyle, on account of trying to mesh their life with—to put it in muggle terms—a domestic worker who had been raised in that culture.

“So Ronald tells us you actually _hired_ a house elf?” Mr. Weasley said.

“Oh, yes,” Emma said. “Dobby’s actually been pretty good so far. A good cook, really dedicated, and the house has never looked better.”

“I’m sure he is. It’s just so strange to think of an elf working for _wages_. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anything like it.”

“Well, it’s true most elves would never think of doing it,” Hermione said. “And I should hope very few are abused badly enough to drive them to it like Dobby was.”

“We were sceptical ourselves,” Dan said, “but it’s actually worked out for us. He wanted someone to pay him, and in the muggle world, we’re required to pay him _something_ , even if it’s not very much. Plus, he can look after Hermione if there’s an emergency.”

Hermione nearly choked on her drink. Did that mean her parents were leaning toward sending her back to Hogwarts, or was he speaking more generally? But he didn’t clarify himself, and the conversation moved on.

“That certainly does sound useful,” Mrs. Weasley quipped. “That’s the same reason I love our clock so much.” She motioned to the nine-handed clock on the wall that indicated where everyone in the family was. Hermione noticed what she hadn’t last year—that one of the positions on the clock read “Mortal Peril.” That _would_ be handy, she thought. “It’s not quite the same, of course,” Mrs. Weasley added. “But it’s still good to have.”

“It certainly is,” Emma said, impressed. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, it’s a Prewett Family heirloom,” she replied offhandedly. “We’ve got the old family spellbook that tells how to make one in the attic, but I’ve only ever understood the part about how to add new hands, myself.”

“Ah, well, maybe Hermione can take a look sometime.”

All of the Weasleys stopped and stared at Emma.

“Did I say something wrong?” she said, looking around nervously.

“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Granger,” Mrs. Weasley told her. “You wouldn’t know the customs. A lot of the old families have family spellbooks. They…they’re really…well, if you’re thinking that…”

Percy saved her: “They’re not magically or legally bound to the family, if that’s what you were thinking, but a lot of us don’t like to show them to people outside the family.”

“Right. Thank you, Percy. It’s just a matter of family identity—and also of not giving powerful spells to people who can’t handle them.”

“Which is why she’s never let us see it,” Fred said. His mother glared at him.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry,” Emma said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Not to worry,” Mr. Weasley said warmly, “I’m sure there’s a lot to learn coming into the magical world. And it’s not unheard of to show the family spells to good friends, anyway.”

“Well, besides, Hermione and Harry are practically family already,” George said.

“Yes, of course, after the past two years the children have gone through. And you’re all welcome any time,” Mrs. Weasley said.

Hermione turned pink and smiled shyly at that, while Harry was beaming. She still thought he would have preferred to stay here all summer (and if the books his family was mentioned in were accurate, he could easily pay his own way) if Dumbledore hadn’t pushed him to go back to his relatives. One thing was for sure, she was still going to keep a close eye on Harry’s well-being for as long as she could.

“I’m sorry we’ll both be away at the same time, Harry,” she told him as they prepared to leave. “You won’t really have anywhere to go next month.”

Harry’s expression fell a little, but he kept a brave face on. “It’s okay. The Dursleys haven’t been too bad so far. I’ve dealt with a lot worse.”

“It would still be better if you had somewhere to go.”

“Yeah…but I’m sure Professor McGonagall or Professor Vector will come up with something if there’s a problem.”

“You know, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said, “if you _do_ have a real emergency, you could go over to the Diggorys. Amos Diggory works at the Ministry, too, and I’m sure he’ll help you out if you explain things.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione added. “I know Cedric would help you if you need it, too.”

“Thanks, guys,” Harry answered. “I’ll remember that.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The probability that I am JK Rowling is within epsilon of 0%.
> 
> Part of this chapter has been quoted from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
> 
> I realise that it might be unrealistic for Hermione’s parents to let her keep going back to Hogwarts. But that’s what the plot demands, and I’m trying to make it as realistic as possible without going JK Rowling’s route of her not telling them anything. I know it’s a hard sell and will get harder, but as Hermione learns more magic to protect herself, her forceful personality will be able to come out more to make up for it.

“Sirius Black?” Dan Granger said as they watched the BBC bulletin from their hotel in Paris. “That’s a strange name.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. Some people just had weird names.

“It sounds kind of like a wizard-type name. Does it sound familiar to you?”

Hermione thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. It’s probably just a coincidence. There’s so few wizards, after all.”

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “They didn’t really say where Black escaped _from_. You’d think they would if they could.”

“Hmm…” Hermione said. The logic was sound, although the sheer numbers still made it unlikely in her mind. With muggles outnumbering wizards five thousand to one, even very bizarre events were more likely to be mundane. “I still doubt it, statistically speaking,” she said. “I guess I could write Professor Vector and ask, though.”

“That might be a good idea,” her mother told her.

Hermione wondered how Harry was reacting to the news, or if he had even heard about it. She really hoped this Sirius Black person wasn’t a wizard. If he was, she had a bad feeling about Harry—No, no, that was the Gambler’s Fallacy. There was no reason to think Black had anything to do with him, and hadn’t Professor Trelawney told her she had no gift for divination?

* * *

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Harry was at that moment receiving a visit from Professor McGonagall, along with his grudging relatives.

“You have been doing well, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked.

“Eh, same as always,” Harry said. He’d rather be able to see his friends on his birthday, but he was still getting by, and the Dursleys were staying in line.

“Very good, Mr. Potter. However I had something else to tell you today.” She turned to the Dursleys and asked, “Have you heard the muggle news bulletins about the escape of the convict Sirius Black?”

“Of course. What—?” Uncle Vernon started, but his voice cut out, and he made a funny choking noise as the truth hit him.

“He’s—he’s one of _you_?” Aunt Petunia said in horror.

“I’m afraid so,” McGonagall said. “He was a particularly vile servant of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“And—and—is he going to be a problem _here_?” Uncle Vernon said threateningly.

“Professor Dumbledore assures me there is no danger here,” McGonagall said coolly. “I believe you’re aware of the magical protections he placed on the house, Petunia?”

Harry spun around and stared at his aunt in surprise as she stood there with her jaw hanging open. Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes and glared at her suspiciously.

“They came with the boy,” she snapped when she regained her voice. “They’re supposed to keep the…the bad wizards away from us,” she whispered.

“Oh…well, fine, then,” Uncle Vernon said, although he still didn’t look too happy about having magic cast on his house.

With that, Professor McGonagall turned back to Harry: “Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore requests that you not leave the neighbourhood until it is time for you to do your shopping and return to school—just out of an abundance of caution, of course. I apologise for the inconvenience.”

“Oh…” Harry said, “well, my friends are all out of the country until the end of summer, so I was gonna do that anyway.”

“I see.” The professor felt a little better about that. “I’m glad it could work out for you, then. Either I or Professor Vector will continue to come around to ensure there are no problems.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

* * *

_“This Potter,” said Aunt Marge loudly, seizing the brandy bottle and splashing more into her glass and over the tablecloth, “you never told me what he did?”_

_Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were looking extremely tense. Dudley had even looked up from his pie to gape at his parents._

_“He—didn’t work,” said Uncle Vernon, with half a glance at Harry. “Unemployed.”_

_“As I expected!” said Aunt Marge, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. “A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who—”_

_“He was not,” said Harry suddenly. The table went very quiet. Harry was shaking all over. He had never felt so angry in his life._

_“MORE BRANDY!” yelled Uncle Vernon, who had gone very white. He emptied the bottle into Aunt Marge’s glass. “You, boy,” he snarled at Harry. “Go to bed, go on—”_

_“No, Vernon,” hiccuped Aunt Marge, holding up a hand, her tiny bloodshot eyes fixed on Harry’s. “Go on, boy, go on. Proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk, I expect)—”_

DONG!

Harry and Uncle Vernon both jumped, and Aunt Petunia nearly screamed. Harry was sure for a moment he’d exploded a clock or something with accidental magic, but the almost irrational rage and pressure were still there, unreleased. However, a split second later, they started to drain away as he realised the sound had, in fact, been the doorbell.

Aunt Petunia, surprisingly, seemed to recognise the danger because she immediately said, “Get the door, Harry,” to get him away from Aunt Marge.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. He raced away to the front door, thinking, _Please be a teacher. Please be a teacher. Please be a teacher._ He opened the door. It was Professor Vector.

“Oh, Professor, thank Merlin,” he said, sighing heavily with relief. “I think I was about to do something I shouldn’t.”

Vector immediately went on alert, “Why, Mr. Potter? What’s wrong?”

“My Aunt Marge is here,” he whispered urgently. “She doesn’t know about magic, and she’s going on about how awful my parents were—”

“Well, who is it, boy?” Uncle Vernon demanded from the dining room.

Harry thought fast: “Um, social worker visit, Uncle Vernon,” he called, thankful that Professor Vector was wearing muggle clothes. Her old-fashioned style might even help him in this case.

“Social worker?” A loud, boisterous, slurring voice called from the dining room. “I should like to meet the one who can handle a little beast like that.” There was a loud thumping sound of Aunt Marge staggering to her feet and stumbling down the hall.

“Social worker?” Vector whispered in confusion.

“They told Aunt Marge I go to St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys,” Harry whispered back.

Vector raised an eyebrow in surprise, but at that moment, Aunt Marge came around the corner. Faced with this large, beefy…moustached? And extremely drunk and red-faced woman, Vector quickly drew herself up to her most imperious and intimidating pose. Severus would be proud.

“Good evening, Ms…” Vector started.

“Marjorie Dursley,” she hiccoughed, not offering her hand. “Vernon’s sister.”

“Pleasure,” Vector lied. “Septima Vector. Department of…”

“Social Services,” Uncle Vernon muttered.

“Social Services, yes. I apologise for the late hour, but I needed to check on Harry, and things have been…chaotic of late at the office.”

“I can imagine if half of them are half as nasty as this whelp,” Aunt Marge replied, poking Harry roughly. “I do hope the boy is being disciplined properly at St. Brutus’s.”

“Uh—oh, yes, and thoroughly,” Vector replied, suppressing an eye roll.

“I might check into that if I were you. The boy is far too flippant about being beaten.”

 _Beaten? There are actual muggle schools that still use beating?_ “Well…uh, he can get like that sometimes. You know the sort: they can talk big, but they’re much different under pressure…You should have seen the _thrashing_ he got last May for being out of bounds again. Couldn’t even get out of bed until the next morning.”

Harry thought he saw a hint of a smile play across Vector’s face. _She might be enjoying this too much_ , he thought.

“Well, tell them to keep it up. If you’re lucky, maybe it’ll sink in before he comes of age. It’s about the only thing that will work on a troublemaker who’s mentally sub-normal.”

Vector coughed slightly. Severus was the only teacher at Hogwarts who would testify to that.

“I was just telling Vernon and Petunia, it all comes down to bad blood,” Aunt Marge continued. “Usually the mother. I should know—I see it all to time breeding dogs. The boy’s mother was a bad egg.”

 _Did that_ _“woman” just call Lily Potter a—?_ Vector thought, but she managed to restrain herself. Mostly. “Not this one,” she said. “I’ve seen his files. His father was the only one in the system—apparently known for elaborate pranks in his school days.”

Harry’s ears perked up. That was too specific to be drawn at random. Was Professor Vector actually telling him something about his father?

“Pranks,” Aunt Marge scoffed. “What the perpetrators call a dirty, rotten con job. Well, then, it still comes down to poor judgement, obviously, getting themselves killed in a car crash.”

Harry clenched his fists, trying to hold himself back again. _In a pinch, bent twigs may be straightened with an ordinary pair of pliers, depending on type_ , he recited in his head.

“Ah, nasty business that,” Vector replied innocently. “I’ve seen the file—winding country road, bad weather…” She leaned in closer like Aunt Petunia’s gossipy friends. “There was some evidence a lorry driver ran them off the road, but it was never proved.”

Harry barely restrained himself from laughing out loud as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gaped at her behind Aunt Marge’s back. She had done more to undercut Aunt Marge’s low esteem for his parents in ten seconds than he could have done all week. For once in her life, Marjorie Dursley was speechless.

“Well, I just need a moment with Mr. Potter, and then I’ll be on my way,” Vector continued.

“Um, right, right,” Aunt Petunia tried to salvage the situation. “We’ll just be in the dining room.” And she and Uncle Vernon led Aunt Marge away.

“That was brilliant, Professor,” Harry said when they were out of earshot. “How did you come up with that?”

“I think perhaps your friend Miss Granger is rubbing off on me. Will you need any more help dealing with her?”

“I don’t think so. She’s leaving tomorrow, thank God. But thanks a lot for coming by. I don’t really have anywhere to go right now, and it would’ve been bad if I’d done something.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Potter. Do write me if there are any other problems.”

“Yes, ma’am…Professor, was my dad really a prankster?” Harry asked.

Vector nodded. “Worse than the Weasley Twins, he and his friends were. In fact, it really annoyed your mother. Fortunately, he grew up a lot in his sixth year. I’ll tell you some of the stories sometime.”

Harry smiled at that, even if it wasn’t the story he expected. “Thanks, Professor.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Potter. Good evening.”

As Professor Vector left the property, she didn’t notice, but Harry did, a large, black dog sitting on the other side of the street.

* * *

Hermione was more and more on edge after returning from France. She’d already finished her summer homework, and it was well past too late to redo it for another school. She’d barely have time to get her new books, and it was killing her not being able to tell her friends what was going on with her. Her parents noticed, too, as much as they didn’t want to think about it. If they were honest about it, they had been putting off this discussion for far too long.

“Hermione’s really getting nervous,” Emma said as she sat at the kitchen table.

Dan nodded gravely. “I don’t blame her. I don’t like stringing her along like this. I just can’t stand the thought of sending our baby back to that madhouse. I mean, I don’t get what she sees in that place.”

“Come on, Dan, you know better than that. She sees that she’s got the best friends there she’s ever had. And a teacher who’s bent over backwards to stimulate her intellect and support her advanced studies—you know how hard we worked to get that for her in primary school—and she’s finding a kind of strength there that, let’s be honest, none of us ever knew she had.”

“Yes, by facing certain death three times,” he exclaimed.

“I know,” Emma said soothingly. “I’m with you. It’s only for her sake that we’re even having this discussion. But we need to decide this tonight. We’re nearly out of time, anyway.”

“Okay,” Dan said, folding his hands. “Let’s talk. I say we should just send her off to Beauxabatons. Yes, I know she’ll be devastated to have to leave her friends, but it’s for her own good. Hermione keeps saying the threat’s gone, but I have to wonder if she’s not just fooling herself.”

“She’s not entirely wrong,” Emma said. “The monster and the…spirit thing that was controlling it are both dead.”

“Sure, and what’ll be next time? Werewolves? Demons? What about this Sirius Black character? Professor Vector said he was one of those pureblood supremacist terrorists. Even if the Ministry of Magic _is_ providing security, I don’t like it.”

That one was hard to refute. “I don’t know,” Emma said wearily. “With as many chances as we’ve given that place already…I just wish there was some way we could compromise. I want to keep her happy. I hate to see what it’ll do to her to pull her out.”

“So do I, honey, but it’s all or nothing when it comes to schools. I just can’t see sending her back until I see their security system actually _work_.”

“I know. I wish I _could_. The only thing I can think of is that she’d have Dobby there now. She can call him anytime, and you can tell he’ll protect her with his life.”

“He’s still only an elf,” Dan said. He held up a hand when he saw Emma scowl at him. “Nothing against elves. He’s been really great this summer. But three feet tall and less than two stone doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence.”

“He _did_ throw a grown man down a flight of stairs,” she reminded him.

Dan smiled a little at that. The elf had struck a chord with his protective fatherly instincts when he heard that bit, but it still only seemed like small consolation for all the trouble their daughter had got into over the past two years.

They kept talking for a long time, but they were just going in circles. Emma really wanted to find a reason to convince herself that it wouldn’t be mad to let their daughter go back to Hogwarts, and even though his mind was more made up than hers, so did Dan. But no matter what they said, it was just unfounded words. If they were honest with themselves, they didn’t even know enough about the magical world to understand what the risk ought to be.

“Okay, let’s think about this logically,” Emma said after they hammered at the last question at random for a while without success. “After all, that’s what Hermione always does—well, usually does. Let’s start with her first year. That year, we had the troll and the whole business with that possessed teacher.”

“Don’t forget the baby dragon,” Dan said. “She may not have been in danger, but it definitely wasn’t supposed to be there. And that’s just what happened to her. Her friend Harry was nearly killed when that teacher cursed his broomstick.”

“Okay, those too. But remember who let the troll in, and who gave that Mr. Hagrid the dragon egg.”

Dan nodded slowly as he remembered.

“All the bad things that happened in her first year were caused by that teacher—Professor Quirrell—who was possessed by Vol—Voldee—this You-Know-Who character, whatever his name is, and they plugged the hole that let him get in. The Headmaster said what they did last year would have stopped him.”

“Yes, I remember,” Dan replied. “But then this past year, You-Know-Who was the one who caused trouble again, except he used a cursed book to possess Hermione’s friend, Ginny. Yes, they killed the monster, so he can’t ever do _that_ again, but what do you want to bet he’s got other tricks up his sleeve? What if he’s got another book, and he possesses someone to just attack her outright or something.”

“But why?”

“Well, she _did_ hex him in the face. Twice.”

“Oh, right,” Emma said, “but Professor Vector’s been there over twenty years, and nothing anywhere near that bad happened otherwise. And according to Hermione’s history books, that includes a decade of open war.” She stopped and shook her head. “Okay, that’s not really even the point…” She took a deep breath as she tried to articulate the thought that was working its way through her mind. “Right, think of it this way: Hermione and Professor Vector told us all about the attacks and serious injuries in that school, past and present. What do they all have in common?”

“Well, to listen to them, it sounds like every bad thing that happened in that school, beyond ordinary bullying and sports injuries—which I’ll give you she would still face elsewhere—but everything that’s happened there in the past fifty years comes back to this You-Know-Who.”

“Exactly!” Emma’s face fell: “But Sirius Black was supposedly his top follower.”

“Yeah…so the real question is, what is the school doing for security against Sirius Black. After all, why would You-Know-Who bother with another plan if his best henchman were suddenly available?”

“Hang on; I’ve got our copy of Professor Vector’s letter here somewhere…” She riffled through the papers on the back corner of the counter. “Ah, here it is. Let’s see…“Every entrance to the grounds will be guarded around the clock by guards brought in from Azkaban Prison.’”

“The same guards that let him get out in the first place?” Dan said.

“That’s what it sounds like. Still…“Anyone crossing the ward boundaries other than at the designated entrances will be apprehended immediately, no exceptions. The area around the castle, particularly Hogsmeade, will be regularly patrolled by Aurors (dark-wizard-hunting detectives) and Hitwizards (violent crime response officers).” Well, a police presence is good.”

“Yes, it shows that _someone_ is being sensible, at least.”

“It _is_ a lot more than they had last year.”

“True, but I’d feel better about it if they knew how he got out in the first place. And what if he uses another cursed book or something?”

But Professor Vector had answered that as well: “‘All students’ luggage will be scanned for dark magic upon arrival. Any luggage showing signs of dark magic will be searched.” It all sounds pretty airtight…Of course, Azkaban Prison was supposed to be escape-proof.”

“So the _real_ question is, do we trust these new security measures?” Dan said firmly.

That led to another long discussion. The new security measures _were_ encouraging, especially since they were Ministry-sponsored and not done through the school. On the other hand, there was still the visceral reaction that after two years of this mess, they really didn’t want Hermione going anywhere near that place again. Through the various points, Emma soon got to the heart of the matter: “I don’t _want_ to think the school’s that dangerous. I mean, there are three hundred other children there.”

“Yes, and three of them were attacked by that monster last year and one of them was possessed,” Dan said. “But I see your point, though. There’s hundreds of other families there that also want to keep their children safe, and they’re going to want to make sure the Ministry is really on top of things…I don’t know, what does your gut tell you?” Dan said.

Emma gave him a wry smile. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“No I’m not, dear.”

“Yes, you are, because _I_ think I’m crazy. Honestly, my gut tells me that it’s not gonna be as simple as just those security measures…but my gut also tells me Hermione’s going to be alright.”

“Okay…that does sound a little strange,” Dan said cautiously. “Do you think we should get you tested for divination skill, like she was?”

Emma chuckled at him a little, but she said, “It’s just that Hermione’s going to start inventing her own spells this year, and we know what she’s already done with that skill. Plus, she _is_ going to have Dobby on call—and maybe more elves as friends if she plays her cards right. I know she’s only not quite fourteen, but you have to admit she’s growing up. I really think she can take care of herself—definitely better than she used to.”

“Oh, I know she can.” Dan sighed and stared off into space for a long while. “The crazy part is that I kind of feel the same way,” he concluded. “I don’t like it. And I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve said that. But I guess if you look at it rationally, you have to admit the risk is objectively not that high. I mean with Dobby and the new security measures, she’s a lot more protected than before. And as much as I don’t want to, I kind of have to admit the messes over the past two years were probably just a nasty coincidence. I don’t know…I guess if you’re comfortable letting her go back there, I can get on board.”

“No,” Emma said, “I don’t think I’ll ever be _comfortable_ with it, but I think it’s safe enough that I’m willing to do it for Hermione’s sake…I don’t think we should tell her just yet, though. Let’s see if we feel the same in the morning, and then decide for sure.”

“Alright, honey, I can live with that.”

It was a very uneasy and rather sleepless night for the two of them (and Hermione wasn’t feeling too good either, by now), filled with more soul-searching and half-mumbled conversations, but eventually, in the cold light of day, they agreed that they were still willing to give it a go—not to give the Hogwarts staff another chance: they felt that the school had already used up all of those—but to give the Ministry (and Dobby) a chance to make things right.

Hermione’s resultant scream of joy could be heard throughout the entire neighbourhood and nearly gave Dobby a heart attack.

* * *

“Hermione?” Emma said, knocking softly on her daughter’s open door. Her daughter’s elation had died down over the past couple days, and they were now focusing on getting ready to return to school.

“Yes, Mum?” Hermione said, looking up from her linear algebra book.

Emma shut the door and sat down on the bed, which by itself started to trigger Hermione’s suspicions. “Well…” she said slowly, “now that we know you’re going back to Hogwarts, I think it’s only fair that I sign your permission form to go to Hogsmeade.”

“Oh, right,” Hermione smiled. She got up and pulled the form from her stack of papers. “Here it is.”

“Good,” Emma said, taking out a pen. “Now, we expect you to behave yourself and to keep up with your schoolwork.”

Hermione almost laughed: “Yes, Mum.”

“It sounds like it’ll be nice to get out of the castle once in a while,” her mother said idly. “I bet it’s popular with the older students, too, since it’s the only place off the grounds where they can go on dates.”

“Yeah, a lot of my older friends started dating in third year.”

Emma gave her daughter a sly smile: “So are there any boys you’re hoping will ask you to Hogsmeade?”

“Mum!” Hermione cried indignantly. “I-I-I’ll probably just be going with Harry and Ron.” She honestly hadn’t thought about either of them that way—or any other boy for that matter…Well, maybe Cedric…

“Well, you are nearly fourteen, dear,” she replied coyly. “You never know when some boy will catch your eye.”

Suddenly, Hermione’s analytical mind put all the pieces together. She flopped back on the bed and covered her face, saying, “Oh, no, you’re going to give me The Talk, aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Hermione, but it has to be done sometime. It’s a rite of passage in every young woman’s life.”

“Mum, they give us all a seminar about all that before the first Hogsmeade weekend,” she said.

Emma was taken aback a bit at that. “They do?” she said in surprise.

“Yes. Alicia told me about it two years ago. It’s basically the same as in the muggle world—they want us to learn it properly before we learn it wrong from the older students—except there are some things that muggle-borns wouldn’t know about.”

“Um…Like what?” Emma said, feeling eerily like the tables had been turned.

Hermione blushed deeply, but she tried to answer: “Well, I’ve only heard this secondhand, but apparently accidental magic can happen in…certain situations. And then…they warn us about not abusing certain spells and potions.” Despite her own embarrassment, she was a little pleased to see she made her mother blush a bit with that one.

“Um, does that happen a lot?” she asked.

“I’ve tried to avoid the details, but with my roommates, I hear a lot of rumours. Anyway, and they also cover the incantation for the Contraceptive Charm…”

Emma choked in surprise. “Th-there’s a _charm_?” she said once she stopped coughing.

“Mum, do you really think wizards would go for thousands of years without inventing one?” Hermione said flatly.

“Well, I didn’t know how difficult it was. You’ve said that magic doesn’t affect people as well as inanimate objects.”

“It’s not that hard; it’s a simple barrier method. I could probably invent it myself after another year of Arithmancy.”

Emma blushed again, as did Hermione when she realised what she’d just said. “And…and…is it, you know, effective?” Emma asked.

Hermione sighed: “Mum, population growth in the wizarding world has been flat for centuries.”

“Okay, okay, I get it—but I still need to give you The Talk—muggle-style. It’s my duty as a mother.”

“Fine, let’s just get it over with,” Hermione groaned.

Fortunately for Hermione, being raised by a pair of dentists meant that she was familiar enough with human physiology that the really embarrassing part didn’t take long. After that, her mother really did have good advice about dating and relationships. True, she didn’t think she’d be _using_ any of it anytime soon, but she could agree it was good to be prepared.

* * *

Professor McGonagall wrote Harry and told him that Professor Dumbledore recommended he not take the Knight Bus directly to London, so as to cover his tracks a little more. Upon hearing this, the Grangers offered to give him a ride, so he took the Bus to their house.

Hermione answered the door and immediately hugged him. “Harry, it’s good to see you,” she said. “How have you been?”

“Okay,” he said. “The Dursleys weren’t too bad this year. And I even got Uncle Vernon to sign my Hogsmeade form.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s great. I was worried about that.”

“Yeah, me too. I think if Professor Vector hadn’t shown up when she did, I would’ve either made him really mad or run away from home—or both.”

Hermione frowned. She was afraid he’d have a rotten summer. She wondered again whether it was had really been worth it to send him back to his relatives. Well, at least he was going back to school tomorrow for a hopefully normal year.

“Anyway,” he said, “so you convinced your parents to let you go back?”

“Yes, or rather Professor Vector, Dobby, and I did, and even then, it’s only because the Ministry’s providing security. You’ve heard about Sirius Black, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t suppose your relatives care about you going back?”

“Nope. They’re happy to see me go, and I bet they’d be even happier if I didn’t come back.”

“Harry, that’s awful! You shouldn’t talk like that.”

“It’s still true. You all ready to go?” he quickly changed the subject.

“Just about. Dobby was just—”

She was interrupted as the elf ran forward. “Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby squealed, and he hugged Harry’s legs.

“Uh, yeah, good to see you, too, Dobby,” Harry said. Hermione giggled at his predicament, and he glared at her.

“Hello, Harry,” Dan said as he and Emma came to the door.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Thanks for giving me a lift.”

“No trouble at all, Harry,” Emma answered. “Please come in. We’re almost ready.”

Harry stepped inside to see that Hermione’s trunk was already packed, and her parents were filling overnight bags. Hermione motioned for him to take a seat as she oversaw Dobby’s work. “Dobby was just telling us about this time when Malfoy got in trouble,” she said. “Dobby, if you’re comfortable telling Harry, I think he’d like to hear it.” The Grangers had served as unofficial counsellors for Dobby over the summer, even as Hermione went back to her real counsellor with her carefully constructed cover story about the Chamber of Secrets incident. They were trying to gradually encourage him to talk about his former masters and so un-train the bad habits of self-harm he had learnt with them.

“Malfoy getting in trouble? Definitely,” Harry said.

Dobby gave him a weak smile and said, “Dobby was telling Miss Hermione that even though his old masters is very rich, sir, Master Lucius still wanted to teach Master Draco to be responsible.”

“Ha!” Harry snorted. “Malfoy? Responsible? _That_ _’s_ rich.”

But Dobby shivered slightly and said, “N-no, Harry Potter, sir. Even though Master Draco is a…b-bad wizard b-bully—” Hermione laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder to keep him from panicking. “—he is still careful with his things.”

“It makes sense,” Hermione said. “He may be rich, but Mr. Malfoy would want Draco to be responsible with money since he’ll have to run the family’s affairs someday.”

“Yes, miss,” Dobby nodded. “And when Master Draco was nine, Master Lucius was thinking Master Draco was using up too many toy wands.”

“Toy wands?” Hermione said. “What’s a toy wand?” Her parents stopped and listened with interest.

Dobby got a confused look on his face. “It is being a wand that is a toy for little witches and wizards, miss,” he said.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath and said, “I get _that_ , but what do they do?”

“They is only supposed to make lights and sparks, miss,” Dobby said apologetically. “But Master Draco was casting real spells and they was all burning out.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose into her hair. Her mind started spinning with the implications that meant for how spell worked, how magical artifacts worked, how _real_ wands worked; and she let loose a flurry of questions: “Wait, they cast real spells? That’s allowed? They’re allowed to sell them? And they burn out? What does that even mean? Do you mean they burn out after a certain amount of use, like a light bulb? Or do they burn out if you put a certain amount of power through them, like a fuse…? Oh, wrong person to ask. But do you know if they’re made differently from regular wands?”

Dobby shook his head sadly. “Dobby is not knowing, Miss Hermione…but Dobby is thinking they would be, because they is sold as toys, miss.”

Hermione thought about that and couldn’t disagree. If they were sold as toys, they probably weren’t traced by the Ministry or anything like that. But that meant that they were toys that could, in principle, cast real spells. She sighed: just another perk muggle-borns didn’t have. “We should see if we can find some in Diagon Alley,” she told her parents.

“I suppose we can look…” Dan said cautiously, wondering what they were getting into _this_ time.

“So what happened with Malfoy, Dobby?” Harry asked as his head stopped spinning from Hermione’s tangent.

“Oh, Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter, sir. Master Lucius thought Master Draco was using up too many toy wands, and Master Draco blamed Dobby, but Master Lucius did not believe him that time because Dobby does not know how to use a wand, sir. Then, Master Draco said he would do better if he had a real wand, but Master Lucius said he must learn to be responsible with toys first. Then, Master Draco tried to use three toy wands at once so they would not burn out, sir, but they exploded and smashed Mistress Narcissa’s favourite vase.”

Harry gasped with stifled laughter, but Hermione was confused. “Couldn’t she just use _Reparo_ on it?” she asked.

Dobby shook his head. “No, Miss Hermione. Master Draco had smashed Mistress Narcissa’s vase before, miss, and the _Reparo_ left cracks.” Hermione remembered Professor Flitwick’s warning that the Repair Charm worked less well with repeated use. “Mistress Narcissa was very angry. She made Master Draco clean his room for a month and forbade Dobby from helping.” The elf giggled conspiratorially. None of the humans thought it was quite _that_ funny, but Hermione, at least, could see why an elf would think so.

Once they finished packing, they got ready to go and loaded up the car. “Alright, Dobby, we’ll be staying the night at the Leaky Cauldron with the Weasleys, so you can go on ahead to Hogwarts and get settled in there,” Emma told him.

“Yes, Missus Granger,” Dobby replied with bow. “Dobby has been honoured to work for the Granger Family this summer.”

“It’s been good having you here, too, Dobby. We’ll see you at Christmas.”

“Oh, and if Sonya or any of the elves give you any trouble, let me know, and I’ll try to straighten them out,” Hermione added.

“Yes, Miss Hermione.” Dobby nodded and popped away.

“You know, that elf’s really grown on me,” Dan said.

“Certainly handy to have around,” Emma said, “and really quite pleasant now that he’s calmed down some.”

Harry only cautiously agreed. It was nice of Hermione to help him, but…“Yeah, I guess he’s pretty nice when he’s not trying to jinx me.”

* * *

The ride to London went smoothly, except that Hermione kept extolling the virtues of Arithmancy to Harry, which made him start to wonder if he was getting in over his head. They met up with the Weasleys without mishap, and Ron was bursting to tell the both of them what a great time he’d had in Egypt and to show off his new wand. Hermione tried to pay him back for the wand, but he refused, since the money came from their leftover lottery winnings.

They got their books and other supplies, including copies of _Spellman_ _’s Syllabary_ and _The Monster Book of Monsters_ for Ron and Hermione. (Hermione couldn’t see the usefulness of a book that tried to bite you and wondered whose idea it was to assign it.) Harry also needed _Numerology and Grammatica_ , while Ron needed _Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles_ (which Hermione thought looked woefully out of date). (“I’m so proud of you for applying yourself this year,” Mrs. Weasley said.)

However, the group made one extra stop that day, at Hermione’s insistence. After asking the Weasleys for directions, they quickly located Elvendork’s Enchanted Toys.

“The toy shop?” Ron said incredulously. “What are you going there for?”

“I wanted to get some toy wands,” she replied.

“Toy wands? What d’you need toy wands for? You’ve already got a real one!”

“I don’t want them to use them, Ron. I want to experiment with them.”

That perked up two other sets of ears. “Experiment?” Fred and George said together.

“Erm, yeah. You know, figure out how they work, what they can do. It might give me some clues about real wands.”

“Really? I hadn’t thought of that before,” said Fred.

“Do you mind if we—” George started.

“Join you with that?”

“Um, I guess if you don’t destroy anything,” Hermione said nervously.

“Us?”

“Destroy things?”

“Now what would give you that idea?”

“It’s just that Mum wouldn’t let us get any—” George clarified.

“—after that little incident with Ron’s teddy bear.” Fred finished.

“And said they were a waste of money,” George finished.

“I see,” Hermione said, biting her lip.

“Now, Hermione,” her mother said, “your father and I exchanged some extra pounds to get you an early birthday present, but we don’t want you spending a lot of money on toys, even if it’s for experimenting. Didn’t you say you’d like to get a pet?”

“I do, Mum. I only want a galleon or so for this.”

“Well…alright, let’s see what they have then.”

They wandered around the shop and marvelled at the wide variety of enchanted toys, from animated stuffed animals to building blocks that could be stuck and unstuck at will to make impossible structures. Finally, they found a rack containing a surprising variety of toy wands of different types. The cheapest were a sickle apiece and looked like ordinary wooden dowels from a muggle hardware store, while the most expensive were a whole galleon and looked like real wands, except with few to no carvings. Those ones seemed pretty expensive toys considering a real wand was seven galleons—toys for someone like Malfoy.

After some cajoling and speculation on how much she could learn about wandmaking in general, Hermione convinced her parents to give her two galleons for her project, and she bought one one-galleon wand, three three-sickle wands, and eight one-sickle wands. That way, she could try to take some apart and test others in different ways.

She stacked up her purchases and approached the clerk. However, as he rang her up, she asked, “So these toy wands aren’t restricted by the Restriction on Underage Sorcery?”

The clerk smiled and said, “Muggle-born?”

“Yes,” Hermione bristled. “Is that a problem?”

“No, miss, it’s just most people would know already. Toys aren’t restricted long as the muggles don’t see ‘em.”

“Oh, well, thank you. Do you know how they’re made?”

“Ah, I think ‘bout the same as regular wands, ‘cept with cheaper materials. And no, I don’t know how the Ministry tells them apart,” he guessed her next question. “You’ll want someone like Ollivander for that.”

“Thanks,” Hermione blushed. She checked her watch. “Oh dear. I guess we don’t have time. We still need to get to Magical Menagerie. Well, I’ll figure out what I can on my own first.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ron said. “I want to get Scabbers checked out. He’s been looking peaky since Egypt.” He pulled his rat out of his pocket, and Hermione saw that he indeed looked thinner and more listless than usual. Come to think of it, Scabbers had to be getting pretty old for a rat.

They walked back up the Alley to Magical Menagerie. It was a crowded little shop, and very loud with all the calls of animals within. Some of the creatures Hermione recognised from _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , like puffskeins, fire crabs, and streelers; but others, like huge purple toads, double-ended newts, and black rats that played skip rope with their tails, were completely unknown to her, which made her wonder about how magical breeding worked.

“Can I help you?” the witch at the counter said.

“Yeah, it’s my rat,” Ron replied, holding up Scabbers for her to see. “He’s been looking sick all month.”

“Well, let’s take a look,” she said as she examined him. “Magical rat?”

“Er…I don’t think so.”

“No? How old is he?”

“Dunno.”

“Well, Ron, you’ve had him two years’ said Hermione. “How long did Percy have him?”

“Long as I can remember. He must be…blimey, he’s gotta be almost as old as I am.”

“Is he? He must have _some_ powers, then,” said the witch. “A mundane garden rat will only live about three years or so. And it doesn’t look like all those years have been good to him. He’s missing a toe, too.”

“He was fine besides that before we went to Egypt,” Ron protested.

“Maybe he couldn’t take the heat,” suggested Hermione.

“I wouldn’t think so. Rats are survivors. It could be he’s just getting old. Now, if you’d like one that’s a bit fitter…” She motioned to the sleek, long-tailed, black rats in the cage on the counter.

Ron shook his head with a faint scowl. Hermione was struck by the gesture. As much as he complained about Scabbers, he sure didn’t want to get rid of him. Maybe it came from having to take everything secondhand, or maybe he really did care more than he wanted to admit.

“Well, if you really want to keep him, you can try this rat tonic.”

“Okay,” said Ron. “How much—OUCH!”

Hermione saw a huge ginger cat zoom through the air from the top of the stack of cages, hissing madly at Scabbers.

“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” Scabbers slipped out of the witch’s hands and scampered out the door at a speed that made him look not ill at all. Ron, Harry, and the cat swiftly followed. “STOP HIM!” the witch yelled.

Hermione and her parents jumped to lay their hands on the cat. Hermione dove and managed to get her arms around his middle. He struggled mightily as she stood back up, but she whispered to it, “Shh, shh, calm down, kitty. That rat’s a friend.” Something about the cat’s face made her think he didn’t believe her, but he still relaxed in her arms.

“Phew, good catch,” the witch said. “A right menace, that one is.”

“What kind is he?” Hermione said idly. Personally she thought he looked like a very handsome cat, if rather hefty, with a refined, noble face, intelligent eyes, and long, silky fur.

“He’s a mongrel, that’s what he is,” came the aggravated response. “Half kneazle, with a chip on his shoulder big enough for a whole one.”

“But aren’t kneazles supposed to make excellent pets?” Hermione said, still cuddling the large beast and scratching him behind the ears. He began purring, and she crooned softly, “That’s a good kitty, Crookshanks.”

“Wow, I think our daughter has a way with animals,” Dan muttered to Emma with a chuckle. “Who knew?”

“Well, sure, if you can handle them,” the shopkeeper said. “They’re very intelligent, have an excellent sense of direction, and an uncanny ability to sense untrustworthy people. But the kneazle enthusiasts don’t want a cross-breed, and most others can’t stand his…dominant personality. That monster’s been here for ages. Nobody wants to take him.”

“You’re kidding!” Hermione exclaimed. “Look at him. He gorgeous.” The witch scrunched up her nose and generally looked unconvinced. “Well, where I come from he is.” Hermione insisted. “Any muggle-born family would _love_ to have a Persian-kneazle cross like him. Poor Crookshanks,” she cooed to the cat again. “Nobody understands us non-purebloods, do they?”

“It’s official, she’s in love,” Emma muttered back to Dan, giggling. “And I thought we only had to worry about human boys.”

“Mum!”

“Well, you know, he actually seems to like you,” said the witch. “Tell you what, if you think that highly of him, I’ll let you have him for just five galleons—no money back if you return him, though.”

Hermione spun around and beamed at her parents.

“Now, Hermione, are you sure you can handle a pet like that?” her mother said.

“I’m sure, Mum. I wasn’t sure if I wanted a cat or an owl, so I read all about cat care. Kneazles are a little tougher, but they’re not that different.”

Her mother smiled knowingly at her and then turned to the shopkeeper and slapped five galleons on the counter. “You’ve got a deal,” she said, and then to Hermione, “Happy early birthday, dear.”

Hermione was practically glowing as she carried her new pet out of the shop to show her friends.

Ron and Harry were not amused.


	42. Third Year, Autumn Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Expecto JK Rowling!

Dobby popped into Hogwarts and climbed up to a strange place that he had never seen, but had heard fanciful stories of since he was a little elfling: the house elf living quarters at Hogwarts. The yellow-and-black-draped bedrooms, bathrooms, and common room, all filled with elf-sized furniture and fixtures, were like nothing he had ever seen before.

But not everything was perfect at Hogwarts, for from the moment he arrived, Dobby could feel the stares of the other elves on him and hear the suspicious whispers behind his back. He couldn’t deny that he stood out like a sore thumb there. All of the other elves were dressed in matching tea towels, while Dobby, in his muggle children’s clothes, looked odd by both elf and wizard standards. That he had brought luggage with him made him look even odder.

Many of the elves looked nervous at his appearance, and the parents tried to hide the elflings away from him behind them as the little ones whispered inappropriate questions.

“Who is that being?”

“What is he _wearing_?”

“Is that being a _free_ elf?”

“What is he doing here?”

Even Dobby, as insular as he was, knew that these were awkward questions for elf parents, who didn’t like to broach the topic of free elves, much less bad masters, until their children were older. Dobby could hear some of them whispering simplistic partial answers, but those only provoked more questions that usually resulted in the parents glaring at him.

“But why is he wanting to be free?”

“Is he being sick?”

“Why is he having those scars?”

“Is he the elf Hermione Granger freed?”

“She is _paying_ him?!”

“Why is she doing that? She is always being nice to elves.”

Dobby was rapidly growing nervous and wondering if this whole idea was a mistake. He had never been around this many elves before in his life, and as a result, he was more comfortable with wizard culture than his own, which only made things worse. And he was well aware that his—what had Miss Hermione called it? Lifestyle choices—that was it. His lifestyle choices were positively scandalous to normal elves.

“I hope he will come to his senses and bond to the castle or to Hermione Granger like a good elf should,” many of them whispered to each other, not seeming to care if he heard them.

Dobby didn’t think that was likely. He didn’t want to leave Miss Hermione’s employ if she would have him, and he was sure that she was too stubborn to ever bond him without pay, which for now was how he liked it, though he definitely did not like the angry stares and jeering comments behind his back. He started hunching over and wringing his hands nervously, like he did around his old bad masters.

Suddenly, a very old elf wearing an especially fancy tea towel came up to him, flanked by two more elves, one of whom Dobby recognised as Sonya, who glared at him with arms crossed. “You is Dobby?” the oldest elf asked.

“Yes, I is Dobby,” he said, forcing himself to stand straight again.

“I is Flory, the Head Elf,” she replied, looking down her nose at him like a disapproving village elder. “Professor Dumbledore told me about your… _contract_ ,” she whispered the last word like a shocking taboo—which it really was to the elves. “You is reporting to me in all school business. I is reporting to Professor Sprout and Professor Dumbledore.”

“Yes, Madam Flory. Dobby understands,” Dobby replied. The title seemed appropriate for the proxy for the wizard masters of the school.

“Your… _contract_ is saying you is not to work overnight shifts, so you is going to clean the boys’ toilets in the dorms during the daytime shift,” Flory told him without further acknowledgement. “You is also to deal with all ambiguous clothes situations in the castle.”

Dobby noticed some smug nods from some of the other elves. It wasn’t hard to work out that cleaning the bathrooms was the lowest-ranked job in school. He was sure he would have got the night shift, too, except that he needed to sleep at the same time as Miss Hermione so he could come more quickly if she called him. And yet, he got the feeling that it would be helpful to them to have an elf around who could handle any clothes without consequence. “Yes, Madam Flory.”

“Tilly and Sonnett is helping you move in,” she finished before turning around and hobbling away.

“Hello, Tilly. Hello, Sonya…” Dobby told the other two elves. “I is Dobby.”

“I know you are,” Sonya replied with an icy stare, looking only slightly mollified by his use of her nickname. “Is Hermione Granger being well?”

“Miss Hermione is being very well, and she is very happy to be coming back to Hogwarts tomorrow,” Dobby told her.

“That is being good. Hermione Granger told Sonya to be nice to Dobby, so Sonya will be nice, but Sonya is still thinking Dobby is a sick elf and should not be giving Hermione Granger wrong ideas about elves.”

“Miss Hermione knows that Dobby is not like other elves, Sonya. She is not having wrong ideas,” he defended her. Miss Hermione had told Dobby that Sonya was her best elf friend at Hogwarts, so it wasn’t hard to guess that part of Sonya’s dislike of him was jealousy, but he was still determined to be nice to the younger elf, for Miss Hermione’s sake.

“Please be following Tilly, Dobby,” Sonya’s grandmother interrupted. She also looked a little disapproving, but she was being more formal and polite than the other elves. “Your room is being this way.”

* * *

“Have fun at school, Hermione, and stay out of trouble,” Emma Granger said as she saw her daughter off for the new year.

“Yes, Mum.”

“And take care of yourself,” Dan added. “We know this is going to be a harder year for you, and we don’t want you overworking yourself like you did in your first year.”

“Me neither, Dad, but I’ve got Ron and Harry and Professor Vector to keep me in line. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, good luck, Hermione. We love you.”

“I love you, too.” She hugged her parents and boarded the train, following Ron and Ginny into the car.

She looked around for Harry, but Mr. Weasley seemed to have pulled him aside for a last minute conversation. And it really was last minute. She felt a lurch as the train started to move. “Harry!” she yelled at the same moment Mrs. Weasley called to him, and he came running up to the edge of the platform. Ron held the door open, and she and Ginny grabbed him by the arms and pulled him inside.

“Phew, that was close, Harry,” she told him. “You wouldn’t want to have to take the Knight Bus again. What was that about?”

“I need to talk to you in private,” Harry muttered to them.

“Go away, Ginny,” said Ron.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Ginny turned to leave in a huff.

Remembering her promise to be a better friend, Hermione stopped her. “Ron, don’t you think that should be Harry’s decision?” she said. She looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry turned to face Ginny and seemed to think for a moment. “Ginny, you can stay,” he concluded.

“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny said sweetly, blushing, as usual.

“Come on, Harry, really?” Ron complained.

“She’s my friend and your sister, Ron. She might as well find out, too.”

“Let’s find a compartment,” Hermione said, defusing the situation.

Only the very last compartment on the train had enough room for the four of them. Surprisingly, the sole occupant of the compartment appeared to be the new Defence Professor. That put Hermione on alert, considering how the last two Defence Professors had turned out—but no, that was the Gambler’s Fallacy again. Oh great, now she was turning paranoid.

In any case, Professor R. J. Lupin looked more sick than evil. He was fast asleep next to the window, even though it was the middle of the morning, and he looked pale and thin. That his robes had been patched in several places was even more telling. That meant they’d been magically repaired so many times that the charms wouldn’t stick anymore. He must not have bought any new clothes for years for some reason. Hermione remembered that Lockhart had been the only person to apply for the Defence job last year. Had things got so bad that Dumbledore had to hire a homeless man to teach? That didn’t bode well.

“Anyway…” Ron said, turning to Harry, “what did you need to tell us?”

Despite no one being around (awake, at least) to listen in, Harry automatically leaned in as he spoke: “Last night at the Leaky Cauldron, I overheard your parents arguing.” He motioned to Ron and Ginny.

“Well, that’s not new,” Ron said.”

“Shh!” Ginny told him.

“They were arguing about whether to tell me something,” Harry continued. “Your dad wanted to tell me what’s really going on with Sirius Black, but your mum thought it would scare me too much—as if facing Voldemort twice weren’t scarier than that.”

Ron gasped at the sound of the name. Ginny choked a little, but kept it together better.

“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione muttered. “What’s going on with Black, Harry?”

“Well, for one thing, nobody knows where he is. No one’s seen him, and no one knows how he broke out of Azkaban. But there’s something else: before he broke out, Black was talking in his sleep. He kept saying, ‘He’s at Hogwarts.’ They think Black’s coming after me.”

“Eep!” Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth in horror, then collected herself and slowly lowered them. “Why is it always _you_ , Harry?” she asked.

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” Harry grumbled.

Ron looked thunderstruck at the revelation, and Ginny—poor Ginny who was relatively new to this business—was trembling and staring at Harry in horror. “Ohmygod, Harry,” she said breathlessly, “no one’s ever broken out of Azkaban before, and now he’s after you?! What’re you gonna do?”

“It’ll be alright, won’t it?” Hermione said, trying to convince herself. “I mean, the Ministry is providing security, right?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “Mr. Weasley said Dumbledore doesn’t really like the Azkaban guards.”

“Why wouldn’t he like them? If they keep the school safe—”

“I guess they’re kind of a bad sort or something. He didn’t explain.”

“Well…still, they’ve got to be _some_ good,” Hermione said nervously. “And…and I _think_ Dobby will be able to track you at school. I’ll ask him so you can call him if you need help.”

“Er, thanks.” _I think_. “There was something else that was strange, though.” He turned back to Ron and Ginny. “When your dad talked to me before I got on the train, he made me promise not to go _looking_ for Black.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Why would you go looking for someone who wants to kill you?” Hermione asked.

“That’s what I said,” Harry answered.

“You’d have to be a total nutter to do that!” Ron exclaimed. “I mean, he was You-Know-Who’s second in command, for Merlin’s sake!”

“You know, _that_ _’s_ a little odd, too.” Hermione said. “I noticed something in my reading. People talk about Black being Voldemort’s second in command.” Ron and Ginny flinched again, but she ignored them. “But in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , it says he didn’t really lead any attacks until…well, until the night your parents died, Harry. It sounds like he showed up out of nowhere and tried to take over after Voldemort disappeared…more like a sleeper agent than a second in command.”

“Sleeper agent?” Ginny asked.

“It’s kind of like a double agent—someone who pretends to work for the other side, but turns around and openly attacks them from the inside when they receive a certain signal.”

“So…You-Know-Who kept him a secret and _wanted_ him to take over if something happened to him,” Ginny reasoned.

Ginny really was pretty smart, Hermione thought. “Yeah, he might have done.”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a while, then awkwardly changed the subject. Harry didn’t seem as concerned about Sirius Black as the rest of them, but then, that was Harry. It was true, Voldemort was worse, but they’d had a lot of help both times they’d faced him. Hermione could only hope that Harry’s luck was better this year, especially if Black really was coming for him. As much as she disliked it, _that_ sounded like something to not mention to her parents if she could help it, especially after Riddle had come after her to get to Harry last year. They worried about her enough as it was.

The weather seemed to worsen with the mood in the compartment, growing darker and rainier as the day progressed. Ron kept talking about Hogsmeade, partly for his own interest and partly to try to cheer them up, but it put Ginny off since she couldn’t go until next year. Meanwhile, Ron complained when Hermione let Crookshanks out of his basket and frequently grumbled as her new cat sat across from him and stared at his pocket where Scabbers was sleeping.

Professor Lupin stirred a couple of times, but he didn’t wake up all day. Hermione wondered if he was a vampire on top of looking like he was homeless—he looked pale enough, although those scars on his face made her doubt that. Perhaps he had some serious illness, but then why would he be on the train? Still, even asleep, he was enough to repel Malfoy and his cronies, so that was one good thing.

Night fell, and the rain seemed to grow colder and ominous, almost as if the chill and wet was seeping into the compartment. Everyone was eager to get to school and the Welcome Feast, but as the train slowed down, Hermione noted that the landscape she saw out the window in the flashes of lightning didn’t look right. She checked her watch. She remembered that time seemed to drift back and forth a few minutes each day at Hogwarts, so she couldn’t say unequivocally that they were stopping early, but it certainly didn’t look like they were at Hogsmeade, and she became certain when they stopped with such a jolt that they could hear the thuds and bangs of luggage falling out of the overhead compartments up and down the train.

“What was that?” Ginny asked. “Are we at the station?”

“No,” Hermione said, peering out the window. “We’re on a bridge.” _No way off,_ she thought. _I have a bad feeling about this._

The lamps went out. Ginny yelped in surprise. Ron shouted, “What’s going on?” and scrambled up to look out the window. He stepped on Hermione’s foot.

“Ouch! Ron, be careful!”

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Did we break down?” Harry asked.

 _That would make sense_ , Hermione thought. _Probably too much sense._ She looked out the window and thought she saw black shapes moving around outside.

Ron saw it, too. “There’s something out there!” he whimpered.

“Quiet!”

All four of them gasped, but they quickly cut themselves off. That hoarse, pained voice didn’t belong to anybody who had spoken all day, which could only mean it was Professor Lupin. Suddenly, a soft orange glow filled the compartment. Lupin seemed to have conjured a handful of cool flames, presumably much like Hermione’s Bluebell Flames, except in colour.

 _Did he just cast that wandlessly?_ Hermione wondered in awe. She was about to ask him when the chill came back over her, much heavier than before. She had an inexplicable sense of foreboding. _Oh no, please don_ _’t tell me something bad’s going to happen before we even get there,_ she thought.

“Stay where you are,” Professor Lupin said in that same hoarse voice.

Hermione clutched her arms around herself and started shivering. When had it got so cold? Her stomach clenched in knots as she felt the energy drain out of her.

The compartment door opened, and she beheld a horrible sight. A skeletal, half-rotted hand with long fingers reached inside, followed by the tall, cloaked figure it was attached to.

 _Oh God, oh God, oh God!_ Hermione’s mind kicked into overdrive. Unfortunately, it just spun in circles and produced only dark and despairing thoughts: _We_ _’re going to be attacked by a monster, and school hasn’t even started yet!_

The creature drew a slow, rattling breath. Harry and Ginny were both shaking so badly that it looked like they would fall off their seats. Ron looked frozen with terror.

She felt like the cold had seeped into her veins and her heart. _Oh,_ why _did I ever want to come back to this cursed school in the first place? I_ _’m only going to get myself killed here. I’m such an idiot! I never have any fun here, anyway. I only end up getting teased and made fun of for being smart and attacked by monsters and dark wizards. Good Lord, I’ve nearly died here_ three times _! I_ _’m doomed, aren’t I? I should have stayed at home._ Her memories of fighting the troll, Quirrell, the basilisk, and Riddle flashed through her mind like a movie, all showing themselves in the worst possible light.

Harry fainted and collapsed to the floor in an apparent seizure.

 _Oh no, Harry! What do I do? What do I do? Come on, focus, focus!_ But her mind was so scattered it wouldn’t focus on anything but how bad her predicament was. She knew she should do something—try to get away, scream for help, cast a spell, call for Dobby, but she quickly found she didn’t have the will to do anything but curl up in a ball and cry.

“Sirius Black is not in this compartment. Go.”

 _Go away, please just go away,_ she thought. _Why can_ _’t I do anything? I can’t think of a way to help. I’m so stupid! Harry, I’m so sorry. I was just an idiot girl who thought I could help, but I couldn’t—_

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A silver light filled the compartment, and all of Hermione’s dark thoughts fled away so fast that it almost gave her whiplash. She looked up and saw an indeterminate silvery form emerging from Professor Lupin’s wand and pushing the dark-cloaked monster out of the compartment.

 _What_ _…what just happened?_ she thought in horror. _Why was I thinking like that? None of it_ _’s true! And why couldn’t I think of a way to help? I could have at least called Dobby. That’s what I’m supposed to do._ Suddenly, she turned to Harry. He was blinking awake on the floor. The oil lamps flickered back on.

“Are you okay?” Ron asked nervously.

“Yeah…” Harry groaned. “What happened? Where’s that…thing? Who screamed?”

“Huh? No one screamed, Harry.”

“But I heard—”

SNAP!

All four of them jumped and spun around. Professor Lupin was breaking apart…a giant chocolate bar? He handed a piece to each of them, giving Harry the biggest piece. “Here. Eat it. It’ll help,” he said.

“What was that thing?” Harry asked as he pushed himself up.

“A dementor. One of the dementors of Azkaban.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “ _That_ was one of the Azkaban guards?” she asked in horror.

“Unfortunately. Horrible creature, I’m afraid, but it’s gone now. I have to talk to the driver. Eat the chocolate. It’ll help.” He quietly slipped out of the compartment.

“What…what happened?” Harry said with a quaver in his voice. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen him like that before, and his hands were still shaking. So were her own, now that she noticed it.

“You—you looked like you were having a seizure, Harry,” Hermione said. Her voice felt weak, like she hadn’t spoken in days. She heard a sniffling sound and turned to see Ginny curled up in the corner, sobbing. Hermione slid over and put her arms around the younger girl. Ginny shuddered and pressed herself close against her chest.

“I was so scared,” Ginny spoke even more weakly than Hermione did. “Everything went dark and cold and…” she trailed off, unable say more.

“Did…did any of you faint?” Harry asked worriedly.

“No, nobody fainted…” Ron said slowly, “but I felt awful—like I’d never be cheerful again.”

 _Never be cheerful again_ …The thought struck Hermione, and she set her analytic mind to the experience and ran through her symptoms, whispering under her breath: “Feeling of hopelessness, negative view of things I enjoy, loss of energy and motivation, loss of concentration, feeling of worthlessness—Oh Merlin!” she exclaimed loudly. “I think I just had a depressive episode! What were they _thinking_ bringing those _things_ here?”

None of the others had an answer to that. Absentmindedly, she bit into her piece of chocolate and was stunned to feel the warmth flow back into her limbs. _Wow, that_ _’s almost too stereotypical,_ she thought, but what she said was, “Huh, that really helps. Ginny…”

She steadied Ginny’s hand to take a bite. The little redhead immediately relaxed and slid away, albeit slightly. Even close, she leaned in and whispered in Hermione’s ear: “Hermione…I heard Tom!”

“What?” Hermione gasped, barely keeping her own voice to a whisper.

“I heard his voice. I remembered everything he made me do.”

“It’s okay, Ginny. It’s gone, now.”

“I don’t get it,” Harry spoke up. “Why did it do that? And why was I the only one who fainted.”

“I wish I knew,” Hermione said.

* * *

“I do hope there’s pudding tonight,” the little blond-haired girl said—Luna, Neville thought her name was. He had tried to strike up a bit of a conversation with her, since Harry and his closer friends had gone off to do their own thing, but it was really uncomfortable with everyone else in the compartment calling her Loony and conspicuously ignoring her.

“Um, yeah,” Neville replied awkwardly. “They always have just about everything at the Welcome Feast.”

No one had a chance to say anything more as the train jolted to a halt and the lights went out.

“Neville…?” Luna said nervously. “I don’t like this. I think there might be an umgubular slashkilter coming on board, or a swarm of aquavirius maggots—” The compartment door was forced open by a skeletal hand. “Eek! Or a dementor!” she squeaked.

Everyone in the compartment cowered back in fright. All of them were coincidentally purebloods, so they all knew at least basically what a dementor was.

Neville felt dizzy. He became vaguely aware that he was shaking badly and sinking to the floor. Somewhere, a high-pitched voice cried, “Mummy, no!” but that was the last thing he heard clearly because his ears began to ring with distant screams—horrifying screams—the screams of a man and woman in unimaginable agony—that shut out everything else. Screams that, he only fully realised now, had haunted his dreams for the past twelve years.

And then it was over. The dementor left the compartment, and the screaming faded. Neville came to his senses on all fours, panting heavily. Slowly, he began to feel normal again, except for a strange pain in his hand.

He looked over and saw the cause. Luna was lying on her side beside him, shaking, with tears in her eyes, and gripping his hand so tight in her own he was sure he’d sprained a finger. With difficulty, he pulled both of them back into the seats and wrapped the trembling girl in a hug. It was far more than he’d ever expected of himself around a girl, but it came naturally to him, as someone who had weathered similar storms. “Shh…it’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s gone, now.”

“Aww, got a soft spot for Loony, do you Longbottom?” a particularly disagreeable older Ravenclaw girl said, even as she still looked shaken herself and trying to dispel her own fear.

“Shut the hell up!” Neville shouted, surprising himself again. He started to withdraw into himself at his own outburst, but he still managed to stammer out, “B-be thankful you d-don’t have any memories this b-bad.” That sufficiently cowed the girl that she didn’t say anything more.

* * *

The Sorting was quick—noting to write home about, although Hermione did notice one of the new Gryffindors, Romilda Vane, whispering to people who pointed out herself and Ron to her, presumably as Harry’s friends, and she sent them a bit of a creepy look. Harry himself had been dragged off to the Hospital Wing over his protests for treatment for severe dementor exposure. However, Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin both assured her he would be fine.

Hermione had felt the dark, brooding thoughts come back to her again when they passed a pair of dementors coming in the castle gates. _Why did I ever come back here again?_ her mind repeated. But whether because she recognised the depressed thoughts this time or because she wasn’t as close to the dementors, they didn’t affect her as strongly. Even so, what kind of horrible creature could hijack your emotions like that, and what _was_ the Ministry thinking putting them around the school? That _couldn_ _’t_ be good for the students. She said as much to Professor McGonagall when she escorted Harry, but she just replied, “The Ministry believes that they are the best way to keep the school safe.”

Suddenly, her claim to her parents that the Ministry would be on top of things was starting to ring a bit hollow.

“What’d I miss?” Harry said as he sat between Hermione and Ron.

“Just the Sorting,” Ron said. “Nothing big.”

“Look, Professor Dumbledore’s going to say something,” Hermione said.

Professor Dumbledore stood up and addressed the school before the meal, in contrast to his usual custom. He looked more sombre than normal, and his first announcement was equally serious: “As you will know from their search of the Hogwarts Express, dementors from Azkaban Prison have been placed around the school as a security measure. They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds and will also intercept anyone attempting to enter or leave by an alternate route. I know that this decision has been controversial with a number of families, but I can assure you that this move has been fully sanctioned by the Ministry for your protection.” Just like Harry had said, Hermione didn’t think he looked too happy about the whole business.

“ _However_ ,” Dumbledore continued, his tone turning a couple of notes darker. “I must impress upon each and every one of you that dementors are not creatures of nuance. They perform the task they are given—no more, no less. They do not differentiate between degrees of harm or disobedience, and they are not swayed by pleading or excuses. They are also not fooled by tricks or disguises—or even invisibility cloaks. Dementors are extremely dangerous and should be treated as such, and all of the staff will help to ensure that no student runs afoul of them.”

 _So they_ _’re half demon and half Terminator,_ Hermione thought. _Got it._

* * *

Still shaken by her ordeal, Hermione really needed a good night’s sleep. She had applauded appropriately when Professor Lupin was announced as the new Defence Professor, and she and her friends got a big surprise when Hagrid was named the new Care of Magical Creatures Professor, but her heart really wasn’t in it for the Feast that night.

She felt much better in the morning, though. The trio made it to breakfast with only some brief trouble from Malfoy, and he was quickly forgotten as they dug into their food and Professor McGonagall handed out their timetables. Once again, McGonagall had been able to manipulate the class schedule to accommodate Hermione. She quickly noted that her fifth-year Arithmancy class was on Monday and Wednesday mornings before turning to her friends. “What’s your first class, Harry?” she asked.

“Arithmancy.”

“Excellent. I’m sure you’ll do well. What about you, Ron?”

“I’ve got Muggle Studies,” he said, giving her his _what did I let you talk me into?_ look. “You?”

“Free period,” Hermione said with annoyance. “First day, honestly.”

“You should have taken Divination, Hermione,” Lavender insisted from down the table. “It sounds like a lot of fun.”

“I told you Professor Trelawney said I don’t have the Sight. And anyway, I think I’ll be better off with Arithmancy.”

“Numbers cannot convey the full experience of the inner eye,” Parvati told her. She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Hermione, you’re worse than Padma.”

“Hey! I heard that,” Parvati’s twin called from the Ravenclaw Table.

“Maybe they can’t, Parvati,” Hermione said, “but try asking Professor Trelawney to predict who’s going to win the Scandinavia-Netherlands Quidditch game on Sunday, and see what she says.”

“Scandinavia-Netherlands?” said an incredulous Ron. “Have you heard how the Dutch play? The Nordics are gonna get flattened.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Hermione said. “Most of the Quidditch pitches in Scandinavia are up in the mountains, and the game will be held at the Group C arena in Switzerland, so they’ll have the advantage of being used to the altitude. Also, while the Dutch have been playing a good game all year, their best Chaser, Van Grootel, is out with an injury, and the admittedly limited numbers suggest that she’s more of a linchpin than most people seem to think. And I know the Nordics’ own Chaser line is lacklustre, but their defence is consistently good, so under the circumstances, I’d peg them as the favourites to win.”

Half the table was staring at Hermione by the end of that little speech. Lavender and Parvati glanced at each other in surprise and then back at her. Ron was looking at her with something like awe. “Bloody hell, I didn’t even think about the altitude,” he said, “but since when do you even follow Quidditch?”

“You’ve been talking about the World Cup so much, I thought it would be an interesting statistical exercise,” she replied as she looked about nervously.

“More importantly,” Fred jumped in from behind her, making her flinch, “do you seriously think the Nordics are gonna win, even without Van Grootel on the pitch?”

“The Dutch are a tough act to beat, including their other Chasers,” George added.

“I know, but I still think the Nordics are favourites. Van Grootel’s flying may not be as flashy at the others, but if you look at the numbers for some of the specific plays, it’s pretty clear she’s the anchor of the squad.”

“You know, I think you might be on to something, Hermione,” Ron said, looking lost in thought himself, probably thinking about the strategies involved.

“I don’t know, Ronniekins,” Fred told him. “I’d say it’s just as likely our little Hermione’s gone round the twist.”

“Well, she’s always been a little off, Fred,” George added.

“So you disagree with me then?” she bristled.

That was probably the wrong thing to do. “Ooh,” said George, “she’s being all determined, now.”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is, then?” asked Fred.

Hermione was taken aback: “Um, I’m not so sure we should be gambling.”

“Oh, it doesn’t need to be a major thing,” George assured her. “Just a friendly wager—a couple of sickles, if you’re not comfortable with more.”

“We just wanted to see how confident you really are in your arithmancy skills,” Fred added with a smirk.

Hermione couldn’t very well let _that_ go unanswered. And as she thought about it, it was far from a sure thing, but it also wasn’t very much money. And as betting went, the Twins were positively incorrigible, so there wasn’t much use objecting. Maybe she _did_ need to loosen up. “Okay then,” she said conspiratorially, “two sickles on Scandinavia.”

“That’s the spirit! You’re on!” Fred told her. “We’ll see who’s right on Monday.” The Twins walked back to their seats.

“Blimey, betting on Quidditch, now?” Ron said in surprise. “What’s got into you?”

“I’m just trying to show confidence in my skills,” she defended herself. “Anyway, what’s next after the first class?”

“Transfiguration second class and Magical Creatures and Charms after lunch,” Harry told her.

“That sounds nice. We’ll get to see what Hagrid’s up to.” She just hoped it wasn’t another dragon.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The projection of Harry Potter onto the space of reals is JK Rowling.
> 
> Thanks to Pahan for general suggestions on spellcrafting that are referenced in this chapter. I have collected the other reader suggestions, and I will endeavour to include the ones I can in the story later on.

“I’ll go with you to Arithmancy, Harry,” Hermione said once they finished breakfast. “I need to talk to Professor Vector about my independent study.” And secretly, she also wanted to see who else was taking the class in her year.

“Great, you can show me where it is,” Harry said.

Hermione rolled her eyes and led the way. Upon reaching the classroom, Professor Vector rose from her seat and greeted her with a broad smile.

“Miss Granger,” she said, “I’m so glad that you were able to come back.” She shook her favourite student’s hand formally.

“I’m glad I could, too, Professor,” Hermione replied.

“How was your summer?”

“It was very nice. France was wonderful. I learnt a lot about French magical history. The rest was just really busy. Oh, and thanks for keeping an eye on Harry this summer.”

“No thanks necessary, Miss Granger. It was my duty as a teacher. I’m glad to see you looking well, too, Mr. Potter.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Harry mumbled embarrassedly.

“And Professor, I want to ask about that independent study you mentioned,” Hermione continued a little more softly.

“Oh, of course, that,” Vector replied. “I’m eager to see what developments we might be able to produce with your latest studies. Let’s see…I wouldn’t want to interrupt your time with your friends too much. How does five o’clock each Saturday sound? We could start this weekend, and, of course, we could make other arrangements when you go to Hogsmeade.”

“That sounds good, ma’am. I’ll see you then.”

At that moment, a voice behind her muttered, “Teacher’s pet.” Hermione and Harry spun around to see Draco Malfoy entering the classroom.

“What’re _you_ doing here, Malfoy?” Harry said, immediately running his mouth off, as the Slytherin often did to him.

“ _I_ am taking Arithmancy this year, Potter. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Same thing,” Harry replied.

“Ah, Granger’s got you trained well, I see.”

Hermione considered backing off and letting Professor Vector handle this, but by the same token, there wasn’t much Malfoy could do in front of her, so she decided to fire back: “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Malfoy.” Harry started turning red at getting caught in the middle. Vector stopped her own retort in surprise at Hermione’s boldness.

“Well, I suppose it might actually make Potter interesting, for once,” Malfoy said. “Say, what’s the matter, Granger? Couldn’t get Weasley to go along with it?”

“No, Ron just happens to be better at Runes. I recommended it to him.”

“Oh, so you _do_ have both of them trained—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Vector interrupted before someone could say something they’d regret (she could sense it coming as a teacher), although she _was_ secretly pleased to see how far Hermione had come from the shy little girl she’d met two years ago. “Everyone take your seats, please.”

“I’ll see you in Transfiguration, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, see you later.”

Hermione walked off to make good use of her free period. She was sure she could find _something_ to fill the time.

Meanwhile, Harry took his seat as far from Malfoy as possible. The one good thing was that this was one of the few times he’d seen him without Crabbe and Goyle at his sides—as if those two could ever cut it in Arithmancy. Still, he felt pretty isolated. His year at Hogwarts was a lot smaller than average, and Arithmancy wasn’t the most popular class, but even so, he was surprised to find that Dean Thomas was the only other Gryffindor in the room. Meanwhile, there were seven Ravenclaws, and Malfoy was joined by Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin. Harry wasn’t sure Pansy could cut it in Arithmancy either, and the way she kept sidling up to Malfoy, she was probably only doing it for him. Hufflepuff was represented by Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, and Megan Jones.

“Welcome to Arithmancy…” Professor Vector began the class with a brief explanation of the next three years, which Harry had already heard in bits and pieces from Hermione. It was actually a refreshing change, he thought when he realised that everyone in the class actually wanted to be here. There were always a few—even Ron in his worse moments—who didn’t particularly care for the required classes.

However, Harry was the only one who was prepared for Vector’s introductory quiz to see how good at maths they were. Most of the class groaned when she announced it, and he noticed that Malfoy grimaced in anger when she explained how muggle-born students often did better on it than purebloods.

Harry wasn’t sure how well he would do himself. He hadn’t been bad at maths in muggle school, but he was out of practice, although Hermione had been trying to coach him for the past couple days. However, when he looked over the parchment and started solving the problems, he realised that it actually looked pretty easy.

No, scratch that. Only the beginning was easy. Hermione might have been able to do this in her sleep when she was nine, but for mere mortals like him, the harder questions quickly escaped his grasp. On the other hand, he noticed Malfoy and the other Slytherins growing frustrated even faster than him. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad class after all.

* * *

Ron had a very different experience walking into Muggle Studies class. Officially, there was enough interest in Muggle Studies to justify splitting it into two sections, like the core classes, but his section was tiny. It was supposed to be the Gryffindor-Slytherin section, which was scheduled opposite Arithmancy because of the chronically low interest in Arithmancy in Gryffindor and the chronically low interest in Muggle Studies in Slytherin, but it didn’t look much like it.

Muggle Studies tended to attracted purebloods looking for an easy O, half-bloods looking to get in touch with their muggle heritage, like Seamus Finnigan, and particularly people with parents working at the Ministry, where they had to deal with muggles more. Ministry work often ran in families. That was probably the only explanation for the lone Slytherin in the class, Elizabeth Runcorn: her father worked at the Ministry in the DMLE somewhere. There was also one Ravenclaw and one Hufflepuff whose regular section, Ron overheard, conflicted with Ancient Runes. Apparently, scheduling electives was more complicated than anyone let on—probably a job for someone like Hermione.

Charity Burbage was a middle-aged witch with a bit of a tired face and scruffy hair that had once been red, but was now a faded tan. Only her eyes, which were prominent and a deep forest green, looked lively and spirited. She was a pureblood, as everyone knew and joked about at times, and which made Hermione sceptical about the quality of instruction in her class, but no one could deny she had a passion for her chosen subject, much like Ron’s dad.

“Good morning,” Burbage said happily, “and welcome to Muggle Studies. I know this course may be a little off the beaten path for some of you—” She nodded at the small size of the class. “—but I hope that each of you will find it as fascinating and informative as I have.

“The most important goal of this class, as per the official curriculum, is to be able to interact with muggles comfortably and without raising their suspicions. Naturally, this means that we will focus a lot on the differences between us. Muggles wear different clothes than we do, read different books, listen to different music, have a different history and culture, and, of course, use electricity instead of magic.”

 _Oh, so_ that’s _how it_ _’s pronounced,_ Ron thought.

“However, while we are studying these things, I hope that I can instill you with a deeper understanding of muggles. For all our differences, I believe that deep down, we are not so different at all. After all, we’re all human. A third of the families in our world include at least one muggle who knows about magic. We have the same needs and desires—the same hopes and dreams. And magic may make it easier for us, but the muggles get on better without it than you might think. That is the message I hope you take away from this class.

“Now, up through O.W.L.-level this class will focus mainly on what you need to know to interact with muggles on a wizarding level—the relatively limited contact you’re likely to experience in daily life or a Ministry job—although that’s more than you might think. You’ll also be expected to understand how the muggle and magical worlds affect one another; even a passing familiarity with Grindelwald’s war should prove that we are not completely isolated from each other.

“One thing that muggle-born students often request here at Hogwarts is muggle history and science courses. These are fascinating subjects and can mesh surprisingly well with History of Magic and Arithmancy, respectively, but unfortunately, they are not thought to be of much practical value for the average witch or wizard, so we will only be taking a brief look at them at O.W.L.-level, while those of you who continue to N.E.W.T.-level will be able to study them more in depth.

“For today’s lesson, I’d like to just look at the situations where we typically encounter muggles. Where _do_ we often find muggles in our daily lives—Mr. Finnigan?” she asked as Seamus raised his hand.

“Me da’s a muggle, ma’am,” Seamus replied.

“Of course,” Burbage replied. “I’d wager almost all of you have a family member or a family member of a friend who is a muggle—and those individuals can be very good resources for knowledge of muggle life, by the way. Of course, these are people who already know about magic, which makes it a bit easier to interact with them. But when do you typically meet muggles who _don_ _’t_ know about magic?”

Hermione’s roommate, Lily, raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Moon?”

“There’s always a lot of them walking around London, Professor.”

“Very good. There are many more muggles than there are witches and wizards, so in almost any city or town, you will meet many of them just walking down the street…What about you, Mr. Weasley? I understand your father has a particular affinity for muggles.”

“Erm, yeah, he works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry,” Ron said, a little embarrassedly. “He has to collect enchanted stuff that winds up with muggles. Oh, and Mum always goes into the muggle village for groceries.”

“Excellent, Mr. Weasley. Five points to Gryffindor. In addition to chance meetings and Ministry-related work, if you don’t live in London or Hogsmeade—which covers at least half of you, I suspect—the most convenient place to buy food is usually at a muggle market. So you see, we do depend on muggles for some things, and we need to be able to talk with them without sounding completely barmy…”

Ron grinned with pride. He’d earned points for Gryffindor in his very first class. Even Hermione would have a hard time doing that. Then he remembered that Hermione had a free period right now. For a brief moment, he was actually beating her. Maybe he _would_ be glad he took this class.

* * *

Ron still had an extra spring in his step when the trio reconvened for Transfiguration. On the other hand, Harry’s head was spinning from Arithmancy, Hermione looked a little bored from her free period, and Lavender and Parvati seemed shaken up from something Professor Trelawney had said in Divination. Ron wanted to ask what, but Parvati inexplicably flinched away from him.

But all of that was forgotten when Professor McGonagall turned into a cat to loud applause from the class. _That_ was a trick one didn’t see every day.

McGonagall spent most of the lesson talking about Animagi and the similarities and differences of the transformation from regular transfiguration. “When you conjure or transfigure an animal,” she explained, “you are only creating a magical construct with no life of its own. The fourth exception to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration states that magic cannot create life. The construct’s anatomy and behaviour will not be true to the animal, but will only be as accurate as you can visualise it—or as inaccurate, should you choose to visualise something different. If you were to dissect such a construct, you would find that its internal anatomy would be wrong and often non-functional. However, I do not recommend doing this: the results can be…disturbing.”

 _Disturbing?_ Hermione thought. _Now half the class will_ want _to do it—mostly the male half_ _…and me, just to figure out what it means._ On the other hand, knowing more about anatomy than most wizards, she could probably get it more accurate than most, although she turned a bit green when she realised she could also more vividly imagine all the “disturbing” ways it could turn out wrong. _Maybe that_ _’s something better left to Fred and George_ , she concluded.

“The Animagus transformation is different,” McGonagall continued. “It _preserves_ life—changing one living thing to another. And just as a real cat “knows’ how to be a cat, so does my animal form, because that is part of its innate life, so I do not have to know the precise anatomy of a cat to achieve it—although it helps to be very familiar with one’s animal form, especially when starting out.”

It was very interesting material, but by afternoon, Hermione was getting antsy for some practical instruction. Care of Magical Creatures promised just that, as anything Hagrid came up with was likely to be very hands on…maybe a little _too_ hands-on, knowing him. Unfortunately, they had the class with the Slytherins, including Crabbe and Goyle this time, who were still mocking at Harry for fainting on the train yesterday and also didn’t look too impressed with Hagrid as a teacher. Hermione, Ron, and Harry, however, all waved to him happily as they approached his hut. He winked at the three of them before leading the class onward to a paddock the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

“Got a real treat for yeh today!” Hagrid told the class. “Everyone gather “round the fence here, an’ open yer books to page…”

“How?” Draco Malfoy interrupted with annoyance.

“Eh?”

“Hagrid…” Hermione said softly. She held up her copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ for him to see. It was bound with Spellotape and was growling and shaking in her hands. Everyone else’s books were bound, too. Harry had wrapped a belt around his, while others squished them between other books or clamped them with binder clips.

“Huh? Yeh mean—none o’ yeh’s been able to open yer books?” Hagrid said disappointedly. “Yeh’ve got to stroke the spine. Here, lemme see that, Hermione.”

She handed over her book, and with one swift motion, Hagrid ripped off the Spellotape and ran a finger down its spine. The book shivered once and lay open limply.

 _No, that_ _’s not creepy at all,_ Hermione thought.

“Oh, so _that_ _’s_ how you do it,” Malfoy drawled. “And here I thought part of the class was gonna be training our books not to bite our hands off.”

“Well, erm—” Hagrid stammered. “Lemme jus’ get the magical creatures, then…”

Hermione sighed. Hagrid looked like he was trying to be funny, but his sense of humour left a lot to be desired.

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” Malfoy groaned. “I thought this would be a good class. Wait till my father hears about that oaf teaching.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Harry said.

Malfoy sneered at Harry, but then he got a frightened look on his face and pointed and yelled, “Dementor! Dementor!”

Harry flinched and spun around, but there was nothing there. In truth, Malfoy’s ruse might have been more amusing to him if half the class hadn’t flinched with Harry. _Everyone_ was scared of dementors. Even Hermione half flinched, but she caught herself. There couldn’t possibly be a dementor there because she wasn’t feeling that icy grip of hopelessness and futility.

“That’s not funny, Malfoy,” she grumbled.

“Says _you_ , Granger—”

But the argument was cut off when Hagrid returned leading a pack of very strange animals. At first, Hermione thought they were griffins, until she saw that their hind legs were hoofed instead of clawed, which meant they must be hippogriffs. Now that she had her book open, she made short work of finding the entry for the animal: less aggressive and more trainable than griffins, but more temperamental than “ordinary” winged horses.

“Beau’iful, aren’ they?” Hagrid asked. Hermione had to agree. They really were majestic creatures—a beautiful blend of horse and eagle, all of them different (horse-like) colours, but each with the same golden eyes and wickedly-sharp talons. “So, if yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer…”

Hagrid looked excited at the prospect, and so did Harry, Ron, and Hermione, but no one else seemed to, and they all let the Gryffindor trio go first.

“Now, yeh’ve gotta be careful with hippogriffs,” Hagrid instructed. “They’re very proud creatures—very easily offended, and yeh don’ wanna do _that_ , do yeh?”

 _Sounds like Crookshanks_ , Hermione thought with a smile, though Crookshanks’s claws were only an inch long, not a foot. No, she didn’t want to offend a hippogriff.

“Yeh need ter be polite around them. Yeh look ‘im in the eye, an’ yeh bow—tha’s the polite thing ter do. If he bows back, yeh can touch him. If he don,” yeh wanna back off out o’ his reach right quick an’ watch out for them talons.”

That didn’t sound reassuring. “Hagrid, is this _really_ appropriate for the first lesson?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Well o’ course it is,” Hagrid replied, although he didn’t look as sure as he sounded. “Who wants ter go first?”

Everyone but Harry took a step backwards. Hermione didn’t particularly want to be the guinea pig for that one. She’d rather it be Malfoy than Harry, but someone had to do it. Harry shot his friends an annoyed glance, but he said, “Alright, I’ll do it,” and climbed over the paddock fence. At Hagrid’s direction he cautiously approached a granite-grey hippogriff named Buckbeak and bowed. The creature stayed still and eyed him with a haughty look for so long that Hagrid started telling Harry to back off before Buckbeak bowed. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if that was some kind of test on the hippogriff’s part, or else a joke—if it was smart enough to do either of those things.

But Hagrid was elated that Buckbeak accepted Harry: “Well done! Yeh touch him, now. Go on, pat his beak.”

Harry slowly stepped forward and did so. The class applauded, except for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who looked annoyed that Buckbeak hadn’t taken a swipe at Harry. Then Hagrid suggested that Harry take Buckbeak for a ride. That was _definitely_ above the level of the curriculum, Hermione thought, but there was nothing she could do about it now, and Harry—predictably—didn’t want to look cowardly in front of the Slytherins, so up he went. She was greatly relieved when he proved to have almost as much of a knack for riding hippogriffs as riding brooms, even if he didn’t look as comfortable.

When he got back on the ground, however, things started to go wrong. Hagrid told the rest of the class to climb into the paddock and try to approach a hippogriff. Malfoy immediately made a beeline for Buckbeak.

“I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” he said. “You great, ugly brute.”

Buckbeak stamped the ground with his talons in protest. Apparently, he was smart enough to tell when he was being insulted. And then, Hermione made a snap decision: she’d rather see Hagrid’s first class not get ruined than see Malfoy get his face shredded by a hippogriff. “Malfoy!” she yelled. “Professor Hagrid said to be polite.”

Malfoy spun around and sneered at her: “I didn’t ask you, Granger.” He turned back and took another step forward, even as Buckbeak screeched in protest.

“Malfoy, don’t be an idiot,” she called. But no, she realised, even Malfoy wasn’t that dumb. He was obviously baiting Buckbeak to get Hagrid in trouble.

He only spared her a glance this time. He bowed patronisingly and said, “It can’t be that hard if Potter can do it.” Buckbeak didn’t return the bow and only screeched in protest again. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you either,” Malfoy said to the animal. He started to step forward again.

“Malfoy, no!” Hagrid yelled, rushing forward, but too late.

He was really going to do it! He was going to put himself in the Hospital Wing just to try to get Hagrid fired. Hermione couldn’t let that happen. Acting fast, she did the only thing she could think of.

“ _Desatalos Cordonzapato Syenreda_!”

Several things happened at once.

Malfoy reflexively turned back toward her at the first word of an unfamiliar spell being cast and said, “What are you—AHHH! OW!”

The entire class screamed as Buckbeak’s talon’s swiped through the air right where Malfoy’s head had been a second earlier.

Buckbeak jumped back in surprise to see Malfoy fall without connecting with him just before Hagrid backed him away.

And finally, Malfoy found himself lying on the ground scrambling to get back from the irate hippogriff. His shoelaces were tied together.

“Filthy—mudblood—Granger—” Malfoy spat, not caring if Hagrid heard. “You could’ve killed me.”

“Hey, she _saved_ your sorry arse!” Ron jumped to her aid. “That hippogriff almost took your head off.”

Malfoy untangled his shoelaces and stood up. “Well, then that bloody chicken needs to go, too,” he said.

“You were baiting him, and you know it, Malfoy,” Hermione said. “I told you you need to be polite…like this…” She turned around, took a deep breath to calm herself, and approached Buckbeak like Harry had.

“Hermione, no! My tea leaves!” Lavender Brown called from behind her. Hermione paused and glanced at her in confusion, but she kept going. Hagrid let her approach the animal, although he still stood close by warily.

“Hello, Buckbeak,” she said demurely, and she bowed whilst maintaining eye contact.

Buckbeak seemed to approve of her jinxing Malfoy and immediately bowed back.

“Well, looks like he likes yeh, Hermione,” Hagrid said, becoming happier again. “Go on, give him a pat, then…And uh, thanks for savin’ me lesson,” he added in a whisper.

“No problem, Hagrid,” Hermione replied as Buckbeak nuzzled her with his beak. _Maybe Dad_ _’s right_ , she thought. _Maybe I_ do _have a way with animals_.

* * *

Of course, it couldn’t be _quite_ that simple. By the time Hermione got out of Charms, the story that she had jinxed Malfoy in the middle of class and saved him from an angry hippogriff had gone clear around the school. Alternate versions included Hermione actually trying to hurt Malfoy (courtesy of the Slytherins) and Hermione saving Malfoy because they were secretly dating (courtesy of some lovestruck older Gryffindors girls; Hermione had difficultly not throwing up when she heard that one). So it was only to be expected that there would be consequences.

“Hermione, I was so scared when you went up to that hippogriff,” Lavender Brown said as they left Professor Flitwick’s classroom. “I tried to stop you.”

“But why?” Hermione asked. “Hagrid was right there.”

“We were reading tea leaves in Divination class this morning,” said Parvati Patil ominously.

She humoured the two girls: “So?”

“ _So,_ in _my_ tea leaves, it showed the flag and the ivy leaf,” Lavender said. “And that means danger for a friend.”

“Mm hmm,” Parvati added. “Professor Trelawney said so herself.”

“Parvati, I’ve talked to Professor Trelawney a couple of times. Has she ever _actually_ predicted something correctly?”

“Yes she has! This morning, she predicted Neville would break two teacups, and he did!”

“Probably just a coincidence. Besides that could mean any of your friends.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure…” Lavender pointed over Hermione’s shoulder. “Danger for a friend?”

Hermione turned around and saw Professors McGonagall, Vector, and Snape waiting for her, all looking stern.

“Miss Granger, come with us, please,” Professor McGonagall said.

Hermione just hung her head and followed them to McGonagall’s office.

“Miss Granger,” her head of house told her in clipped tones, “Draco Malfoy has made a complaint against you and also one against Professor Hagrid. We have already heard his and Professor Hagrid’s sides of the story, but I would also like to hear yours as well.” She glared at Snape not to interfere.

Hermione took a deep breath and tried to tell her teachers as accurately as possible what had happened at the paddock and why she believed she had thwarted Malfoy’s attempt to bait Buckbeak into attacking him. When she mentioned the spell she’d cast, Professor Vector drew herself up and stood over her with an intensely disapproving look that made Hermione sick to her stomach.

“Miss Granger, please tell me you didn’t cast an untested spell on a fellow student,” Vector said.

“Of course not, Professor…” Hermione replied quickly. “I tested it this morning during my free period.”

That took the professors by surprise. “Then you mean to say,” Snape asked suspiciously, “that you did, indeed, craft the spell you used on Mr. Malfoy yourself?”

“Y-yes, sir. I did all the maths this summer for practice for Arithmancy this year. I just needed to get back to school to test it.”

“And _how_ exactly did you test this spell?” Vector pressed. Hermione was a little surprised Snape wasn’t trying to redirect the conversation to what she did to Malfoy. Maybe he knew a thing or two about spellcrafting himself.

“Well, first I tried casting the spell on an empty pair of shoes—and I did it a couple more times to make sure I got it right. Then I tried casting it on my shoes when I was wearing them, and when that worked fine, I knew I had it.”

Vector nodded slowly. For a spell that simple, that was probably safe enough. “And if you had damaged your shoes in the testing?” she continued. “I assume they were your shoes.”

Hermione shrugged: “They were my cheapest pair.”

Another nod. “Very well. One last question: could you demonstrate this spell for us?”

“Of course, ma’am.” Hermione hitched up her robes enough to show her shoes, pointed her wand down at her feet, and said, “ _Desatalos Cordonzapato Syenreda_.” In a blink, her shoelaces untied themselves and tied themselves back together in a knot.

With that, Snape snapped back to his usual acerbic self. “Well,” he said, “I _suppose_ that is some impressive spell work for a third year, though no doubt you will say this is what you’ve come to expect from Miss Granger, Septima. The fact remains that she used this spell on Mr. Malfoy in the middle of a dangerous situation—”

“From the sounds of it, a dangerous situation that Mr. Malfoy caused, Severus,” McGonagall interrupted.

“Mere hearsay,” Snape dismissed her. “Of course, Miss Granger would corroborate Hagrid’s story, as they have been friends for two years, not to mention to save her own skin.”

“And if we were to question the rest of the class?” Vector asked. “Would _all_ of our Slytherins corroborate Mr. Malfoy’s story? It would not take long. And Miss Granger has been quite open about the contribution of her spellcrafting to the incident—hardly a sign of one who has something to hide.”

“She has admitted casting a spell to put Mr. Malfoy in danger,” Snape growled.

“It sounds to me like Mr. Malfoy placed himself in danger,” Vector said, “and Miss Granger saved Mr. Malfoy’s life, or at least his complexion.”

“Based on her own words—”

“Then we should question the rest of the students, since the evidence seems to be limited, Severus,” McGonagall interrupted. “I believe innocent until proven guilty _is_ still current in this school. If Miss Granger acted irresponsibly, I give you my word I will discipline her accordingly. I expect you to do the same for Mr. Malfoy.”

Snape glared at McGonagall, but between her and Vector, he knew it was time to cut his losses. “Very well,” he grumbled. “We will continue this discussion in the morning, Miss Granger, after we enquire with your classmates.”

Hermione struggled not to sigh audibly with relief. “Yes, Professor.”

Snape and McGonagall walked away, but Vector lingered back to speak with her: “A word, Hermione?”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I don’t anticipate any trouble for you once they get done talking to everyone, but I should advise you that that probably wasn’t the best spell for that situation.”

“I know ma’am,” Hermione said disappointedly. “I can think of a few others that would have been better. It’s just the one I’d been working on, and it was the first one that came to mind. It’s not even a very good spell. It’s thirteen syllables long.”

“Well, from a spellcrafting point of view, that’s actually quite good for a first try, Hermione. You struck it lucky once with that colour charm, but spellcrafting is often much more complicated than that. Most students’ early attempts result in overly-long incantations, impossibly complex wand movements, or idiosyncratic limitations. What _did_ surprise me, though, was that your first attempt at spellcrafting was a jinx.”

“Oh, it wasn’t, ma’am. I wanted to charm self-tying shoes, but that still needs some work. A square knot is simpler than a bow.”

Professor Vector laughed. That was just so Hermione.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Desatalos Cordonzapato Syenreda: Stylised from the Spanish for “Untie the shoelaces and tangle.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All versions of Harry Potter may be obtained by applying linear transformations to JK Rowling’s original Harry Potter.

Hermione was woken up on Friday by eight small feet running across her bed.

“Ahh! Crookshanks, Wendelin, stop it!”

Crookshanks was on the wild side as far as cats went, but it turned out he’d met his match in Lily Moon’s insane calico, Wendelin. The two cats spent hours chasing each other around the dorm room, and the girls had to forcibly separate them to get them to calm down.

“Wendelin, come here!” Lily called.

The cats ran towards her and around and around her legs until she tripped and fell back on her bed. Her friend, Sally-Anne Perks, dove at Wendelin, but she evaded her, and Crookshanks just ran her over. Hermione thought that being half-kneazle, Crookshanks might be wired for a larger space, but she didn’t know what Wendelin’s excuse was.

Finally, Lily grabbed her wand from her bedside table and said “ _Immobulus_ ,” freezing her cat in place. Sometimes, the only way to get a cat to behave was magic.

“Tsk,” Lily said as she picked the cat up. “It’s a good thing you’re fixed, Wendelin. If I let you breed with a cat like that, the kittens would tear up the whole castle.”

“Come on, Crookshanks, you really need to slow down,” Hermione said. She successfully got her own cat into her arms, but it was a struggle. She’d have to try to let him roam the tower a bit more. Hopefully that would help.

Friday was, unfortunately, just as eventful as Thursday. Professor McGonagall informed Hermione at breakfast that Malfoy had been found to be acting recklessly and had been given detention. However, she also warned Hermione to be careful about her use of magic and that Malfoy’s father still might get involved. Malfoy himself was fuming, but Snape was positively vicious in Potions. Hermione wasn’t sure if it was because of the Buckbeak incident, though, because Snape had been in a foul mood since the Welcome Feast.

It started out innocently enough, even a little interesting. “This year, I expect fewer errors from you in your brewing,” Snape had said. “By now you should be able to make minor adjustments to your potions and recover from mistakes without the disasters I have had the misfortune to witness in previous years. In particular, corrections to stirring patterns can be made with simple formulae that can be found in your book, so I do want want to see any submissions ruined because one of you dunderheads misplaced a stir.”

Hermione was happy to see the arithmantic aspects of potions coming out, but when Snape threatened to test Neville’s (horribly botched) Shrinking Solution on his toad, Trevor, that was a step too far. It was terribly cruel and questionably legal, not to mention that it could kill Neville’s beloved pet. At that, Hermione flat-out defied Snape to help Neville fix his potion. It cost her five points from Gryffindor, but it was worth it, and she would definitely be lodging a complaint against Snape when she got the chance.

Actually, maybe she should start keeping track of the punishments Snape gave out in class. Everyone knew he was biased, but no one ever had hard numbers. It might help her case.

“I don’t get it. Why does Malfoy think I want revenge on Sirius Black?” Harry said as they left the class. (Malfoy had shifted gears from his dementor material and had started taunting Harry about Black for reasons as yet unclear.) “It’s like everyone thinks I’m gonna do something stupid and go after him. I’m not that bad, am I?”

“Well, you do have your moments, Harry,” Hermione replied cautiously, “but no, there’s certainly no _reason_ for you to go after Black.” _I hope_.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was her only other class for the day, and even after he’d handled the dementor so expertly on the train, Hermione was wary of Professor Lupin. However, as she watched, he actually seemed to know what he was doing, tattered clothes notwithstanding. Made they’d got lucky this year. He jumped right into the practical lessons, banished Peeves with ease in the corridor, and led them to the staffroom (where Snape took the opportunity to bully Neville again; yes, something definitely needed to be done about him), and he introduced them to a boggart.

Boggarts were not listed in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , which was pretty comprehensive for the British Isles, which meant they almost certainly weren’t a type of beast, but rather a spirit. They _were_ listed in _The Essential Defence Against the Dark Arts_ , however. They were shapeshifters, and they took the form of whatever you feared most. That was a little disturbing to Hermione. She honestly wasn’t sure what she feared most, and whatever it was, she wasn’t sure she wanted it aired out in front of the class. She suspected a number of other people in the class wouldn’t like it either, but Professor Lupin pressed ahead anyway.

Hermione felt sick when Neville said that the thing that scared him most was Professor Snape. Her estimation of Snape fell even further, if it was possible. For a teacher to make himself into a student’s worst fear was just plain wrong. And this was Neville, who—well, he’d never said, but she got the same feeling from him sometimes that she got from Harry—that he was haunted by some pretty nasty demons from his past. And yet, it was also intriguing. Neville had to face his worst fear twice a week in class and never said anything. Maybe he was more a Gryffindor than everyone thought.

Anyway, seeing the Boggart-Snape in Neville’s grandmothers’ clothes was some sweet payback. Hermione wished she’d had a camera.

The way to banish a boggart was to use the spell _Riddikulus_ to turn it into something funny. In front of Dean Thomas, the boggart turned into a crawling, disembodied hand (he must have seen _The Addams Family_ one too many times, Hermione thought), and with the application of _Riddikulus_ , it was caught in a mousetrap. For Seamus Finnigan, it became a banshee, who lost her voice, for Ron, a giant spider, which he put on roller skates, and for Parvati, it was a mummy, which tripped over its own bandages.

The scariest part of the lesson for Hermione was when Padma faced the boggart, and it turned into a giant cobra. She started having flashbacks to facing the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. But it thankfully didn’t last very long, as Padma cast _Riddikulus_ _…_ and the boggart transformed into a giant, very creepy-looking jack-in-the-box.

“Padma, that’s not funny!” Lavender Brown cried.

“Can I change my fear to _that_ , now?” asked Kevin Entwhistle.

Lupin didn’t give Harry or Hermione a chance to face the boggart, which Hermione was relieved and disappointed about at the same time. It was probably intentional for Harry—Lupin probably thought the boggart would turn into Voldemort. She wasn’t as sure about herself, but if he’d heard about her own exploits, it might have been for the same reason. Still, the exercise left everyone else in such high spirits that she thought it would have been nice to find out what her worst fear _was_.

And there was something else that troubled her: when Professor Lupin jumped between Harry and the boggart, it had changed into a silvery-white orb. She only saw it for a split second, but she was sure she had made out _Oceanus Procellarum, Mare Imbrium, Mare Serenitatis,_ and _Mare Tranquilitatis_. But why would Professor Lupin’s worst fear be the Moon?

* * *

Hermione was practically bouncing with excitement when she came to the door of Professor Vector’s classroom the next day. Over the past two years, she had learnt a lot of arithmancy, but this was the first time it was truly going to be on her level. With her maths skills leaving everybody else in class in the dust, she had never been pushed to work to her fullest potential in that class until now.

Once again, Professor Vector greeted her with a smile, any lingering concerns about the incident on Thursday apparently erased. “Hermione, hello. Please come in,” she said.

“Hello, Professor.” She entered the room, and Vector directed her to sit at a chair across the teacher’s desk.

“It really is good to see you,” Vector said. “I’ve been wanted to hear more about your summer. I take it Dobby worked out for you?”

“Oh, Dobby’s been excellent. Well…he did nearly burn our house down his first day, but after that, we’ve barely had anything to complain about.”

“Burn your house down?! How could he do something like that?”

It took a few minutes for Hermione to adequately explain a gas stove to her pureblood teacher for her to understand how Dobby went wrong that first day.

“I glad you’re alright, then,” Vector told her. “I didn’t realise mixing the magical and muggle worlds could be so…well, combustible.”

“Me either, but like I said, the rest of the summer was pretty good.” Hermione gave her the highlights of her summer, especially her trip to France and also her visits with Harry and Ron. She also mentioned her crash courses in muggle science and history in addition to her maths studies.

“Well, it certainly sounds like you were busy,” Vector told her. “I hope you remembered to relax from time to time.” _Really, it_ _’s like that girl never stops._

“Don’t worry, ma’am. My parents made sure of that. It’s just that I want to be able to pick them up fast if I decide to go to university after I graduate. I want to keep my options open. Oh, and I’ve also got my article in _Magizoology Monthly_ coming out in a couple of weeks.”

“Ah, that’s right. It’s good that you could do that. If you face down a basilisk and live, you deserve to get some recognition out of it. I look forward to it.” Hermione giggled a little. “So,” Vector continued, you said you were planning to start learning linear algebra. Did you go through with that?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have my book here.” Hermione pulled a university-level textbook out of her bag and set it on the table, flipping it open. “I’ve got up through the chapter about using matrices as linear transformations on vector fields. I was just about to start in on studying vector spaces proper…” She trailed off and started giggling that much harder.

“Something amusing?” her professor asked.

“N-no, Professor, it’s not—I mean—you must get those puns all the time, right?”

Vector smiled. “Just you wait till next year, Hermione. I’m perfectly capable of holding my own with the puns.” Hermione raised an eyebrow with scepticism, but she said nothing. Meanwhile, Vector pulled out a small tome that seemed to be bound from a sheaf of notes. “Since you told me you were working on linear algebra, I went back and compiled all of my old notes on the subject. It’s probably not as comprehensive because it’s near the limit of what arithmancers typically use, but they’re still a good reference. I thought we could start by comparing them with your textbook.”

“Okay…” They started comparing; it was confusing for a while until they sorted out the different notations, but it quickly started to make sense. Even if they were presented in a different order, Vector was able to get a good understanding about what concepts Hermione’s textbook was showing.

“Well, your book is definitely more thorough,” she concluded. “You’re probably better off continuing with that, and we’ll use my notes for the magical side of things. Of course, I’ll continue to help you out with the maths. Now, my goal for this independent study is to introduce you to arithmantic concepts that we won’t be covering in class. You’re probably not prepared to go too in-depth yet, but I can definitely give you a survey of where things stand in the field. For example, you’ve probably noticed that in class, we focus much more on the arithmancy of charms than of transfiguration. Do you have any idea why?”

“Hmm…” Hermione said. “I’ve been wondering about that, but I think I’m starting to understand why. Since transfiguration deals with transformations, while charms usually don’t, it stands to reason that the spells tend to be described with linear algebra rather than the analytic equations we used last year.”

“Precisely. We’ll be describing some simple transfigurations this year in terms of matrices, but the _why_ is largely beyond O.W.L.-level, so I wanted to show you how those simple spells are constructed in the more general context of linear transformations, which is a much more powerful tool for transfiguration spellcrafting.”

Hermione followed along with interest. What little she had learnt of transfiguration spells seemed to make much more sense when described in this way—much more systematic. She could think of a few charms that would potentially fall under this field, too, like the Engorgement and Shrinking Charms, but she filed that thought away for later.

Most of all, though, she was glad for the one-on-one instruction. She was sure that she would learn the material that much better that way. She thanked Professor Vector again for letting her do it when she left for dinner.

* * *

Hermione found the tiny, elf-sized passages leading up from the Great Hall to be a little more cramped than last year. She measured with her hands and estimated that if she ended up as tall as her mum, she could still get through them with no trouble, though she wouldn’t want to gain too much weight. The way Ron kept growing, on the other hand, it might become a tight spot for him. Of course, Ron and Harry didn’t often come up here with her, anyway. She was the only one who really took an interest in the elves.

As she crawled, her thoughts wandered to what she was going to write to her parents tonight. It seemed things were never simple at Hogwarts…

 

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_My new classes are great so far. Hagrid_ _’s teaching Magical Creatures, and I got to pet a hippogriff. Draco Malfoy tried to sabotage him, but I stopped him with that jinx I invented. (Don’t worry; I wasn’t in any trouble.) I’m sure I’m really going to enjoy my independent study with Professor Vector, too. We’re going to study the deeper maths behind transformation spells to start._

_Oh, and one other thing. It turns out the Azkaban Guards aren_ _’t actually human. They’re demons that literally make you feel clinically depressed just by standing near them. I don’t know how Sirius Black ever got past those monsters, but it’s a good thing they’re only at the entrances to the grounds._

_Love from Hermione_

Yeah, there was always _some_ complication around here. She doubted her parents would appreciate that news.

“Hello?” she called when she reached the elves’ quarters. Several elves popped their heads out of their rooms, but she was dismayed to see that she wasn’t mobbed by the excited little creatures like last year. They looked much warier now that she’d shown her true colours, so to speak. “Hello? Sonya? Dobby? Tilly? Are you here?”

“Sonya and Tilly are here, Miss Hermione Granger,” the high pitched voice of her closest elf friend said. Sonya stepped forward along with her grandmother and greeted Hermione—not quite as warmly as she used to, but she at least wasn’t afraid to approach her. She looked like she was trying to grow her hair out this year. Hermione thought that maybe she was trying to look more mature by elf standards—she knew Sonya had recently turned twenty—but the elf’s hair was so scraggly that she thought it looked better cropped short.

“Hello, Sonya. Hello, Tilly. It’s good to see you. Is Dobby around?”

“ _Dobby_ ,” Sonya said with an edge, “is cleaning, miss. He should be back soon.”

“Ah. So how have you been doing?”

“Sonya is being well, miss. It is good to be seeing you, miss. We was not sure if you was coming back.”

“Neither was I, but I convinced my parents to try it for another year. It took half the summer, but I did it.”

“We knows,” Tilly said. “Dobby has been saying it. He is liking his… _job_ very much, miss, and is glad he can keep it.”

“Is you wanting to play cards, miss?” Sonya asked, pulling her little, elf-sized Exploding Snap deck from a pocket on her belt.

“Oh, sure, I could go for a game.”

“If you is having any gobstones, miss…”

Hermione giggled slightly. “No, thank you, Sonya…I only take bets I can _win_.” Even after two years, Sonya was still trying to get her to wager gobstones on their Exploding Snap games, Tilly was still giving her disgruntled looks, and Hermione was still turning her down. It was ironic, she thought. Sonya didn’t approve of Dobby being paid, and yet Tilly looked even more disapproving of her gambling than that (though most of the other elves didn’t). A strange thing, elf culture.

The game was in full swing by the time Dobby walked into the Elves’ Common Room in his small children’s clothes, looking a little grimy and tired after a long day’s cleaning, but when he spotted Hermione, he was as bright-eyed and excitable as ever: “Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione! Is you needing Dobby?”

“Just visiting, Dobby. I wanted to see how you were settling in.” She glanced around. She hadn’t missed how most of the other elves stiffened when Dobby walked in, and the mothers pulled their children a little closer. He was getting worse stares than Harry had got his first year. “Do you want us to deal you in?”

“Um, Dobby will play, Miss Hermione, by Dobby is not so sure he should be betting with Sonya anymore.”

“Sonya!” Hermione spun around to glare at the younger elf, but she just smirked at her.

“Sonya has won some good gobstones from Dobby.”

“You cheeky little…You’ve gotta be careful with Sonya, Dobby. There’s a reason I never play for keeps with her.” _And she thinks Dobby is the crazy one._ “Go on, Sonya, deal him in. No betting today.”

“Yes, Miss Hermione Granger.”

“So, Dobby, what have you been doing here?” Hermione asked when the game resumed.

“Dobby is to clean the boys’ toilets in the dorms, miss.”

“They’ve got you on toilet duty?”

“Dobby is being new, miss,” Sonya said with a hint of smugness. “Head Elf Flory is not letting just any elf work in the kitchens.”

A plausible explanation, Hermione thought. It was probably even true, but even so, she suspected that there were other jobs Dobby could have done that were being overlooked. And as a former family elf, Dobby was qualified for just about every job. Typical discrimination—there ought to be a law. Hermione shook her head at her own silliness. Technically speaking, she was thinking about anti-discrimination laws to protect the free workers from the slaves. Her world was mad.

The foursome continued to get stares as the game went on, and Hermione could hear what sounded like snide whispers behind her back. Oh yes, bullies could be found everywhere, even amongst a species as submissive as the elves. It didn’t help that Dobby stood out like a sore thumb. Wearing clothes like that with all the other elves in tea towels, Hermione started to think that Dobby must look to them like a very flamboyant cross-dresser. In fact, that was literally true, she realised. In elf culture, wearing human clothes was cross- _species_ -dressing.

Well, there was plenty of time to deal with that. After a few more rounds of the game, Hermione brought up her other reason for coming up here today: “Hey, Sonya, last spring you promised to show me that last secret room on the seventh floor.”

Sonya jumped to her feet with a grin. “Oh, yes, Miss Hermione Granger,” she squeaked. “We can be going now if you likes.”

“That would be great. Dobby, you should probably come, too.”

“Yes, Miss Hermione.”

“D-Dobby?” Sonya squeaked, grumbling a little.

“Well, he might need to find it sometime.”

“Sonnitt,” Tilly jumped in softly, “you knows Dobby will needs to know all the rooms.”

“Oh, of course,” Sonya replied reluctantly. “Please be following Sonya.”

Hermione had spent most of her Sunday wandering the castle checking for any new or disappeared rooms. She figured she’d better do it now before she got too much homework. So all she needed was the last room. Sonya quickly led her and Dobby up to the seventh floor corridor with the tapestry of dancing trolls.

“This is being the last secret room, miss,” she said. “It is being extra special.”

“Must be extra secret, too,” Hermione said. “I can’t see anything.”

Sonya giggled: “It is, miss. We elves calls it the Come and Go Room, because it comes and goes, and it is also being called the Room of Requirement, because it becomes what you requires.”

“It becomes what you requires—er, require?” she said in surprise. “Kind of like up in the Great Tower, but more controlled?”

The elf shrugged her shoulders: “Sonya supposes so, miss.”

Hermione remembered her excursions with Ginny up above the sixteenth floor. They’d gone there a couple more times before school let out when the redheaded girl had been in danger of a breakdown and needed to talk it out. It was always hard to get that high up in the Great Tower and find a reasonably-arranged room. “Well, file that under “would’ve been nice to know that before.” How does it work?”

“You is needing to walk past the tapestry three times whilst thinking about what you needs, miss.”

“Okay, simple enough.” Hermione backed up and paced by the dancing trolls. _I need a private room to talk_ , she thought. _I need a private room to talk. I need a private room to talk_.

On the third pass, an ornate, polished door appeared in the wall opposite the tapestry. Hermione grabbed the brass handle, not knowing at all what to expect, and opened it. On the other side was exactly what she wanted, even if she hadn’t fully articulated it—a miniature common room like the ones she had sought out in the upper floors, but more fully realised: a sofa with a side table and a lamp, a study table with four chairs, and a working fireplace with a fire already started, all decorated in Gryffindor red and gold. This was much better than climbing to those scrambled heights, and she could probably of other uses for the room before long.

“This is being very great magic, Miss Hermione,” Dobby said with wide eyes.

“Sonya, this is brilliant,” she said. “How many people know about this?”

“The elves all knows, Miss Hermione Granger, but Sonya is not sure if anybody else does, even Professor Dumbledore. We elves use it to store things. Many students and teachers hides things here, or hides themselves, but very few ever finds it again, miss.”

Hermione laughed and took a seat on the sofa. She patted the cushions next to her, and Sonya and Dobby hopped up. “And the purebloods all say house elves are beneath them,” she said with a grin. “Thank you so much for helping me with my map, Sonya.”

“You is most welcome, Miss Hermione Granger. Sonya is happy to help a friend of elves.”

Hermione pulled out her map and wrote how to get into the room. “So then this really is a complete map of the castle, now?”

Sonya laughed at that: “Oh, Miss Hermione Granger…Hogwarts is always having more secrets.”

It figured, she thought. The elves never knew about the Chamber of Secrets. What if the other Founders had made secret spaces of their own? What if this room and the Great Tower were two of them? What if they _weren_ _’t_? There was bound to be plenty that was beyond Sonya’s knowledge.

They sat and chatted for a while, then Hermione checked the time and said, “It’s almost dinner time. We should go. Sonya, it was good to see you. I’d like to talk to Dobby in private for a minute, please.”

A faint scowl crossed Sonya’s face, but she said, “Yes, Miss Hermione Granger. Sonya will being seeing you later.” She left the room, leaving Hermione and Dobby alone.

“Dobby,” Hermione said, kneeling down to face him eye to eye, “how are the other elves treating you here?”

Dobby’s ears drooped, and his whole body seemed to slump a bit. “They is not so nice to Dobby. Dobby has told Miss Hermione that it is a great disgrace for an elf to be dismissed, and they is not liking that Dobby likes being free. But they is still much better than…than Dobby’s old masters,” he whispered.

Hermione nodded sadly. “I was afraid of that. It might take them a long time to come to terms with you. Sonya and Tilly still seem to like me, though. I’ll keep working on them to work on the other elves to be nice to you.”

“Thank you, Miss Hermione.”

* * *

Fred and George examined a very special sheaf of parchment as they wandered the school. It was a splendid piece of charms work, no doubt about it, but today, it was acting a little funny.

“Say, have you seen Hermione on here lately, Fred?” George asked.

Fred thumbed through the pages. “No, I haven’t. I thought I saw her climbing the stairs in the East Wing a while back, but she’s not there now. That’s not near one of the places she told us about that isn’t on the map, is it?”

“No, it’s not. I wonder where she went.”

“Hope she’s not in any tr—Oh, wait, there she is.” Fred pointed to an out of the way section of the seventh floor.

“Oh, yeah. That’s weird. It’s like she just appeared there.”

“Yeah, weird…Well, better keep going. These pranks aren’t gonna prank themselves, you know.”


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling nominally owns Harry Potter, but your mileage may vary off of planet Earth.
> 
> JK Rowling got the date of the full moon on 31 August 1993 correct, but I have to wonder if that was just a coincidence, because all of the other full moons in the series fall on the wrong dates, which generally aren’t even a multiple of 29 days apart. I have used the correct moon phases in this story.

_Ahh, Arithmancy first thing Monday morning,_ Hermione thought. _Best way to start the week._ But she was so caught up in thoughts of Arithmancy that there was one thing Hermione forgot about that morning.

“I don’t believe it!”

Hermione and everyone else within earshot turned to see Fred Weasley reading the sports page of the _Prophet_.

“She didn’t, did she?” George said, leaning over to look.

“Scandinavia beats the Netherlands four-thirty to three-ninety in the World Cup,” said Fred.

“She did!” George exclaimed. “Dutch offence crumbles without top player…likely to be knocked out of the running…underdog Nordics set to advance to knockout stage.” They both stopped reading and looked up at Hermione. She was taken aback for a moment, but then, a satisfied smile slowly spread across her face.

The Twins got up and approached Hermione. “Well, I guess we’d better pay up, brother,” Fred said.

“Yep, I guess we should have known better than to pit our wits against Hermione Granger,” George added.

Both of them fished in their pockets for a silver sickle. They started to hand them over, but then pulled back. “Although,” Fred suggested, “would you care to go double or nothing on next week’s game?”

Hermione hadn’t taken that close a look at the numbers for next week’s game at, and anyway, she didn’t want to get in too deep with these two. “Easy, there, boys, I’m new at this game,” she told them, snatching up the sickles. “I’ll just take those and get back to you in a few days.”

“Fair enough,” they said in unison, “but we _do_ expect to see what you can make of the rest of the tournament,” George added.

“Will do,” she replied.

The Quidditch buffs at the table, Ron and Seamus, were duly impressed. Harry was a bit harder to read: he liked to _play_ Quidditch, but he didn’t seem to be much of a fanatic for the professional league. “That’s was brilliant, Hermione,” Ron said. “Even I thought the Dutch were shoo-ins until you explained it. How’d you figure all that out?”

Hermione blushed a little. “Elementary arithmantic prognostication,” she said, shooting a glance at Lavender and Parvati. “I’m sure Harry will be able to do it by the end of the year.”

Harry nearly choked on his bacon. “Hermione, I don’t think _anyone_ can do that like you can,” he said.

Hermione blushed harder and turned her attention back to her breakfast. Harry was probably thinking a _little_ highly of her. After all, there were people who made a career out of this. She put her thoughts of Quidditch aside as she finished up and went off to Professor Vector’s classroom.

Hermione took her seat in the front row as her fifth year class was beginning to file in. Alicia Spinnet, the dark-complexioned Gryffindor Chaser, was already there. Roger Davies of Ravenclaw waved to her as he came in. He seemed to have cleaned up his look a bit this year, wearing his hair shorter and carefully coiffed to one side. Right behind him was his housemate, Rebecca Gamp. She hadn’t really paid the girl much attention until running into her a couple times outside of class last spring. She was slight and unassuming and could fade into the background, but Hermione checked the rankings and found that Rebecca was the closest competition with Cedric Diggory for the top of the fifth year class. She paused by Hermione’s desk.

“Hello, Hermione,” she said curtly.

“Hi, Rebecca.”

“So, I heard you got a head start on the spellcrafting this year.”

Hermione shrugged. “I was bored the last few days of summer.”

“And you just happened to invent a usable jinx?” Rebecca pressed.

“I was trying to make a Shoe-Tying Charm,” Hermione defended herself. She wasn’t sure why Rebecca sounded critical. Hermione herself wasn’t much one for casting unnecessary jinxes (through after the past two years, she’d become more liberal about it), but she didn’t think it was that big a deal.

“Well, I wish you luck with the rest of the year,” Rebecca answered. “You’ll need it. Spellcrafting’s a tough business.”

“Uh…thanks, I’ll remember that.”

Cedric Diggory also came into the classroom shortly after that and sat to Hermione’s right. He’d changed noticeably over the summer, too, and now embodied the ideal of “tall, dark, and handsome” even more than he did before. A lot of the girls in the castle had noticed, including Hermione (although Lavender and Parvati were much more vocal about it). “Welcome back, Hermione. How was your summer?” he asked.

“Oh, hi, Cedric,” Hermione said with a slight hitch. “I had a really good time. What about you?”

“It was nice. My parents and I went to a couple World Cup games on the continent. I hear you’re getting into that?”

“A little.”

“Well, it’s something to keep in mind—a lot of teams will pay for arithmantic analysis. Oh, by the way, how was Harry’s summer? I know he was having trouble.”

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad from what I heard. Professor McGonagall and Professor Vector made sure there were no major incidents.”

“Glad to hear it. Tell Harry I look forward to facing him on the Quidditch Pitch. I made captain this year.”

“Sure. I will.”

The Slytherins in the class were generally agreeable, except for Graham Montague, who was Draco Malfoy’s teammate on the Slytherin Quidditch Team. (Hermione wondered what the odds were of so many Quidditch players being in the class. Something to think about later.) But everyone knew Professor Vector ran a tight ship, so Montague could only sneer at Hermione on Malfoy’s behalf when he spotted her.

“Welcome back to Arithmancy,” Professor Vector started the class. As you should know by now, you will be sitting your Ordinary Wizarding Level exam in this class next spring—all of you,” she added, looking at Hermione. “And that means we will be stepping up the work. Most of your homework will be going straight to O.W.L.-level problems this year, and I will be grading you by the same standards.

“New maths concepts this year will include linear equations in three dimensions, a bit of matrices, higher-order polynomials and rational equations, complex numbers, conic sections, and continuing our work with exponents and trigonometry. However, I’m sure most of you are more interested to hear about the magical side of things, so this year we will also be continuing our work on spell detection and analysis with a greater focus on transfiguration along with slightly more advanced charms. And of course, we will be moving from spell modification to real spellcrafting.

There were excited murmurs at this point, but Vector kept going: “Now, at this level you aren’t likely to be crafting much besides simple charms, although I’m sure I’ll see a few jinxes over the course of the year. Also, spellcrafting is in some respects an art as much as a science. Finding elegant and easy-to-cast solutions for particular spells is something that comes with experience, and for the most part, you probably won’t find many right away. I should add that many of the problems you’ll be seeing this year already have optimal solutions written down in spellbooks. However, I expect you to do your own work and find your own solutions, especially as there is always a chance of creating something new and better than what’s out there. Even _Wingardium Leviosa_ was invented surprisingly late given its simplicity and ease of use. Find a new solution like that, and you could be recognised world-wide.”

Several people sat up straighter and got ambitious looks in their eyes, Roger and Rebecca included. _So much for knowledge for knowledge_ _’s sake_ , Hermione thought. For herself, she thought it would be nice to achieve something like that, but the thrill of learning the mechanics of magic was always what she loved best.

“Finally, I repeat what I have said in previous years: when you invent a spell, it should first be tested under controlled conditions to be sure that it is safe—or at least that it does exactly what it is supposed to do—before being used under normal circumstances. That goes double if it is a spell to be used on humans. Now, under extraordinary circumstances, this might not always be possible.” _Like if you_ _’re about to fight a giant basilisk,_ she thought. “But that is rare, and I don’t expect any of you to get into that kind of trouble.” _Especially you, Hermione._

“Even more important, there is to be no experimental work in this class, by which I mean direct manipulation of the magical energies, either for crafting or dissection. That is a far trickier subject, and we will not be touching it at all until next year. This year, I expect analytic, maths-based work _only_. Do I make myself clear on that?”

“Yes, Professor Vector,” everyone said.

“Excellent. Let’s get to work.”

Two hours later, most of the class’s heads were spinning, but Hermione was loving it. Arithmancy was _definitely_ the best way to start the week.

Monday was Hermione’s busiest day, however, with Herbology, Defence, Ancient Runes, and History in addition to Arithmancy. She always enjoyed the hands-on aspect of Herbology as a break from her regular classes. It was one of those little things that kept her sane. The single Defence period on Monday was more theory- and textbook-based, but Professor Lupin still made it interesting. And no one liked Binns’s history classes except to sleep.

But Ancient Runes, that was the other new and interesting class of the day, and the only one Hermione shared with Ron and not Harry. Surprisingly, Neville was there, too. Both Hermione and Ron had met Professor Babbling a few times, at her seminars on Latin runic magic, but they didn’t really know what to expect from the class.

As in the seminars, Professor Babbling looked stern, but she sounded quite nice when she spoke. Perhaps the look was to keep troublesome students in line. However, she sounded less enthusiastic about the class than she had about the seminars, and she began to explain why after she called the role. “As a class,” she explained, “the Study of Ancient Runes is far too often derided as little more than the study of a dead language. It is often taken as a ‘filler’ class—a fall-back choice for people who aren’t interested in any of the other electives.

“Many of you will know by now how I feel about that,” Babbling said sharply. “The Board of Governors seems to be determined to make the class as uninteresting as possible by insisting that runes be taught as a language first and a magic system later. Yes, it’s important to understand the meaning of the runes to understand their function, but it’s by no means necessary to be fluent in Old Norse to use them.

“The truth is that runes are incredibly rich and diverse branch of magic with connections to warding and cursebreaking, geomancy and lithomancy, ritual magic, enchanting, and alchemy. The very oldest and most powerful forms of magic, magic involving stone circles whose power can ripple throughout the whole country, falls under the umbrella of ancient runes. Throughout the subject, the subtleties of materials and methods are almost an art form unto themselves. Imagine the power to tie an entire runic network into a single point, to control it as fingers on piano keys, to shore it up against attack or set it to come down at the right moment—all by simply choosing a different tool. And all that’s just if you keep to the standard Norse runes.

“For years, my goal in this class has been, within the official curriculum, to truly demonstrate the beauty, complexity, and versatility of runic magic. Runes can do anything that wands can and so much more, and it is a tragedy that they are so neglected in the modern magical world. I have striven to turn that tide and do my part to renew the love of runic magic in Britain, and I hope that all of you will come to see them as useful as I have.”

 _Well, that_ _’s new_ , Hermione thought. She knew Professor Babbling was passionate, yes, but she always seemed so practical minded in the seminars. Perhaps it was because she had a full year course to teach here that see was able to let loose with her words, but the woman had _poetry_ in her soul—appropriate, really, since she spent her whole life working with words. Hermione wasn’t sure how much she would like this class with her mind being so rational and filled with numbers. She looked over at Ron. Ron was good with words when he wanted to be (which sadly didn’t include most of his homework), but he didn’t strike Hermione as a poet. However, she saw him watching Professor Babbling with what seemed to be cautious interest.

Babbling’s solution to the conundrum of the curriculum was elegantly simple. Where the curriculum called for typical vocabulary and grammar lessons for Old Norse, many of the examples she used were actual runic spells. And where they were expected to write, they would work on writing and casting the runic spells, although for now, they didn’t get that far. The first lesson was all about writing the runes in perfectly-proportioned rectangles, which would give them the most power and stability. They wrote on slates, for the most part. Most of the magical work, Babbling explained, would be done on slates instead of parchment or something more indelible, so that they could be erased quickly if something went wrong. All in all, Hermione wasn’t particularly enthused by the class, but she could see it would be interesting and useful. Ron, a little to her surprise, seemed to be withholding judgement for now. Neville looked discouraged by the complexity of the whole thing, but he was definitely making an effort. It could be an interesting year.

* * *

The last class that Hermione hadn’t had yet was Astronomy, and that came with a bit of a problem. What Hermione hadn’t noticed at first was that her Astronomy class was at midnight Tuesday night, or more accurately, Wednesday morning. That was fine for the rest of third year, who had a free period the next morning, but she had Arithmancy bright and early at nine o’clock on Wednesdays. Well, it was just a price she would have to pay.

So just before midnight on Tuesday night, the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third years climbed up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Astronomy was a little unusual, Hermione had noticed after asking around, in that Gryffindor was absolutely never paired with Slytherin. The teachers probably wouldn’t admit it, but she had to wonder if it was because of the risk of people trying to throw each other off the tower in the dark.

Of course, the other unusual thing about Astronomy was the fact that it was of no real practical use to most people except for astrology and probably some old Druidic rituals. Hermione suspected it was a little like the Classics—like how muggle schools kept teaching Latin long after most people stopped using it. But she liked Astronomy, so she wasn’t complaining.

Professor Sinistra met the class at the top of the tower, carrying her customary lantern with a red filter over it. People joked that Sinistra’s name was well-earned because, while she was kind and well-mannered, the red light glinting off her eyes as they shone from her dark-skinned face made her look sinister indeed, and the first years were sometimes frightened of her in their first class. Tonight, though, the lantern wasn’t too necessary, since the moon was out, hanging low in the east, not quite at Third Quarter…

Sometimes, Hermione’s maths skills felt like a blessing and curse all in one. It was almost subconscious how her brain estimated the phase angle on the moon’s disk, calculated the time to the nearest full and new phases from its orbital period, and counted back the days. Then, she stopped cold and did it again consciously to make sure she hadn’t made a mistake.  She hadn’t. The most recent full moon had been on the thirty-first, the night before the train ride to Hogwarts.

From there, the logical leaps were obvious. Professor Lupin’s boggart was the full moon, he was sick the day after the full moon, and she doubted those scars on his face were from a potions accident. _Werewolf_ , she thought. She should have figured having a nice, normal, competent Defence Professor was too much to ask. It wasn’t a certainty, of course, but it sounded like a pretty convincing hypothesis. If Lupin came down sick again on—she counted forward—the first of October, that would clinch it. This called for some research. Her parents wouldn’t be too happy with Dumbledore’s hiring decision, but she didn’t _think_ werewolves were dangerous in human form.

“Miss Granger? Miss Granger!”

Hermione jumped and spun around when she realised Professor Sinistra had been calling her name. “Eep! Er, sorry, Professor,” she said sheepishly, glad it was too dark for people to see her blush. “I was just…uh, admiring the moon.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Miss Granger, but we need to get started,” Sinistra said. “Alright, class, we have a very exciting year ahead of us.” In December, the American muggles are going to fix their Hubble Space Telescope so that it can finally take good pictures of the universe. Therefore, I’m changing the lesson plans a little this year. In the fall term, we will be studying our solar system and the bright stars in the sky, while in the spring term, we will be doing a special unit on the deep sky objects—nebulae, star clusters, and galaxies—beyond those that are visible through our small telescopes.”

“The muggle space telescope?” muttered Zacharias Smith. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I keep telling you, Zach,” said Justin Finch-Fletchley. “We’re way more advanced at flight and space travel in the muggle world.”

“And you’re a wizard, Justin. Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talking about,” Zacharias replied testily.

“I’m a muggle-born. I can say it if I want,” Justin said. Hermione smiled. She felt the same way sometimes.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Sinistra interrupted. “I know it sounds difficult to believe, but Mr. Finch-Fletchley is correct. The muggles have, indeed, put a very large telescope in space to see the universe without the blurring of Earth’s atmosphere, and they have done many other incredible feats of space travel, as well.”

“But Professor,” asked Hannah Abbott, “how did they get it up there.”

“With rocket ships, of course,” Sinistra said.

“Rocket ships?” asked another Hufflepuff, Wayne Hopkins.

Hermione raised her hand to answer, and Sinistra picked her out by the red light. She explained, “Rocket ships are a lot like fireworks, except they’re about a hundred times bigger and fly a thousand times higher—and, of course, they’re not supposed to explode.” She noted that none of her fellow Gryffindors were questioning any of this. She had talked all of their ears off about space travel at least once.

“Correct, Miss Granger. We’ll discuss muggle space travel more in our theory classes.” (The theory classes were held whenever it was cloudy outside and thus were more common in winter.) “But for now, we’ll start with the current state of the sky. Can anyone identify if any planets are visible?”

Hermione quickly oriented herself, found the ecliptic and scanned the belt across the heavens for any bright stars that weren’t supposed to be there. She spotted one near the western horizon in Capricornus. From its colour and brightness, and the fact that it had been in nearly the same part of the sky in September for the past two years, she knew it must be Saturn.

“And the bright star next to it?” Sinistra asked next.

“Deneb Algedi,” Parvati said.

“Correct, Miss Patil. As you can probably tell, we are currently witnessing a significant close conjunction between Saturn and the brightest star in the constellation Capricornus, Deneb Algedi, literally, the Tail of the Goat. Right now, I want everyone to measure the aspects of the conjunction. Your homework will be an essay on the astrological and arithmantic significance of this conjunction based on what you’ve learnt over the past two years.”

Hermione put in her eyepiece with an angular scale marked on it and began measuring positions on the sky, alternately with her telescope and an astrolabe. The conjunction was close, indeed—less than a degree of separation. Once they finished with Saturn, they revised the rest of the sky for the remainder of the time before filing back into the tower. However, Hermione hung back to speak to Professor Sinistra about something that had been bugging her a little.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“I, uh, noticed that your red lantern looks a little pink,” she said, “like the red filter isn’t strong enough, and too much white light is getting through. We have the same problem in the muggle world with red cellophane.”

“Yes, there is a little of that, but this filter has always been like that,” her teacher replied.

“I know, ma’am, but I realised I have a spell that can improve it.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you remember how I found a way to defend us against that basilisk?”

Sinistra chuckled coldly. “I don’t think anyone will forget _that_ anytime soon.”

“Well, it’s kind of the same principle. Do you think I could try it out, please?”

Sinistra thought and said, “Oh, very well.” She held up the lantern.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Hermione pointed her wand at the lantern and spoke the incantation she had worked out during class: “ _Colovaria Fluctualonga_.” The colour of the lantern turned to a deeper and purer blood red, casting the tower in an eerie glow. The spell blocked all light with a wavelength shorter than 600 nanometres. It wasn’t as bad as it might have been—she only had to block the blue-green-sensitive rod cells that were needed for night vision, not the more problematic green cone cells.

“Hmm. Impressive,” Sinistra said. “Thank you, I think that will help. Was there anything else?”

“No, Professor.” Hermione turned to go, but then stopped herself. “Actually, yes. I’ve noticed that time of sunrise and sunset varies by up to half an hour from day to day. I assume that’s the castle’s way of keeping its location secret?”

“That’s right. We can’t have people working out were the school is just from the positions of the stars.”

“Well, I thought it might be useful to have a table of sunrise and sunset times for the school—and moonrise and moonset times—you know, so you don’t have to guess if you want to see it. Would that be possible?”

Professor Sinistra stroked her chin in thought. “Well, that’s an interesting idea,” she said. “I’ve never had much need of it, but I can see how it would be useful, especially if you wanted to do precision work. I’ll talk to Professor Vector and Professor Babbling about it. I suspect there’s a way to determine it at least a few days in advance by reading the wards. I’ll let you know next week.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

When she got back to her dorm room, Hermione immediately pulled out her Defence book and turned to the W’s, but Parvati grabbed her by the shoulder and stopped her.

“And just what do you think you’re doing, Hermione?” her roommate demanded.

“I just wanted to look up something—”

“You can do that in the morning.”

“But—”

“I seem to remember we had a deal,” Lavender chimed in half-jokingly. “We make sure you remember to sleep so you don’t go insane, and in exchange, you don’t annoy us by keeping the lights on at half past two in the morning.”

Hermione sighed, but she closed her book. “Yes, you’re right,” she admitted. “Er…thanks, girls.”

“Hey, what’re friends for?” Parvati said as she climbed into bed.

* * *

Hermione began to settle into a routine. Her classes were good, including Defence, for a change, and nothing bad had happened yet. She was a lot busier with two more classes and her independent study, but she was happy. And that took some doing. The mood in the castle was darker than before with the threat of Sirius Black hanging over their heads and the dementors lurking about. Even the weather was worse than usual. (Granted, though, the mood was a lot worse when the basilisk was on the loose.)

She tried to keep up with all of her friends, especially Ginny, who felt a bit left out, being a year behind so many of her own friends. She was doing better after the summer, but she was still having problems coping with what happened last year. Hermione showed Ginny the Room of Requirement so that she would have someplace more reliable to go if she didn’t want to be disturbed. Both girls agreed that they didn’t want the secret widely known, although Harry and Ginny’s brothers might be okay—well, maybe not Percy.

Of course, the Room of Requirement was not an option outside curfew hours, which is what happened a couple of weeks into the term when Hermione was woken up to see a tearful, pyjama-clad Ginny standing over her. “Hermione?” the younger girl whispered.

“Ahh!” Hermione grabbed her wand from the bedside table. “ _Lumos sol_ —oh, it’s you, Ginny,” she whispered, hoping she hadn’t woken her roommates. “What are you doing here? It’s…” She grabbed her watch. “A quarter to five.”

“I…I had a nightmare,” Ginny said nervously. “I…I’m sorry. I just needed to talk to someone.”

“Oh…here, it’s okay,” Hermione said. She pushed herself out of bed and put her arm around Ginny’s shoulders. “Let’s go downstairs.”

They climbed down to the Common Room, where Ginny quickly curled up on a sofa. Hermione sat next to her as close as she felt comfortable. “So…bad one?” she said awkwardly.

Ginny sniffled and nodded.

“Did…did you want to talk about it?”

Ginny bit her lip and seemed to steel herself before speaking: “I was in the Chamber…I must have been watching from above or something because I saw myself on the floor. Then Harry came into the Chamber, but…but he was alone. You’d been petrified, there was a cave-in in the tunnels that trapped Ron, and Professor Vector wasn’t even there. Harry thought that…he thought Riddle was going to help him, and he just _let_ him take his wand. And then Riddle started taunting him and called the basilisk. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t do anything because I was still lying on the floor. Then…Harry got the sword, somehow. He killed the basilisk and destroyed the diary, but…but he’d been bitten…He died before I woke up.” Ginny broke down, sobbing.

“There, there,” Hermione whispered, patting her on the back. “It was just a dream.” _Although,_ she thought, _why do I get the feeling that that_ _’s_ exactly _the kind of thing Harry would do?_

“I’m sorry I woke you up, Hermione. I was so scared I couldn’t just lie there.”

“It’s okay, Ginny. I told you I’d be here for you if you needed me.”

“But it’s so awful,” she cried. “I know R-Riddle’s gone, but it’s like I can still hear him whispering to me sometimes.”

“These things take time to get over,” Hermione told her, remembering her own carefully cover-storied counselling sessions over the summer. “I still have nightmares about all the stuff I’ve got up to around here, but it’s not that many anymore, and I’ve learnt to get better at dealing with them. You will, too.” She twisted Ginny around so that she could lean against her better and started working with her hands.

“Um, Hermione, what’re you doing?”

“Plaiting your hair.”

“Why?”

“Honestly, I’m not really sure. Lily did this for Sally-Anne last year when she was freaking out about—you know.”

“Did Lavender or Parvati do it for you?”

“I turned them down. I don’t like people messing with my hair.”

“That’s a little hypocritical, isn’t it?” Ginny smirked. “You don’t have a problem messing with my hair.”

“Ginny, _I_ don’t like to mess with my hair. It’s too much hassle, and it creates unrealistic expectations.” _Although_ _…I wonder if a hair-braiding charm has been invented yet. It can’t be much harder than tying shoes._

“O-kaaay…?” Ginny interrupted her thoughts. “Anyway, I wish I knew how you do it. You always seem to keep it together so well.”

Hermione snorted. “Only with a _lot_ of help. I have it together a lot less than you think.”

“What? No way. Ron talks about you. He says you’re really organised and always get your homework done first, and you’re almost never freaking out about the crazy stuff that happens here.”

The older girl sighed. “Ron’s a _boy_ , remember?”

“Ohhh…” Ginny said disappointedly.

“I was freaking out plenty when I though Draco Malfoy was out to get me last year. And as for the other stuff…Did Ron tell you what happened in our first year with the troll?”

“Of course.”

“Did he tell you what led up to it?”

Ginny screwed up her face in concentration. “He said he made fun of you, and he shouldn’t have done.”

Hermione shook her head: “No, Ron wasn’t even the big part of it. You see, when I first came to Hogwarts, I was new to magic, and even more than that, I was new to the way things are done in the magical world. I made a few friends here, but no one in my year, really—no one I was close to, at least. I wanted to do my best, and I felt like I was so far behind that I started reading. A lot. I read everything I could get my hands on. At first it was useful stuff, but then a title about dragons or something would catch my eye, and I’d tear through that, too. It got to the point where hardly any of it was useful, but it was just too interesting to put down. And with all this reading, I started staying up too late at night—midnight, one o’clock, two o’clock. I couldn’t help it. It was every night, too. I could never figure out where the time went, and nothing I did seemed to change it.”

“Wow, are you sure you weren’t cursed or something?” Ginny asked worriedly.

“No, it wasn’t a curse. It just crept on me so slowly that I never realised I was burning myself out. It didn’t help that I was under a lot of stress, too. I was stressed because I was so horribly sleep-deprived. I was stressed because Malfoy kept trying to hex me in the halls. I was stressed because Professor Snape was always so nasty—honestly, in the muggle world he’d’ve been sacked ages ago. And with all this going on, I started having trouble getting my homework done, which only made me more stressed, and one day, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I snapped.”

Ginny nodded: “And you spent a whole day crying in the loo.”

“Yeah. And you know the rest.”

“Merlin, how did you ever pick yourself up after all that?” Ginny asked.

“Like I said, I had a lot of help. Professor Vector talked me through everything and made sure to be there for me whenever I needed her. She’s…she’s really been wonderful about it. And I made friends with Harry and Ron, and even though they’re boys, there were still concerned for me, plus they’re so crazy, I think it keeps me saner.” Ginny giggled at that.

“I made friends with the house elves around that time, too. And I told Lavender and Parvati to take the book away from me and haul me up to bed if I started getting carried away again. And here’s the thing. They’ve needed to do that more than a few times. I probably hide it well, but I still feel like I’m on the edge half the time, like I could slip into those bad habits again if I didn’t have anyone looking out for me. When things get tough, I always have to research more or practice more or eventually spellcraft more, and it’s so easy to slip like that.”

“Wow, I had no idea it was so hard for you.”

“Yeah, I don’t like to bring it up too much, but it’s just like everything else. You learn to deal with it. And it taught me something really important.”

“What’s that?”

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

A tear trickled down Ginny’s cheek, and she turned around and hugged Hermione. “Thank you so much,” she whispered. “Thank you for being here for me.”

“It’s not a problem, Ginny. What are friends for?”

Other people started to come downstairs now, so they broke off and waited until it was time to go down to breakfast. Ron did a double take when he saw them.

“Ginny, are you wearing _pigtails_?”

“Uh huh,” she said, twirling one of her plaits with her finger. “Hermione thought I should try a new look. What do you think?”

Ron shook his head: “You don’t even look like you like that.”

“Hmpf,” Ginny said, turning up her nose at him.

“I think it looks nice,” Harry said.

Ginny nearly tripped. “Really?” she squeaked.

“Really?” Ron echoed.

“Yeah, Alicia wears her hair like that sometimes. You look more like a Quidditch player that way.”

“Th-th-thanks.” She stood motionless until the boys had passed by.

“Breathe, Ginny,” Hermione reminded her.

She sighed: “Tell me the truth. Have I got any better?”

“A little. You just need more practice. I’m sure you’ll be a lot more comfortable around him by Christmas. Come on, let’s go. By the way, there’s something going on today that’s related to last year.”

“There is?” Ginny said nervously. “What is it?”

 

_Magizoology Monthly_

_October 1993_

_A METHOD TO BLOCK THE HARMFUL EFFECTS OF THE GAZE OF A BASILISK IN DIRECT LINE OF SIGHT_

H. J. Granger, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

 

“Wow, Hermione, _two_ papers now?” said George Weasley, among others.

“Well, of course,” Fred replied. “This is Hermione Granger. If she defeats a giant monster in pitched combat, what’s she gonna do next?”

“Write a paper on it,” the Twins said in unison.

“Oh, you boys,” she said.

Hagrid gave Hermione ten points to Gryffindor for her article, and Professor Dumbledore, Professor Vector, and Professor Lupin all read it. She was a little surprised that Professor Lupin took that journal, although if she was right about him, perhaps it made sense.

As it happened, she had Defence class that day, and Professor Lupin asked her to stay a moment afterwards. “I must say, Hermione,” he said, “I was very surprised when I saw this article this morning. Finding a protection against the eyes of a basilisk, that’s an impressive achievement.”

Hermione shook her head: “Just a little something I worked out on the spot.” It felt awkward standing there in front of Lupin alone, knowing what he (probably) was, even though she knew it shouldn’t, since werewolves were perfectly harmless and non-contagious the other twenty-nine days of the month. Most of the books admitted that, even when it didn’t seem like they wanted to. The course textbook Lupin had selected was even-handed towards werewolves, but most of the library books were highly uncharitable.

Lupin smiled kindly. “Humility is a virtue,” he said, “but you shouldn’t sell yourself short. Many things seem simple in hindsight, but it takes a gifted mind to think them up in the first place. So to be clear, you, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Professor Vector fought the basilisk of Salazar Slytherin and killed it.”

“Yes, sir. Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix helped too, though.”

“That is truly amazing. I think it beats almost everything my friends and I got up to when we were in school…” Lupin looked wistful for a moment, but snapped out of it. “I must admit I had wondered if some of Professor Vector’s stories about you were exaggerated, even though I never knew her to kid when I took her class.”

“Wha—” Hermione started in surprise, but she stopped herself.

“I know I don’t look young enough, but I did take her class,” Lupin guessed her thoughts. “I started as a student the same year she started as a teacher, and it’s nothing short of a miracle that she didn’t call it quits after we came through this place, but I never would have pegged her for a monster hunter.”

Hermione blushed and looked at her feet. “She did it for me,” she muttered, not entirely sure why she was sharing this. “She promised to keep me safe after what happened in first year.”

“Yes, she mentioned that, too. You seem to have as much of a knack for attracting trouble as we did.”

Not for the first time, Hermione wondered who this “we” was and whether it had anything to do with werewolves.

“Anyway, I think your little article may make bigger waves than you think. It could really help someone someday,” he continued.

“I don’t know about that, sir. How many other basilisks could there be around?”

“You might be surprised. There are a lot of dark things in this world, and as a practitioner of defence myself, I appreciate your efforts to shed some light.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said.

“You know, all the other teachers speak very highly of you, and not just because of your, frankly, phenomenal arithmancy skills. Imagine my surprise when I learnt this was the _second_ article you had published.”

Hermione actually laughed at that. “That?” she said. “That was even more trivial. All I did was teach my parents to brew potions.”

Professor Lupin laughed in return. “‘ _All_ I did…,’” he chuckled. “Only a muggle-born would say that. It’s trivial in hindsight, remember? “It is a rare mind indeed that can render the hitherto non-existent blindingly obvious.’”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You read Douglas Adams, sir?” she asked. Hardly any wizards were well-connected with muggle culture, even muggle-borns as adults.

“I get around quite a bit in both worlds,” Lupin responded. “Hermione, you are, without a doubt, the brightest witch your age I have ever met, and I’ve met…well, some _very_ bright witches. I think I’m almost as interested as Professor Vector to see where you end up.”

Hermione was speechless. Even after two years, she wasn’t used to hearing people say things like that so unequivocally. She knew that part of it was the small size of the wizarding world, but even so…“Thank you, Professor,” was all she managed to say.

Professor Lupin smiled again. “Now, you really must tell me about the look on Professor Snape’s face when he saw that first article.”

“Oh, that…?” Hermione said, confused. “Well…he looked like he nearly choked on his coffee, and he obviously didn’t like giving points to Gryffindor, but…he was actually nice about it—by his standards. He told me after class that day he was impressed with it.”

“No! Severus Snape? Really?”

“Uh huh…Professor, do you have…issues with Professor Snape?” she ventured. She felt uncomfortable again. It wasn’t her business, but if there was something that would affect the school…

Lupin also looked about as uncomfortable as she had yet seen him. “Professor Snape and I have had…disagreements in the past,” he said cagily. “It’s not my place to elaborate. However, the Headmaster trusts him, and I trust the Headmaster. Professor Snape has not been a problem this year.”

 _No more than usual, you mean_ , Hermione thought. Could it be that Snape was prejudiced against werewolves? It wouldn’t surprise her. Snape seemed to be prejudiced against everybody. She again considered asking Professor Lupin directly, but she didn’t think he’d take it well. “I understand, Professor,” she said. “Thank you.”


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling. However, during the full moon, Harry Potter is…still owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Wow, it looks like my last chapter really struck a chord. I was blown away by all the detailed reviews it received, for which I am very grateful. I have taken several of your suggestions to heart and will work them into the story in the coming chapters, but I also caution patience. Hermione is barely fourteen, and she has a lot of stuff to deal with that most girls never do. She’ll come into her own in good time.
> 
> And as for Rebecca Gamp…watch out. She’s cleverer than she looks.

The thirtieth of September came around, and Hermione was ready. Professors Sinistra, Vector, and Babbling put their heads together and figured out what time the moon would rise according to the Hogwarts clocks. The calculations would only be accurate a month in advance, but it was good enough. At the correct time, Hermione listened intently at her window. She didn’t hear any howling, but that didn’t prove anything. Professor Lupin—or any other werewolf, for that matter—could simply be too far away to hear.

The real proof came the next morning, when the class was seated for Defence, and in through the doors walked not Professor Lupin, but Professor Snape, his black robes billowing behind him. ( _How does he get them to do that?_ Hermione wondered.) Apparently, Professor Lupin was ill. She had no idea how Snape had time to teach Defence, since he was also teaching his own core class, but teach Defence he did, and he was even more unpleasant than usual…and obsessed with werewolves.

Hermione nearly broke down when Snape called her an insufferable know-it-all. She knew she had a tendency to be overzealous, and to answer questions out of turn, but that was uncalled for. The ironic thing was that Ron called her a know-it-all about twice a week, and he was the one defending her. With Ron, though, she understood the spirit he meant it in, but she couldn’t bear that kind of insult from a teacher, even one she didn’t like to begin with. It was like primary school all over again—the bad years. She thought it was sweet of Ron, though she would have preferred he not get detention on her account.

Her real consolation was adding the incident to her list of complaints against Snape. She was trying to be fair and only record incidents that would be unambiguously unacceptable in a muggle school, but even so, that list was becoming somewhat alarming, whereas all the other teachers (she recorded for comparison) were at least mostly professional. Yes, Snape would get his soon enough. She allowed herself a knowing smile afterwards. It was time _someone_ cut him down to size.

By Monday, Professor Lupin was back and looked as well as he ever did. He cancelled the long essay on werewolves that Snape had ordered and went back to his planned syllabus, to general relief, although Hermione felt like she’d wasted her time writing it.

She only had a few minutes before she had to get to Ancient Runes, but she told Ron to go on ahead of her and stayed behind to speak to Professor Lupin after class.

“Can I help you, Hermione?” he said.

“I just wanted to let you know, I though what Professor Snape did was really unfair…”

“Well, of course, skipping to the end of the book like that when he knew you weren’t ready—”

“Not about that, Professor. I mean, well, he didn’t actually come out against werewolves, but it was pretty clear how much he dislikes them. And it’s not fair because most werewolves never did anything wrong. They’re just sick, and they’re perfectly safe most of the time. They shouldn’t be treated like animals just because of that, and a lot of the books basically say they are.”

Professor Lupin froze up when Hermione started rattling off her views on werewolves, but he made the connection easily, and he was pleasantly surprised to hear she was being so tolerant. “That’s kind of you to say, Hermione,” he replied softly. “Unfortunately, in most of the wizarding world, that _is_ how people think.”

“Well, I’m a muggle-born, Professor, and where I come from…well, I guess we do have something similar with AIDS, but at least people are coming around on that.”

“True. Very true. I know a little about that issue,” Lupin said. “Well, I imagine for someone with your intelligence, it was obvious why Professor Snape assigned that essay.”

Hermione bit her lip nervously. Professor Lupin raised his eyebrows and tilted his head slightly, waiting for a response. “Actually, Professor,” she said, “I figured it out a week after school started. I saw the moon phase in the first Astronomy class, and my brain kind of did the rest.”

Lupin chuckled softly. “I should have known,” he mused. “With a mind like yours, that’s only to be expected. Although I have to ask, do you think anyone else has figured it out?”

“I don’t think so, sir, or else they’d be talking about it. Honestly, they all seem pretty obtuse about it—Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. You’re the only good Defence teacher we’ve had so far, and you don’t deserve that.”

Her teacher smiled. “You know, you remind me very much of an old friend of mine, Hermione…she was also a muggle-born, and very bright, and very kind…you wouldn’t know her. She died in the war.”

“I’m sorry, Professor.”

“Well, such is life. But I do appreciate your sentiments. Not many witches and wizards are willing to associate with werewolves.”

“Well, most witches and wizards don’t think much of house elves, ghosts, or squibs either, and I can say from experience that they don’t know what they’re missing,” Hermione said.

Lupin chuckled again. “A wise sentiment. Well, you’d better get going. I’ll write you a note in case you’re late.”

“Thank you, sir.”

* * *

“Hermione, keep your stupid cat away from Scabbers!”

“He’s not stupid, Ronald. He’s very clever. _You_ just don’t approve of his lifestyle choices. Crookshanks…Crookshanks, come here.”

“Lifestyle choices? He keeps trying to eat Scabbers!” Ron yelled, trying to fish his squirming rat out from under a sofa in the Common Room.

Hermione managed to grab the equally squirming Crookshanks around the middle and lift him up. The cat continued to glare at Ron. “He likes to catch his own food. It’s healthier for him, anyway. Besides, a small pet like Scabbers shouldn’t be out and about so much, especially since he’s ill. Crookshanks isn’t the only cat in the tower, after all.”

“And whose fault is it he’s ill?” Ron demanded.

“You’re the one who said he took ill in Egypt. I’m just trying to help,” she huffed.

“Don’t mind Hermione, Ron,” Lavender Brown jumped in. “She doesn’t think other people’s pets matter very much.”

“That’s not true, Lavender—Crookshanks, go back upstairs, I say—The way Ron lets Scabbers wander so much, he’s lucky one of the other cats didn’t get him already—Come on, go back to bed, Crookshanks. I’m just going to Astronomy. I’ll be back in two hours.” Dominant personality was right, but she could be strong-willed, too. It took some pushing, but she finally convinced Crookshanks to go back up to her room. Lavender continued to glare at her. “Honestly,” she muttered to herself, “I’m sorry about the rabbit. All I said was you can’t be dreading something you weren’t expecting.” Lavender was convinced that Professor Trelawney had predicted her pet rabbit’s death, even though the supposed prediction didn’t fit the facts.

“Come on, Lav, we’re gonna be late,” Parvati called, and the remaining Gryffindors left the Common Room to head up to the Astronomy Tower.

Professor Sinistra looked as excited as a schoolgirl tonight—an eerie effect in the light of Hermione’s red filter spell—and Hermione had a good idea why. Her parents had mentioned it in their last letter.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Sinistra said, practically bouncing on her feet. “I have recently received some most interesting news. Next July…a comet is going to collide with the planet Jupiter.”

The reaction was not what Hermione expected, though perhaps she should have: half the class gasped in horror, and Lavender and Parvati actually screamed.

“I knew it!” Lavender cried. “Professor Trelawney keeps saying something horrible it coming. It must be Jupiter getting destroyed! Oh, Merlin, what will this do to my horoscope?”

“No, no, class,” Sinistra said frantically. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that comets are _not_ huge balls of fire. They’re tiny pieces of ice surrounded by clouds. In fact, most of them are too faint to see with the naked eye, not big and bright like Halley’s Comet a few years ago. A comet cannot possibly destroy Jupiter. It’s far too small. But what we do hope is that it’ll make for some interesting fireworks when seen through a telescope. And the Hubble Telescope should be working by then, so we’ll have great pictures.”

That snapped the class out of their horrified state, and they started asking questions, especially the boys, who were naturally more interested in the “fireworks.”

“The comet is called Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 because two muggles named Shoemaker and Levy discovered it,” Sinistra explained. “Yes, I keep telling you their telescopes are bigger and better than ours. It was captured into orbit around Jupiter, and Jupiter’s enormous gravity shattered it into twenty-one pieces. And all twenty-one of them are going to crash into the planet next July. No, unfortunately, it is too faint to be seen. It’s fourteenth-magnitude, so even with our telescopes, here, it’s not possible—no, not even by magically widening your pupils, which you don’t want to do too often anyway…”

Hermione lamented the poor quality of human eyes. Burdened with having to be made out of organic molecules, the photoreceptors in the human eye only registered about five percent of the photons that hit them. She did the maths quickly: if _that_ barrier could be overcome, Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9 would be just visible to the naked eye—and the sky would look so much more amazing as a whole. And here she was stuck with organic molecules. Well, a girl could dream, couldn’t she?

“You know, Professor,” she told her teacher once the class was over, “I almost would’ve been tempted to announce an End of the World Ball for the comet impact. It could be fun.”

“Excuse me, Miss Granger?” Sinistra said, confused. “End of the World _Ball_?”

“It’s a Jonathan Swift reference—never mind. But the comet is definitely exciting. I’ve always have admired know much you know about muggle astronomy, ma’am.”

“Half-blood, Miss Granger,” Sinistra replied. “My father introduced me to the subject the muggle way, which is as good or better that our methods in nearly every respect. Far too many witches and wizards never pay attention to muggle science.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that, ma’am,” Hermione said. “I do hope the Hubble Telescope mission works out.”

“As do I, Miss Granger. But I think there’s not too much cause for worry. The muggles have usually been reliable about such things.”

Hermione considered mentioning her idea about enhancing night vision to Professor Sinistra, but she decided against it for the time being. She wasn’t confident enough in the concept quite yet, but if she happened to be struck by a fit on inspiration, it would be another story.

* * *

Halloween came the following weekend, and with it, the first Hogsmeade weekend. The visit had been moved to Sunday instead Saturday as it usually was to fall on the Holiday. Hermione had to wonder if Halloween being the day _after_ the full moon had anything to do with it, but she dismissed that. In any case, with the feast in the evening to finish off, it was sure to be an exciting day, and despite the last two years, she refused to allow herself to believe that anything bad would happen.

“Well, we’ve definitely gotta hit up Honeydukes,” Ron said, being the expert on the subject thanks to his older brothers. “You won’t believe all the kinds of sweets they have there. And Fred and George are always nuts about Zonko’s. And then we gotta see the Shrieking Shack. It’s the—”

“Most haunted building in Britain,” Hermione, Harry, and Ron all said together.

“Well…yeah…It’ll be nice to get out of the castle for a day,” Ron muttered.

Ginny looked put out at being stuck in the castle for another year when she met them at breakfast, but she told them to have a good time and wandered off. The trio made their way down to the Entrance Hall, where Filch was checking them off a list. The Caretaker just barely cracked a smile when he faced Hermione. Giving him a few rune-powered potion-making spells each month continued to do wonders for his personality, though he still had a reputation to uphold in public. He was just about to pass them through when Professor McGonagall showed up, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Mr. Potter, you were going to Hogsmeade?” she said.

“Y-yes?” Harry answered.

“You are aware, of course, that Sirius Black is still at large?”

“Professor, he can’t—he can’t be _here_ , can he?” Harry said worriedly. They wouldn’t make him stay behind, would they?

“We certainly hope not, but there have been sightings in the area, so you must be very careful. Also, Professor Dumbledore has asked me to urge you not to leave the village streets at any time, including to visit the Shrieking Shack.”

“What? Why?” Ron said.

“Because, Mr. Weasley, it is too far from the rest of the village to patrol adequately. For your safety, Mr. Potter, you will have to pass it up for now.”

Harry sighed, but nodded reluctantly: “Yes, Professor.”

“It’s not fair,” Ron said as they climbed into the thestral-drawn carriage. (By now, the sight of the skeletal horses barely fazed the trio.) “You went to all that trouble to get your uncle to sign your form, and you still can’t see the whole village.”

“Professor McGonagall’s right, Ron,” Hermione said. “With Sirius Black out there, Harry needs to stay safe. We should be thankful she let him come at all.”

Ron opened his mouth to reply, but he stopped when he saw Harry. He was shaking. Hermione started to feel cold. She was starting to think maybe it wasn’t a good idea bringing Harry along. What if Sirius Black _was_ here? What would he do if he saw them together—No! It was the dementors again. Merlin, she hated those things. It was like they sucked all the happiness out of the room.

“Ugh, I can see why my dad doesn’t like them,” Ron said once they were safely past.

Harry was sitting very stiffly and staring into space. “Why do they affect me worse than you, though?” he said.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied. “I tried to look them up in the library, but a lot of the information on them is in the Restricted Section…Although, I might be able to convince Professor Vector to give me a pass.”

But a brief encounter with dementors wasn’t enough to ruin their day today. Hermione was excited to see an authentic all-magical village, and Ron and Harry were just excited for a day on the town. Hogsmeade was a quaint little village, all high-pitched roofs and tall chimneys, looking quite a bit older than Diagon Alley. Its look was actually more subdued that that place, where all the shops and stalls were constantly flashing their wares, but Hermione felt immersed in the wizarding culture here in a way that she never had in London. Being separate from the rest of the world, _this_ was the ideal place to live, by wizard standards.

Even though they skipped the Shrieking Shack, Hermione had a great time, and she was pretty sure her two best friends did, too. They all loaded up on an excessive amount of sweets at Honeydukes. (She justified it by saying it was Halloween, the one day her parents didn’t raise a fuss about eating a lot of candy.) Harry got his defective Sneakoscope looked at in Dervish and Banges, but the wizard there couldn’t find anything wrong with it, aside from being very cheap. Hermione stocked up on supplies at Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop. Ron insisted they go into Zonko’s Joke Shop to grab a few things, even though his brothers were the masters of that domain. In fact, it was those two boys that they met in the shop.

“Well, lookee here, George,” Fred called. “It’s the new kids.”

“Hey, guys,” Harry waved back.

“Dare I ask what you two are up to?” Hermione asked them.

“Probably not,” the Twins said in unison.

“Say, Hermione,” George added, “would you care to lay odds on next Saturday’s Quidditch game?”

“Next Saturday? But there’s not—Oh, you mean Gryffindor versus Slytherin. I hope you’re not planning on betting on yourselves.”

“Of course not,” Fred replied indignantly.

“We just want to see how your predictions fare,” George said.

“You’ve been doing a pretty good job with the World Cup,” Fred continued.

“Oh, well that’s easy,” Hermione said. “You’re the favourite to win—upwards of four-to-one on. You’ve got a real veteran team, and Malfoy’s not much of a Seeker.”

“Too true, Hermione,” Fred replied.

“Yeah, we’ll give ‘e what for,” said George.

“By the way, if you haven’t been already, we highly recommend going for a Butterbeer over at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Highly recommend. We were heading there next.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ron said. “I’ve been wanting to try that. Mum wouldn’t let any of us drink it till we were thirteen.”

“That she knows of,” said the Twins, grinning.

The Three Broomsticks was clearly the centre of social life for Hogsmeade—a small, but crowded inn and pub, filled with all sorts of unusual characters, including a couple of goblins and an old woman Hermione was pretty sure was really a hag. Madam Rosmerta, the innkeeper, was a middle-aged woman with a sharp stare and a firm hand to deal with all the rowdy wizards who came through the place. Hermione judged she was quite pretty, though, especially if Ron’s blush was any indication as he went up to order drinks.

Hermione found she liked the Butterbeer. It tasted like cream soda with a healthy dose of butterscotch and a very mild kick to it that her parents probably wouldn’t approve of, but they couldn’t really talk because they had no problem giving her a glass of wine at dinner parties. Actually, if they made this stuff about twice as thick and added a dash of nutmeg, they’d probably have some form of eggnog. She could see why it was so popular.

A lot of other students were in the pub. Many of them waved to Harry as they came in, and one couple soon approached Hermione. She was only a little surprised when she saw Roger Davies and Rebecca Gamp arm in arm. Roger was grinning, but Rebecca was stared at her oddly.

“Hey, Hermione, how’re you liking Hogsmeade so far?” Roger asked.

“It’s really great. We need to be able to get out of the castle once in a while, and it’s a lot of fun here. So, you two?” she enquired.

“We thought we’d give it a try,” Rebecca said, breaking into a smile. “Hogsmeade’s more fun when you have someone to do it with.”

“I can guess.”

“We just came from the Shrieking Shack,” Roger continued. “Have you seen it yet?”

Hermione and Ron looked awkwardly at Harry. “Erm, no,” Hermione said. “We…might have to do that another time.”

“Oh, too bad,” Rebecca replied. “Say, Hermione, I was wondering: what have you been doing in Professor Vector’s office on Saturdays?”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She wasn’t keeping it a secret, but she didn’t think anyone would notice her Saturday afternoon meetings. “I’m doing an independent study with Professor Vector,” she said.

Rebecca coughed, and her eyes grew very wide. “ _You_?” she said incredulously. “What could _you_ be doing an independent study on? You’re only in O.W.L. Year with us.”

“Linear algebra—it’s mostly more advanced work with matrices. We’re mostly studying more general principles of spellcrafting in transfiguration with it.”

“Oh, well…how _nice_ for you,” Rebecca said, but she didn’t sound like she thought it was nice at all. “Do you think there’s any chance Professor Vector would be interested in taking on another student for that?”

Hermione shrugged apologetically: “You could ask her if you wanted. If you can keep up with the linear algebra work, I wouldn’t object.”

“I think I will, thank you very much,” she replied with an air of superiority, and she walked off, dragging a confused Roger with her.

“Well, that was strange,” Hermione said to Ron and Harry. “I didn’t know she was aiming for advanced work already.”

The boys just shrugged their shoulders.

Unfortunately, the visit couldn’t be all fun and games, as a certain Slytherin Trio made an appearance.

“Hey, Granger,” Draco Malfoy said, “I hear you don’t think much of my flying skills. Upwards of four-to-one on Potter, was it?” Apparently, the Twins had been spreading her prediction around.

Hermione didn’t let him faze her. “Actually, that was for the teams as a whole. I’d put at least five-to-one on Harry by himself.”

“Typical Gryffindor,” he shot back. “You’ve got a lot of nerve saying that to my face.”

“I made an Arithmantic assessment based on your performance last year, Malfoy,” she said. “I could write it out for you if you like.”

“It’s true. Her maths looks good to me,” Harry quipped.

“You’re one to talk, Potter,” Malfoy shot back. “You’d better hope there’s no dementors at the game. I’m surprised you even faced them to show up here.”

Harry seethed, and clenched his fists. Crabbe and Goyle noticed and pressed forward a little. But Hermione nudged Harry back and said, “Hey, Malfoy, I’m working on a new spell. Do you want to try it out?”

He hesitated just a moment. “You wouldn’t dare, Granger. Not with all these witnesses.”

“Don’t presume what I would and wouldn’t do.”

Malfoy sneered at her, but she continued to stare him down. It was a calculated risk, but she was confident in the presence of witnesses to stop him trying anything. As she predicted, his response was just more bluster: “Well, if you ever feel Gryffindor enough to try a _real_ duel, you know where to find me. C’mon, Crabbe, Goyle.” They three of them went back to the bar for Butterbeers of their own.

“That was bloody brilliant,” whispered Ron.

“Just strategic thinking,” she said. “He can’t do anything in here any more than I can.”

“Well, yeah, but it was still brilliant.”

“What _does_ your new spell do?” Harry asked.

Hermione grinned and gestured for them to come closer with her finger. She leaned in and whispered, “There wasn’t one. I was bluffing.” She giggled, and the boys joined in.

“Merlin’s beard, _you_ bluffing?” Ron said admiringly. “Why do you keep complaining about losing to that elf at cards, then?”

“Because Sonya is superhuman at it. No one can compete with her. Mere mortals like myself have to settle for outwitting Malfoy.”

“Here’s to that,” Ron said, raising his glass.

* * *

“You three go on ahead. I need to wash up,” Hermione said as the foursome made their way to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. They had met back up with Ginny and showered her with Honeydukes candy to try to make up for her being cooped up in the castle all day. Hermione was sure she had eaten too much candy already, and she still had the Feast coming up, but at least she could work it off with all the stairs she had to climb around here.

However, when she wandered into the bathroom to get ready for the Feast, she was greeted by a disturbingly familiar sound. Someone was crying.

“Hello?”

Looking down the row of stalls for the source of the high-pitched sniffling, she got to the end and saw the feet of someone in a familiar pose, sitting on the floor, back against the wall.

The girl was very small, she could tell—a first-year or a small second-year. She was also barefoot. Her skin was very pale, and her voice was high and a little squeaky. Hermione didn’t know all the girls in the castle, but she had a pretty good idea of this one.

“Luna? Is that you?”

The sniffling broke off. “What was that? Did someone say something?”

“Luna Lovegood? It’s me, Hermione Granger. Can I help you?”

“Hermione? Oh, hello,” Luna said in a crude imitation of her usual serene voice. She was clearly trying to put on a brave face, but was having more difficulty than usual.

“Are you okay? I heard you…” she trailed off.

“I’m…fine…” Luna sniffed again.

The girl certainly didn’t sound fine, and with someone as strange as her, and behaving oddly on top of that, Hermione didn’t know where to begin. “Um…you know, the Feast is about to start,” she tried. “If you come out, we can go down together.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not really hungry right now.”

“Well, to be honest, neither am I—too much candy. But it’s not good to miss the Halloween Feast. Believe me; this happened to me in my first year, and I nearly got killed by a mountain troll.”

There was a long silence. Even Luna Lovegood seemed to have trouble digesting that one, and Hermione couldn’t think of anything else to say. Finally, Luna said in a small voice, “That sounds very improbable. Were there wrackspurts involved?”

“Um…I have no idea. But I do know people will be worried that you’re not there.”

She heard another sniffle. “That’s nice of you to say, Hermione, but I don’t think anyone will notice if I’m gone.”

“Trust me, they will. I didn’t think anyone would notice I was gone either, but they did.”

Luna didn’t answer that at first, but then, she slowly began to stir, rising to her feet and sliding the door open.

Hermione nearly gasped when she saw her. Her long, blond hair, which descended to her waist, was unkempt and more frazzled than Hermione’s own, making her look like she was wearing a lion’s mane on her head and trailing down her back. Her wand poked out from the mass, apparently being tucked behind her ear. She had no socks or shoes—nothing below the knee, which couldn’t have been comfortable in this weather. Her Ravenclaw tie seemed to be missing, too, and her eyes were very red, as if she’d been crying all afternoon.

Without another word, Hermione grabbed her and wrapped her arms around her.

Luna went stiff with surprise, but she gradually started to relax. As the shock wore off, she said, “Oh…Oh my…This is very nice, but what is it for?”

Hermione pulled back and held her at arm’s length: “You just looked like you needed a hug.”

She cocked her head and replied, “I think you are right. Thank you, Hermione.”

“So…Did you want to talk about it?”

“Well…I have been having a very difficult day today.”

“I…sort of guessed,” Hermione said, looking her up and down. “May I ask if there’s a reason you aren’t wearing socks?”

“All of my socks and shoes have gone missing.” Hermione expected Luna to elaborate, but she didn’t.

“Uh, Luna, things like that don’t just ‘go missing’—not that many things, anyway.”

“I had been thinking that,” Luna said. “I initially thought nargles were to blame. However, it seems…” her voice hitched just a bit. “It seems that my roommates have been making a game of taking them and hiding them.”

“That’s terrible!” Hermione exclaimed. Luna flinched. “That’s not a game. That’s just mean. Didn’t you report them?”

“I told the prefects my things were missing the first few times, but it didn’t seem to help…I don’t think they believed me when I suggested the nargles. Anyway, they always come back sooner or later.”

Which meant that either the prefects were in on it or they didn’t care. Hermione resolved to talk to Roger about it, since he was one this year—maybe Rebecca, too. “You still shouldn’t let them do that to you…Was that why you were in here?” she said softly.

Luna’s face fell, but she answered, “No, it wasn’t that…”

“The hair?” Hermione ventured. Luna didn’t seem like the type of girl to get hung up over her hair, but it was worth a shot.

“No, not that either,” she replied. “It _has_ got difficult to manage, though, hasn’t it? My shampoo seems to have been replaced with whichever one you use.”

Hermione sighed. “ _My_ hair just does this on its own, but I see your point.” She stopped and tried to understand what was going on with this girl. Luna Lovegood was incredibly hard to read. Almost every single time she’d met her, Hermione had found Luna to be calm and cheerful, not at all prone to dramatic displays of emotion— _except_ , there were a couple of times in the Great Hall when something someone had said struck Luna as hysterical, and she laughed loudly until she couldn’t breathe. Evidently, though she was normally nearly stoic, when the emotion overwhelmed her, in broke out in spectacular fashion. If it was with laughter, it made the whole Great Hall stop and stare, but if it was with tears, well for her to break down like this, she must have been in a lot of pain—pain that Hermione knew all too well, if not in the particulars.

All she could think of was to try to empathise with Luna, so she told her an abbreviated version of the story that she’d told Ginny a few weeks earlier about that previous Halloween—how she’d overworked herself so badly that she just broke down one day—and then had the bad luck to run into a troll.

Luna seemed sympathetic to her plights. “That sounds very frightening, Hermione,” she said. “I do hope that you’ve improved in your self-control since then.” Hermione felt very uncomfortable about that comment. Luna had a tendency to come out and say what she thought. But then, she switched gears, as she so often did. “It sounds like you were the victim of a luck dragon.”

“Er…” Hermione said.

“A _bad_ luck dragon, of course. I do hope there isn’t one of those lurking around here today. I wouldn’t want to run into a rampaging heliopath or an umgubular slashkilter.”

It was a struggle for Hermione to stay focused and not dismiss those creatures out of hand. Trying to be gentle, she said, “I don’t think it was a bad luck dragon, Luna. I think Voldemort made his move that day because it was the anniversary of his defeat.”

Luna squeaked in surprise. “Not many people are brave enough to say You-Know-Who’s name,” she said.

“Not many people believe in name superstitions in the muggle world,” Hermione replied.

“They’re not all superstitions. Taboos can be very dangerous.”

“Um, sure, Luna.”

Luna was silent for a few minutes, and Hermione waited for her to do something, although knowing Luna, she might not for a while. But finally, she said, “That was kind of you to tell me your story, Hermione. I’ve never really had any friends besides Ginny.” Luna’s voice was almost back to her version of normal, but Hermione could still hear the strain in it. “Most people think I’m a bit odd, you know. Some of them even call me ‘Loony’ Lovegood.”

Hermione gasped in indignation. The girl was plenty odd, yes, but that didn’t mean people had to insult her.

“A few people are nice to me,” she continued, “but my roommates and some of the older Ravenclaws always make fun of them for it. They give up after a while. Earlier…earlier today, all my year-mates were picking on a couple of first-years who were trying to be friendly with me.” Like a dam breaking, her tears started flowing again, and Hermione put an arm around her shoulder. “They were the last two who even tried, and it’s terrible for them to be hurt like that just for being nice.”

Hermione felt sick. People had been doing this to Luna for a year (and Hermione had barely noticed, just like with Ginny), and what finally broke her was not just being completely ostracised by her house, but also seeing the same injustice done to the younger students, some of whom were surely new to this world and overwhelmed, just like Hermione had been. She remembered Harry mentioning that his cousin had scared off everyone from being his friend in primary school. Luna’s position looked just about as bad, and she resolved to do something about it.

“Luna,” she said, “you shouldn’t let people control your life like that. You need to report this.”

“I can manage, though. I don’t want to cause more trouble.”

“But it’s not just affecting you. It’s affecting those first-years, too. And besides, you can’t go through life without making any friends. Believe me, I had a spell like that, and it was the worst year of my life…Well, I can be your friend, Luna, for one.”

Luna gave her a weak smile, peeking out from under her mass of hair. “You don’t need to put yourself out there for me, Hermione.”

“Please, with the stuff I’ve had to go through over the past two years, a few bullies will be easy. Come on, let’s see if we can get you cleaned up. People will worry if you miss the Feast.”

“I…I guess I wouldn’t mind so much going down there like this,” Luna said nervously. “I don’t think I can fix my hair or find my shoes quickly.”

“I’m sure we can do better than…this,” Hermione motioned up and down her body uncertainly. She _did_ look pretty dishevelled. “Do you know where they usually hide your clothes?”

“No, they often just reappear.”

“Hmm…” Hermione didn’t know what to do about that. The best she could think of would be to run up to the tower, grab her spare shoes and _try_ to resize them, but that would take time, and she wasn’t sure if it would work. But then, she had another thought: if someone’s possessions were taken and hidden somewhere in the castle, who would likely be the first people to find them? And how would those individuals react to finding them? “Well, then,” she said with a grin, “It’s a good thing I have a friend whose speciality is clothes. Dobby?”

Dobby popped into view beside her. “Miss Hermione calls Dobby?” he asked.

“Yes, Dobby, this is Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is Dobby. He works for me.”

“Hello, Dobby,” she squeaked. Even allowing for the fact that this was Luna, Hermione was surprised that the girl didn’t react at all to her having a paid elf.

“Dobby, have the other elves asked you to retrieve any clothes hidden in odd places today, especially shoes and socks?” Hermione asked.

The elf’s eyes grew a bit wider. “Yes, they has, Miss Hermione.”

“I think some of them belong to Luna. People have been hiding them from her.”

“Students hides Miss Luna Lovegood’s clothes from her?” Dobby said. “So _that_ is what is happening. The other elves is not liking it, Miss Hermione. Some of them is thinking…that someone is trying to free them, miss.”

She groaned. _And I_ _’d be at the top of their suspect list_ , she thought. _One more reason to tell people to cut it out._ “I’ll see if I can talk to them about it, then,” she replied. “Could you check them and bring a pair of her socks and shoes if there are any?”

“Yes, miss, Dobby can.” And then, he leaned close to Luna and _sniffed_ deeply.

“Um…Dobby…what was that?”

“Dobby must learn which is Miss Luna Lovegood’s scent, miss. We elves sorts laundry by smell when it is being mixed up.”

“By _smell_?” Hermione said incredulously.

“Yes, miss. All of the robes looks alike, so elves must have another way to be telling them apart, miss.”

“Oh, and here I thought it was magic. Silly me,” Hermione replied sarcastically. _Just when I thought I_ _’d learnt everything about elves…_

“Dobby will find Miss Luna Lovegood’s clothes,” he said firmly, and he popped away.

“He seems very nice,” Luna said.

“Yes. We hired him after we got him away from the Malfoys last spring. He’s been really great to have around, especially since most purebloods hardly ever think about elves—no offence.”

“It’s alright. I’ve found that many people have very closed minds,” Luna replied calmly. Hermione couldn’t help but feel like that comment was partly directed at her.

A few minutes later, Dobby reappeared with an armful of clothing, mostly socks, ties, two pairs of shoes, and most alarmingly, two pairs of knickers. Dobby truly never did anything halfway. “These is all of Miss Luna Lovegood’s clothes that Dobby has found,” he said eagerly.

Luna beamed and matched a pair of socks and shoes and put them on. “There, now my feet will be warmer, anyway. Thank you, sir,” she said as she grabbed a tie, too.

“Sir?” Dobby said in awe. “I like her very much.”

Hermione giggled. That settled it. If Dobby liked her, she was definitely going to be a friend. “Dobby, please take the rest of these to Luna’s room, and also take things of hers that you find back there right away—but rest first if you need to.” After Sonya had overexerted herself, Hermione made sure to count the number of Apparitions if Dobby was doing something intensive.

“Yes, Miss Hermione. Dobby will do that.” He took up the rest of the clothes and vanished.

“There,” Hermione told Luna. She looked much better already with a full uniform. “Now, for your hair…” She hadn’t _quite_ been telling the truth that she didn’t have a new spell, but it _was_ true that she didn’t have anything brand new that she could use against Malfoy. “I’m not good with hair, but I have a new spell for Arithmancy that might help. Do you mind if I try it?”

“Not at all. I’ve studied some Arithmancy myself. It’s very interesting.”

“Oh? We’ll have to talk about it sometime.” Hermione turned Luna around and gathered her mass of hair into three bundles. Luna pulled her wand from behind her ear so that it wasn’t in the way. Then, Hermione waved her own wand and said, _“Fasciculi Pilis Plectere.”_ She watched with pleasure as Luna’s hair plaited itself…but only down to her shoulders, leaving a bushy tail hanging down her back. “Hmm…still needs some work, I guess. It worked on mine.” She hadn’t considered needing to test it on very long hair. For lack of a better option, she went with a little adjusting of the braid and two more applications of the charm, and Luna’s hair was plaited all the way down her spine. She withdrew a hair tie from her pocket and tied it off at the bottom.

“There, now you look perfectly presentable. Are you ready to go to the Feast, now?”

“I suppose so.” Luna’s eyes were still red and puffy, but she finally looked cheerful again, so she washed her face, and they were off.

Hermione wondered how people would react to the two of them walking into the feast late. Since Luna seemed to attract the wrong kind of attention, it could get unpleasant. However, it turned out they were in luck. The walked in at the same time the ghosts entered the hall _en masse_ , so most of the attention was diverted. She led Luna up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw Tables until she found the rest of her friends. She was about to offer to let Luna sit with them, but the Ravenclaw found a spot at her own table. Her housemates scooted out of the way—obviously not out of politeness, but to get away from her—and she softly said, “Thank you, Hermione,” and sat down.

“You’re welcome,” she answered, and she sat down next to Ginny and across from Ron and Harry. She heard whispers from behind her of “How’d Loony get cleaned up?” and “What’s Granger doing with her?,” but she ignored them.

“Hey, Hermione, where were you?” Ron demanded.

“Just helping out a friend,” she said as she loaded up her plate.

Ron looked past her to the Ravenclaw Table. “Who, Loony? What’s the big deal?”

Hermione shot him her best glare. “Her _name_ is Luna, _Ronald_ ,” she said loudly enough for the people behind her to hear. Then, she leaned in and whispered, “I found her crying in the bathroom. I happen to have some experience with that.”

Ron turned red as he remembered how he had set off that incident two years ago.

“Is she okay?” Ginny said with concern.

“She’s better now. I’m gonna try to help her with people picking on her from her house.”

“Well, good luck with that. She’s nice, but she’s an odd one,” Ginny answered.

Dinner was excellent, as usual, with the ghosts providing entertainment, and even after so much candy, Hermione managed to eat a good bit more than she ought to. When it was over, they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, and Hermione took pleasure in the fact that nothing had gone wrong all day.

Unfortunately, she spoke too soon. When they got up to the portrait hole, the Fat Lady wasn’t there, and her portrait was slashed to ribbons. And Peeves the Poltergeist knew precisely why.

_“Nasty temper he’s got, that Sirius Black.”_

Hermione froze up: _Don_ _’t panic! Don’t panic! Don’t panic…I should_ not _have had that second plate._

“All students return to the Great Hall at once,” Dumbledore ordered.

The Gryffindors turned around and hurried back down the stairs. Hermione was still feeling like she was about to throw up when she felt a tug on her arm. She now noticed that her hand was going numb from someone’s white-knuckled grip on it. It was Ginny. She and Ron were both looking very worried at Harry, who himself looked as sick as Hermione felt.

Hermione forced herself to take a few deep breaths and took stock of the situation. Sirius Black, a notorious mass murderer, had got _into the castle_. Objectively, that wasn’t much different from the past two years, except that he got past the dementors (which he had done before), and the Aurors (whom he’d been evading for months), and the castle wards (which was hard, but not impossible). Also, he was probably here to kill Harry.

In other words, it was just another normal year at Hogwarts—or that’s what she tried to tell herself.

The professors didn’t take the time to talk to anyone specifically. They just locked the students in the Great Hall with several hundred sleeping bags while they searched the castle. A whole new set of wards were activated inside the Hall, and the huge doors barred themselves up and down.

“If he’s even still in the castle,” Hermione said as the foursome grabbed four sleeping bags in the corner.

“Dumbledore thinks he might be,” Ron said.

“Or he really wants to make sure he’s not,” Ginny suggested.

“It’d be better if they had a way to track him—of course!” She jumped up and stepped further into the corner, into the last alcove along the wall, and whispered, “Dobby?”

Pop! “Miss Hermione—”

“Shh! Dobby, Sirius Black was at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower not long ago.” Dobby gasped, but she shushed him again. “Can you track him by scent like you did Luna’s things?”

Dobby cocked his head and considered this. It was obviously well outside his experience. “Dobby can try, miss, if there has not been too many people there,” he whispered.

“Good. I want you to do that, but be careful, and if you find him, don’t let him see you. Go straight to Dumbledore.”

“Yes, Miss Hermione.” He vanished to join the search.

“You sent an elf to sniff him out?” Ginny said in disbelief. “Since when can you do that?”

“Since tonight, apparently. People really need to pay more attention to elves. Anyway, I wonder why Black chose tonight. No one was in the tower.”

“I reckon he got the days mixed up,” Ron said. “Being on the run, he might not have known.”

“Maybe not.”

“That must be it,” Ginny said. “Otherwise, who else was he looking for?”

_Who else indeed? Or what else?_

Percy was going around and making everyone bed down for the night, as if Hermione—and of a lot of others—would be able to sleep. She was about to lie down, but she had one more quick thought. She rushed over to a group of Ravenclaws, where one sleeping bag was set apart from the rest and knelt down. “Psst. Luna, are you okay over here?”

Luna opened her eyes where she was lying serenely. “Oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Well, if you’re sure—but you’re welcome to sleep with us over there.”

“That’s very kind of you, Hermione, but I’ll be alright. The wards feel quite safe here. You can sleep with me if you like if you’re uncomfortable.”

Hermione felt _very_ uncomfortable and now very awkward on top of that. Luna tended to do that to people. Luckily, she was saved when Percy yelled, “Lights out!” and she said, “Thank you, but I think I’ll be okay, too,” and ran back to her group.

Hermione got very little sleep that night. She and her friends listened for news each time a teacher came in, but Black was never found. Professor Snape implied that Professor Lupin might be involved, but Dumbledore dismissed that out of hand. Hermione did too, though for a different reason. Seeing as it was the night after the full moon, Professor Lupin was probably too ill to be of much help to anyone.

It wasn’t until the early morning that Hermione heard from Dobby again, when the little elf came up to her, wringing his hands and said, “Dobby is sorry, Miss Hermione. Dobby could not track Bad Wizard Black.”

“I suspected as much,” she said sleepily. “Do you know how he got away?”

“Dobby is thinking that he masked his scent, miss.”

“Masked his scent…? From elves?”

“Dobby is not thinking he cares about elves, but he could be caring about Professor McGonagall.”

“Professor McGonagall?”

“She was also tracking Sirius Black by scent.”

“Wha—as a _cat_ , of course. Well, it’s good to see someone else thought of it. I bet Mrs. Norris was up there, too. Thank you for trying.”

“Dobby is happy to serve, Miss Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fasciculi Pilis Plectere: Roughly Latin for “Bundles of hair, be braided.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All Harry Potters are linear transformations of JK Rowling.

“Professor Vector, I’m really worried,” Hermione said. She had staggered into the Arithmancy classroom early enough for a private chat, though red-eyed from worry and lack of sleep. She’d also been harassed by the new portrait guardian on the way up to get her books—some mad knight from the North Tower.

“So are we all, Hermione,” her teacher replied wearily. If Hermione hadn’t got much sleep, Vector hadn’t got any at all.

“I don’t understand how he could get in,” Hermione said. “What about the drainage tunnels? That’s how Quirrell got that troll in.”

“I thought of that,” Vector said, “but they’ve all been sealed with grates and have Intruder Charms placed on them. He would have tripped them coming in that way.”

“The Chamber of Secrets?”

“Also monitored with an Intruder Charm.”

“Are there any secret passages in and out of the school?”

“Several, but Mr. Filch tells us that the only one that is usable comes out outside the castle walls, so we’re left with the same problem of how the dementors failed to notice him on the grounds. And as to that, I don’t know. I can only guess…but I don’t want to worry you.”

Hermione sighed. “Professor, I’m going to worry either way. I don’t see how things could get much worse.”

“I didn’t mean about Black. I meant about the dementors. What do you know about them?”

“Not much. There wasn’t much unrestricted in the library. I know they’re spirits of decay; they slowly destroy everything around them, and I know I experience major depressive symptoms whenever they’re nearby. They’re just so…so _wrong_ that they don’t make sense. I wish I could find out more.”

“You may rethink that if I tell you…” Vector said. Slowly, she turned the words over: “Depressive symptoms…I’m not as familiar with mind healing as I should be, but I suppose that’s accurate. The dementors, being spirits of decay, feed on good things—light, warmth, colour, green plants, and most importantly, good emotions—peace, hope, happiness, joyful memories, and thoughts of loved ones. And in their wake, they leave cold, damp, fog, death, decay, and what you call depression. With all of your good memories sucked away, all you can do is relive your bad ones.”

Hermione shuddered. She remembered how the castle had felt colder and bleaker than usual all term, even safe within the wards. She remembered how all the bad things that had happened over the past two years floated to the top of her mind whenever those things were near. From that description, dementors sounded like just about the nastiest creatures on the face of the Earth. “What does that have to do with Black, ma’am?” she asked.

“Somehow, he can get past them. Like I said, dementors feed on peace, hope, joy, and love. And the only thing I can think, though I’ve never heard of it happening before, is that Black has gone so mad that he doesn’t have any of those things anymore.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open. “That’s awful,” she said. “Dark is one thing, but he’d have to be as evil as they are.”

“I agree,” Vector said grimly. “As evil as he is, I have a hard time believing he has no family or friends he looks back on fondly or happy memories of better times. If he’s able to string two words together, he must have _something_ to offer the dementors, and yet, it’s the only answer I can think of.”

Hermione sat still and looked down at her desk for a minute, allowing her dark thoughts to swirl around her. Black was doing something impossible—more impossible than usual, even for Hogwarts. She tried to apply Doyle’s axiom—eliminate the impossible, and whatever remains must be the truth. Black was not noticed entering the castle by the dementors or any of the monitoring spells. Therefore, he either had a defence against dementors that no one else knew about, or he had a secret passage that no one else knew about, or both. Whichever one it was, it gave him a significant tactical advantage, one that he had already exploited once and could easily exploit again.

They were in trouble.

“Ma’am, I’m really tempted not to tell my parents about this one,” Hermione said suddenly. Vector looked up in surprise. Seeing the question written on her face, Hermione continued, “They only let me come back here because they were confident in the Ministry security, and now it’s obvious that’s not good enough. Dobby’s great, but I don’t think they’d let it come down to him being my only line of defence.”

Vector pressed her lips together with concern. “I can’t tell you what to do about that, Hermione,” she said. “I can only repeat what I said two years ago. You have already been more open with your parents than almost any muggle-born I’ve met, and that was extremely brave of you. It’s more than you should have to bear, and there would be no shame in holding some of it back. But at the same time it puts a lot of strain on a family to keep secrets. I think your parents have been right in allowing you to return so far, but this school has had an extraordinary run of bad luck, being threatened three years in a row…”

She stopped to collect her thoughts for a moment. Hermione waited patiently. “I’m not sure I ever told you this,” she said when she continued. “I never settled down and had children of my own, but I do have a nephew. And his daughter, Georgina, starts school next year.” Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. She _hadn_ _’t_ known that. “So believe me when I say I am _very_ concerned for the safety of this school. We’ve had bad luck the past two years, but after last night…perhaps it’s time we faced facts and admitted that Hogwarts—indeed, Magical Britain—isn’t safe anymore. And because of that, maybe it’s time you started holding back from your parents, or maybe it’s time you pursued your education elsewhere. But you are the only person who can answer that.”

Hermione was speechless. That was definitely not the answer she was hoping to hear, although she could guess it was probably what she needed. She still didn’t know what to do, but she now realised how big a decision this was—and that it was a decision she had already started making. “Professor,” she said, “I already decided not to tell my parents something else—that…well…” She glanced to the door to make sure no one was about to come in and whispered, “I know that Black is after Harry.”

Vector gasped softly, but then she said, “Of _course_ you do.”

She nodded. “I also didn’t tell them that Riddle came after me to get at Harry last spring. Or that I’m pretty sure Voldemort’s spirit—” Vector suppressed another gasp “—tried to possess me two years ago when it attacked Harry. I…I didn’t want to give them the chance to tell me to stop associating with him. I could leave Hogwarts, ma’am, but I couldn’t do _that_. Harry deserves better than that with the life he’s had.”

Vector smiled weakly. “You’re a very good friend, Hermione. And a true Gryffindor.”

“I’ve been friendless like Harry used to be once, ma’am,” Hermione said resolutely. “Good friends are worth the risk.”

“Yes, indeed they are. But it’s up to you to decide how far to take that. And if I can give you one other bit of advice, it might be to consult some of your older friends. They’re closer in age, at least. Their perspectives might help.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I think I’ll do that.”

* * *

“Miss Gamp, I can see you’re very eager to advance your studies,” Professor Vector told Rebecca when she confronted her after class. “However, I don’t just make special arrangements for anyone.”

“Professor, I’m _sure_ I can work above my class level,” Rebecca said. “And Hermione’s been doing that for two years, now.”

“Miss Granger was a special case,” Vector said stiffly. “Her talents would have been wasted sitting idle for two years, so I let her start the class as a whole early. However, even then, her maths was a self-study.”

“But—”

“I fully recognise that you are a gifted student, Miss Gamp—second in the class, even. However, if you wish to work ahead, I suggest finding someone like Percy Weasley to tutor you. Then, I will be happy to let you try to test into the seventh-year class next year. But there is little point to doing an independent study unless it is above N.E.W.T.-level.”

“And if I can do _that_ maths?” Rebecca asked.

“I can give you some of the linear algebra notes I’ve been working on with Miss Granger,” Vector replied. “If you can keep up with that work, then by all means, you’re welcome to join us. Otherwise, I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to help you.”

Rebecca took a deep breath. “That’s fine, Professor,” she conceded. “I’ll take a look at those.”

* * *

“It’s a tough call, I’ll grant you that,” Cedric Diggory agreed when Hermione told her study group her dilemma the next day.

“It seems worse than last year around here,” Roger said. “I mean, we had a couple muggle-borns transfer out last year with the Heir, but Black’s a crazy murderer, and he’s not just after muggle-borns. A lot more people might leave because of this.”

Alicia Spinnet shook her head and replied, “Yes, but Hermione _is_ a muggle-born. It’s not like _she_ _’s_ in any more danger.”

 _But the danger I was already in involved me almost dying multiple times,_ Hermione thought.

“I don’t know,” Cedric said darkly, lowering his voice. “My dad says there’s a rumour at the Ministry that Black’s after Harry Potter.”

“More than a rumour, from what I hear,” Hermione confirmed.

The others quailed. “But why?” said Alicia.

“Because Black worked for Voldemort.” They gasped. “Are we really gonna do this?” Hermione demanded. It seemed like that reaction got more annoying every time it happened. “Harry beat him, and now Black wants revenge. It’s as simple as that.”

“Well, forget _your_ parents,” Alicia said. “ _My_ parents might not want me in the same tower with him if they heard that.”

“My parents aren’t that worried,” Cedric countered, “but then, my dad works at the Ministry, so he’s sure the dementors will take care of it.”

Roger took the middle ground: “I don’t know about my parents, but I’m pulling an O in Defence, so I could probably defend myself long enough to run and get help. But yeah, muggle parents? I don’t know. You might want to hold off on telling them. Like, wait until we have some real answers. Or if we’re lucky, they’ll catch Black soon, and you won’t have to worry about it.”

“Yeah, I guess…I’m not sure if I can keep that up through Christmas, though,” Hermione said.

“Well, try not to let it bother you for now,” Cedric said. “There’s not much you can do about it.”

“I know. I always know, but it never helps. And two nights without enough sleep is starting to catch up with me.”

“Take the evening off,” Alicia said. Hermione looked scandalised. “You know you work better when you get enough sleep.”

“Yes, I know that too,” she admitted.

“Or just stick with this stuff for tonight,” added Alicia, “Don’t you always say Arithmancy makes everything better.”

Hermione allowed herself a bit of a smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever used those exact words.” She pulled out her latest notes and calculations. “But I do need to redesign this spell for the presentation next week.”

“What, the hair one?” Alicia looked over her notes. “I thought you said you had that almost done.”

“I did, but I found out it doesn’t work on hair longer than mine.”

“Ooh, sounds tricky,” Roger said. “What I really want to invent is an Umbrella Charm, but pretty much all shields are more advanced than what we’re doing. I’m not sure if it’s possible.”

“Hmm…movement spells aren’t, though,” Cedric suggested. “I wonder if you could mimic the effect with the right levitation factors.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione countered. “That sounds really complex. The first ideas that come to mind would be almost impossible to maintain for a long period.”

Roger shrugged. “Worth a shot, though. Rebecca’s doing something way out there. She was just doing this little paper airplane thing, but all of a sudden, she says she wants to make a weave-to-felt transfiguration charm.”

“Weave to felt?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Yeah.”

That seemed very strange, she thought, and difficult— _and_ rather beyond the scope of the assignment. Cloth was one of the things that magic (mostly transfiguration) didn’t work as well on, although changing one type of cloth to another, particularly a lower grade one, might be easier. She tried to think how it might be done. At a fundamental level, it was a simplification of the structure. “Oh, I see,” she said. “If I were trying to do that, I’d probably use projection matrices.”

“I think she used those words,” Roger confirmed. “I didn’t know what they meant.”

“It’s…um…we’ll get to it next year, but…we’re sort of studying it with degenerate systems of linear equations. That’s actually a clever idea…although I’m not sure it’s achievable at our level.”

“I don’t know, but she’s a Gamp, so it’s in her blood. She might do it.”

“Excuse me? What about her family?”

“You know, the Gamps of Gamp’s Law?”

Hermione’s eyes grew to saucer-size. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t made the connection before. “Her family discovered Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration?”

“Of course. Lots of them have been top-notch spellcrafters for centuries,” he said offhandedly.

That explained a few things, Hermione thought. Sadly, Roger seemed to be the oblivious boy here. But it might be interesting if Rebecca got somewhere with her study. Hermione didn’t think Rebecca had a prayer of catching up with her in something like calculus, but she just might in linear algebra.

“Anyway, what’s your spell, Cedric?” Roger continued.

“Well, my idea was to create a spell that would sort and stack coins for easy counting—not really sure why I thought of it. I was just thinking about manipulation of small objects.”

“General case or just galleons, sickles, and knuts?” Hermione asked.

“Just galleons, sickles, and knuts, definitely,” he said. “There’s no way I could do it if there were all kinds of foreign money in there, too.”

“Could you do galleons, sickles, knuts, and other?” Alicia suggested.

“Other…? Huh, maybe.” Cedric made a note of that. “Anyway, I can’t figure a way to get them to sort and stack in the same spell. I may have to settle for just sorting.”

“Could I take a look?” Hermione asked.

“Be my guest.” He showed her his ciphering.

“Hmm…” she analysed his method. “No, I doubt you could do it with just polynomials,” she concluded. “I mean, you could in principle—power series and all that, but you’d need something more advanced than this.”

“Just sorting should be plenty for the assignment,” Alicia assured him. “We’re only crafting simple charms.”

“What’s yours?” Hermione asked.

“Mine? Spinning Charm. We use a lot of other movement charms, but not much for spinning, and it should be pretty simple.”

“Huh. Could be useful, especially at high speeds. The applications of centrifuges—no, that’s silly. You could create a spell to separate things out directly. But still, it’s a neat idea.”

“Yeah, but I think friction is slowing me down.”

Cedric leaned across the table to look at Alicia’s figures. “I think I might have something…” He riffled through his notes and handed her a page. “Would this help? I was using this equation to try to make the coins slide easier.”

“Maybe…thanks.”

“Hey, that’s what we’re here for.”

“I just hope I can get my spell working before the Quidditch match,” Roger said. “Looks like it’s gonna be a wet one.”

“Speak for yourself,” Alicia shot back. “We actually have to fly in it.”

They kept on with their work, trying to help each other when they could. Finally, when they disbanded for the afternoon, Hermione remembered one more thing she needed to talk about: “By the way, Roger, what do you know about Luna Lovegood?”

“Lovegood, Lovegood…” he tried to remember the names of all of his charges. “Oh, Loony—er, sorry, Luna,” he said. “Yeah, uh, titchy second-year girl with long blond hair?”

“That’s her.”

“I don’t know much about her. From what I hear, she’s barmy, and her dad runs that crank magazine, _The Quibbler_.”

“She’s not “barmy,” Roger,” Hermione said irritably. “She’s very eccentric, and she believes in a lot of strange things, but she _did_ get into Ravenclaw.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I didn’t know you were friends or anything. What’s the trouble?”

“Well, I just thought you’d like to be informed about cases of bullying in your own house.” Roger turned red. “Aside from calling her “Loony,” apparently, people have been stealing her clothes and hiding them around the castle,” she explained.

“They are?” he said in surprise. “She hasn’t told any of the prefects.”

“Not this year, because you ignored her last year. And she didn’t want to make a big fuss. But the house elves have been finding them, and they think _I_ _’m_ behind it, trying to free them. So I’d appreciate it if you’d tell them to cut it out.”

“The house elves have been…” Roger trailed off. Hermione thought she might have derailed his brain, it was so rare for most wizards to think in those terms. “Okay, yeah, sorry. I’ll have a talk with them. Who’s doing it, specifically?”

“I’d start with her roommates.”

“Right. I’ll do that. And I’ll mention it to Rebecca, too. There’s no place for bullying in our house.”

“I quite agree. Thank you.”

* * *

“This weather is _awful_!”

The first Quidditch match of the year turned out to be in the middle of a hurricane.

“In the muggle world, they cancel matches for lightning!”

“There’s anti-lightning wards on the grounds!”

The spectators could barely hear each other speak over the noise.

“Someone’s gonna fall off their broom with this wind!”

Umbrellas were of no use in these conditions, nor was Roger’s barely-functional charm, and everyone was soon soaked to the skin in the freezing rain. A few of the older students thought to cast Impervius Charms on their clothes, but it was too late to make a difference. Madam Pomfrey was going to need to put in an extra order for Pepperup Potion after this.

“Harry nearly hit him! What does he think he’s doing?”

“It’s the rain! He must be flying blind with those glasses!”

What a headline _that_ would be if Harry Potter survived a close brush with Sirius Black only to die in a Quidditch accident a week later.

“They’re calling a time-out!” Ron yelled.

“It won’t help!” Hermione yelled back. “Wait a minute…” If an Impervius Charm worked on clothes… “Be right back!” She ran down to the Pitch and cast that same charm on Harry’s glasses. The water immediately ran off them, and he could see clearly. Oliver Wood looked like he was going to kiss her, and she took an anxious step back, but they just took off again, with Harry finally able to fly straight.

Hermione hoped Harry would be able to catch the Snitch soon, now. Quidditch kept going, day or night, but playing at night in these conditions would be an exercise in futility or worse. Malfoy wasn’t any better—far from it. Harry had said the Slytherins hadn’t practised as much in rough weather, and it showed. Malfoy looked clueless, circling around the Pitch and looking for the Snitch in vain.

After a while, Hermione saw Harry pause and look out strangely, as if he were distracted by something in the stands. Wood yelled something at him, and he turned around.

And then Ginny screamed, but she wasn’t pointing at something in the air. She was pointing at the ground.

Hermione felt the icy cold and despair come over her, and she looked down with dread. Dementors. They were there on the pitch—at least a hundred of them! Probably the whole pack on the grounds. Her sense of despair kicked up a notch to impending doom. She had a very bad feeling that someone—maybe a lot of someones—were about to die.

Screams filled the stands. Most of the school was frozen with terror. And then, there was a roar. Hermione turned to the teachers box and saw a sight she hoped she would never have to see again: an angry Albus Dumbledore.

There was an aura around Dumbledore, and it seemed to radiate sheer power. Dumbledore couldn’t be _that_ much more powerful than the average wizard—at least, no more than Muhammad Ali was _that_ much stronger than the average muggle on the street, but the way he used it…The aura looked like pure light, but the rain turned to steam when it touched it, and the look on his face could kill a basilisk. And then, he cast a spell, but it wasn’t like any spell Hermione had seen. It was a point of blinding white—no, _silver_ light. It shot at the dementors like an arrow, sending out massive waves of light around it. When it struck the dementors, the entire pack toppled over like a bunch of bowling pins. Then, Dumbledore jumped straight out of the stands, slowing his fall onto the pitch somehow, and ran at them to reinforce his spell. They began to flee when Hermione heard another scream beside her.

“Harry!”

She looked up where Ginny was looking and saw it. Harry had tumbled off his broom and was falling to the Pitch. Falling from a very great height.

And suddenly, the despair slipped from Hermione’s thoughts and was replaced by cold calculation. The darkness was still there, pressing in around her, despite Dumbledore’s spell, but something stronger was overriding it: falling at thirty-two feet per second-squared, terminal velocity of one hundred and twenty miles per hour, maximum acceleration to walk away uninjured of fifty gees if he landed right. _This, this_ was something she could handle.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

Harry was too big and far away for her to levitate on her own, but as she had hoped, Ron, Ginny, and a few others got the message instantly and also cried out, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!” More followed them, but they were drowned out by Dumbledore shouting, “ _Aresto Momentum_!” And the combined force of the spells was just enough to lower Harry safely, albeit unconscious, to the grass.

* * *

“You should start charging him, Hermione. How many times have you saved his life, now?”

“Boys, cool it. He still fainted. Might as well have been hit by a lorry, the way he is now.”

“The amazing thing is he came off better than Wood did.”

Harry Potter awoke somewhere much softer, warmer, and more comfortable than the last place he remembered being. However, he had no idea how he had got there or what the mysterious voices around him were talking about.

“That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen…” a tearful voice said.

Suddenly, he remembered the cold, the hooded black figures, and the woman screaming. He had to help her! His eyes snapped open and he started to jerk up in the bed, but he was held down. He oriented himself. He was in the Hospital Wing. The tearful voice had come from Ginny. The ones who had spoken before her were Hermione and the Twins. Ron and the Chasers were there, too. All of them were splattered with mud or at least soaked with rain.

“Harry, mate!” Fred exclaimed. “You alright? You scared us out of our wits out there.”

He remembered. He was sure he had seen that same black dog in the stands that he had seen at Privett Drive, then the Snitch, and then… “What happened…?” He asked.

“You fell off,” said Fred.

“A long way,” George added.

“We thought you were gonna die,” Ginny whimpered.

“Lucky it _was_ so far so Hermione had time to catch you,” said Alicia.

“Hermione?” he looked to his bushy-haired friend.

“Levitation Spells,” she explained with reddened eyes. “I was just the first one, though.”

“But nobody else would’ve thought of it,” Fred quipped.

“But what about the match?” said Harry anxiously. “Did we get a replay?”

No one said anything. They all looked very grim-faced.

“What? We didn’t… _lose_?” Harry said in horror.

“It was a very near thing, Harry,” Hermione told him. “If it had been Cedric Diggory or Cho Chang out there, they probably would’ve got the Snitch before anyone called off the game. But Malfoy…” She looked back over her shoulder. Harry saw the Slytherin Team clustered at the far end of the infirmary. Several of them were glaring at the Gryffindors. “He flew off the Pitch when he saw the dementors. That bought some time.”

“Time for what?” Harry said, confused.

“Well, you know how the rules say a match can only be called off if both captains agree?”

“Oh, no…” Harry said, knowing the Slytherins would want to play on. Suddenly, he heard a grunt to his side. Turning, he saw Oliver Wood in the bed next to his, looking bruised and battered.

“Flint took some convincing,” Wood groaned.

“Yeah, it was ugly,” George added.

 

_“Flint, call for a rematch!” Wood yelled._

_“Fat chance, Wood!” Flint yelled back. “We’re gonna keep playing.”_

_“Your Seeker flew away!”_

_“At least he’s still conscious. Yours couldn’t even stay on his broom when a few dark spirits showed up, the idiot.”_

_At that point, Wood slugged Flint in the face, knocking him into the mud and pummelling him as hard as he could._ _“You son of a bitch!” He yelled. “Harry almost died because of those things! Call it off! Call it off!”_

_A moment later, Flint got his hand on his wand, and spells were flying. It was downright scary, seeing two seventh-years go at it no-holds-barred. Dumbledore had already taken Harry up to the castle, and it took the other teachers a bit of time to stop them._

 

“Flint eventually had to call it off because his knees had been hexed back to front,” Fred finished.

“And because fighting a duel in the middle of a game is worth so many fouls that Madam Hooch lost count,” George added.

“If the no-wands rule were applied strictly, it would be seventeen penalty shots for Slytherin and twelve for Gryffindor,” Hermione said calmly, “although Wood pounding Flint’s face into the ground was arguably worth more than one.”

“And this is why she’s the Quidditch guru,” Fred responded with a chuckle. “Hermione Granger _never_ loses count.”

Wood, however, was down to business: “What happened out there, Potter?”

“I fainted,” he said embarrassedly. “I don’t know why. I saw the dementors, I heard screaming, and then…I just fainted.”

Wood sighed heavily. “It’s not your fault, Potter,” he admitted. “Those dementors were never supposed to be there. Dumbledore was furious. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s turned Fudge into a toad by now. Unfortunately, that leaves us with two problems.”

“Two problems? What are they?”

“First off, I need to be sure I can rely on you if that happens again, Merlin forbid. Whatever your problem with dementors is, if you can’t get over it, we’ll have to play the reserve Seeker.”

Harry was horrified. Getting benched from the Quidditch Team? He _had_ to find a way to fight the dementors. And then he remembered: “But we don’t _have_ a reserve Seeker.”

“Then we need to get one fast.”

“But who?”

Wood thought for a minute. “Ginny.”

“Eep! M-m-me?” the youngest Weasley squeaked.

“I saw your marks in the Flying Class last year. You’re really good, and it’s in your blood.”

“Wow…b-but Harry, are you okay with that?”

Harry sighed, but shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve seen you fly. I guess if I can’t do it, I’d feel better about you than most anybody else. You can borrow my Nimbus if you need it.”

Suddenly, everyone turned very downcast.

“What?” Harry said, more nervously than ever.

“That’s the second problem,” Wood said.

“ _What_?”

“Well, when you fell,” Hermione said slowly, “everyone was paying attention to you, and…”

“Harry, your broom…” Ron added.

“It blew into the Whomping Willow,” Ginny said, tearing up again. “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

When Harry saw the splintered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand, he broke down and cried, albeit softly, like he’d lost one of his best friends. It would have been devastating anyway, but only Hermione and the Weasleys really knew him well enough to understand: Harry had so few nice things in his life, and flying was probably his absolute favourite. Fred and George quickly drew the curtains between Harry’s bed and Wood’s, and they led the Chasers away, asking them not to mention this to anyone. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny would have stayed, but Madam Pomfrey soon shooed them out.

However, Hermione paused before she left. “Don’t worry, Harry,” she said, trying to sound reassuring, “we’ll figure something out. We always seem to do…Oh, and by the way, it’s eight.”

“What’s eight?” Harry said.

Hermione grinned. “The number of times I’ve saved your life.”

Given the choice between laughing and feeling very uncomfortable, Harry had to laugh. _Hermione Granger_ never _loses count._

* * *

As worn-out as she was with her chronic worry about Sirius Black and then Harry’s accident, Hermione still had things to do on Sunday. She needed a way to test her spell better than she had before, braiding strings for a test on inanimate objects, then her own hair and finally her roommates hair. Apparently, that wasn’t enough. She needed to be sure it would work in the most extreme case, but she didn’t have the resources for that. What she _needed_ was…

Suddenly, she had an idea of where she might find what she needed, and she raced off to the seventh-floor corridor. So far, she hadn’t used the Room or Requirement for anything but a private place to relax or talk to Ginny away from other people, but she knew it must have other functions. Sonya had said it was used to hide things. Who knew what else it could produce? Reaching the corridor, she walked back and forth three times, thinking, _I need a place to test my spell. I need a place to test my spell. I need a place to test my spell._ The ornate door appeared, and she opened it.

Inside was what seemed to be a small studio, which was filled with mannequins—mostly female, but a few male. And each mannequin wore a wig of varying length, colour, and type, ranging from fine, blond wigs to wiry, red wigs; from as straight and limp as Su Li’s hair to as curly as Romilda Vane’s, and the longest ones draped all the way to the floor.

“Yes!” she cried. Here was her chance. She could test her Hair-Plaiting Charm on every type of hair, even the most difficult ones. Her mind started spinning with the possibilities. The Room could be useful for testing all kinds of spells, even spells too dangerous to test in the rest of the castle, if she had the need.

It was time to _really_ get to work.

* * *

Two hours later, two redheads were periodically checking a certain pamphlet of parchment with concern.

“I still gotta wonder if we should’ve told someone,” George said.

“What good would it do?” Fred replied. “They’d just ask a bunch of questions we can’t answer—in _both_ senses of the phrase. Besides, this happened before in the same area.”

“I know, but it’s unnerving. This shouldn’t be happening with this Map, disappearing like that,” George said.

“That’s not the only place it doesn’t show.”

“Yes, but it _is_ the only place where there’s obviously nothing there. I’m telling you, Fred, there’s something off about that corridor.”

“Well, that’s why we’re watching…Ha! There she is, George. Seventh floor, just like before.”

“Alright, let’s go!”

The Weasley Twins raced through the corridors, keeping clear of anyone who might call them out for running. Hermione, taking her time, hadn’t got very far before they skidded out from around a corner in front of her, making her jump.

“Hermione!” the exclaimed together, with broad grins.

“Our lovely lady—” Fred continued.

“Our mathematical mistress—” said George.

“Our spellcrafting savant—”

“Our prognostication prodigy—”

She was in trouble.

“Would you mind telling us where you’ve been—”

“—for the past two hours?”

They knew. They knew _something_ was up, at least. She drew herself up and gave them a hard stare. “Yes, I _would_ mind,” she said. “Would _you_ mind telling me why you’re so interested?”

“We were worried about you,” George answered.

“Yes, we didn’t know where you were,” Fred added.

“See we know about most of your little haunts, but there’s one up around here that’s a mystery to us.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “And just what is so unusual about that,” she sniffed.

“Because we can _always_ find people,” Fred told her.

“How d’you think we became such successful pranksters?” George asked.

“And how, exactly, can you do that?” she demanded.

“Trade secret,” they said together.

“And we were speaking of _your_ little hideout,” Fred added.

She smirked. “Trade secret,” she replied.

The Twins laughed at that. She started to walk past them, but then George turned completely serious and said something that made her stop: “Hermione, we really were worried about you. You see, the last time we couldn’t find somebody was when Ginny was taken into the Chamber.”

Hermione turned around and gave them a sympathetic look. She did a quick calculation: Fred and George had been trustworthy in the past. She _did_ have a project she wanted to work with them on, and she also had the perfect place to work on it. She just needed to put them together. She flashed them a wicked smile that immediately peaked their interest and said, “You show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

The Twins laughed loudly, then huddled together and whispered for a minute. “Deal!” they agreed.

Hermione grabbed each of their hands and pulled them back up the stairs to the seventh floor corridor, stopping beside the tapestry. “Only a handful of people know this is here,” she said, “and only the elves, Ginny, and I know how it works. I told Ginny so she could get away from everybody if she needed to.” With that, she paced back and forth whilst thinking, _I need a place for the Twins to show their secret. I need a place for the Twins to show their secret. I need a place for the Twins to show their secret._

Fred and George gasped as the vanishing door reappeared. They clearly thought they already knew all the secret rooms. Hermione walked up to it and looked inside. This time, the Room had taken a form similar to her miniature common room model, but bigger, with a large work table and space around it in the back. She didn’t know what their secret was, but she assumed this was an appropriate place to see it.

“Whoa—”

“—this is nuts,” the Twins said.

“Where did it come from?”

“It’s always been here,” Hermione explained. “If you walk by the tapestry three times, it turns into whatever room you need. Earlier, I had it set up to test a spell I was working on, and I thought that if we were going to work together to test those toy wands—we still need to do that—this would be a good place to do it.”

“Better than good,” Fred replied. “This is awesome!”

“It can really be _anything_?” George asked.

“Well, probably not a pantry,” Hermione said. “I doubt it could violate Gamp’s Law.”

“But still, how’d you ever find this place?” asked Fred.

“Easy. I asked the house elves.”

“She asked the house elves, Gred.”

“She asked the house elves, Forge.”

“Out of the box, through and through.”

“Only you could make it look easy, Hermione.” They snuck up on either side of her and grabbed her in one of their trademark four-armed hugs.

“Okay, okay, I believe you were going to show me _your_ secret, now?”

“We _did_ make a deal,” George said.

“That we did.” Fred pulled a blank, folded piece of parchment from his robes and laid it on the table. “This is our most prized possession,” he said. “Not even Lee knows about this.”

It still looked like blank parchment. Hermione raised a sceptical eyebrow at them.

Fred and George both drew their wands, tapped them to the parchment, and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Lines of ink spread out from the tips of their wands and fanned across the parchment. Careful shapes and architectural blueprints began to appear, and at the top of the page, the words:

 

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_

_are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER_ _’S MAP_

 

Hermione stared at the page, and then at the Twins. They looked up with grins on their faces, but they were horrified to see Hermione’s expression flash to anger. She came very close to using a certain spell she was saving on them, but no, that was reserved for someone else. She wished she had something to throw at them, and suddenly, it seemed that the sofa had many more pillows on it than it had before. She grabbed them and hurled them one by one at the unfortunate redheads, chasing them around the room.

“You complete _arses_ , Fred and George Weasley!” she yelled. “You had a map of the castle all this time, and you never told me?”

“Whoa—!”

“Hey—!”

“Easy there, Hermione!” they yelled back as they blocked and dodged cushions.

“We don’t—Ah! We don’t show this Map to just anyone,” said George.

“Yeah, and we wanted to—Hey! We wanted to see how you’d do with your own mapping project.” Fred continued.

“Be honest, would you have found this room if we hadn’t?”

Hermione stopped (though it was also because she was out of pillows). “No, I wouldn’t have done,” she admitted. She also wouldn’t have explored the Great Tower and earned the Twins’ respect by finding a way to prank them. And she never would have met Sonya and the other elves. What would she have done if the first elf she met had been Dobby? It wouldn’t have been pretty.

The boys came out from where they were hiding. “And this is why you do _not_ want to make Hermione Granger angry,” Fred said.

Hermione smiled sweetly at them.

“Anyway,” George continued, returning to the table, “this is no ordinary map. Look closer.” He opened the map, which had grown so that it now looked more like an atlas than a single, folded piece of parchment. Hermione looked and gasped. The map didn’t just show the castle. It was a whole live security system. Tiny dots covered the map, slowly crawling around, each one marked with a tiny label of a name.

“This shows where everyone is?” Hermione said in awe.

“Everyone, all the time,” George said with pride. He flipped to a page that seemed to show all the towers and pointed to one of them. “Even Dumbledore.”

“Well, not _everyone_ ,” Fred countered. “The elves don’t show up, and neither do their rooms. And right now…” he flipped back a page to show the seventh floor. “Neither do we.” Sure enough, the place where they were right now was marked as a blank wall.”

“But it has Dumbledore’s office on it,” Hermione said. “Where did you find this?”

“We filched it from Filch our first year,” Fred told her, “and it’s served us faithfully ever since.”

“Yes, Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” George added. “We owe them so much.”

“You think this was made by students? What am I saying? What teacher would make something like this, with that title? But how is this possible? The spellwork must be really advanced to show everyone in real time, and it must update automatically when the rooms in the castle change, too. This could be incredibly valuable. I wonder how it’s put together.” Hermione drew her wand.

“Whoa! Whoa!” The Twins lunged to stop her.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I was just going to use some detection spells. I’m not gonna try to mess with it.”

Fred and George stared at each other and silently agreed. “Okay,” George said. “If there’s anyone we trust with that, it’s you.”

“Just be careful,” Fred added.

“Of course,” Hermione said primly. Then she made a show of cracking her knuckles and cast a spell…then another, then another, and still more at lightning speed. Swirls of colour and shape—representations of spells—formed on the page, rose up into the air, and fell back down faster than the two Weasleys could read them, but Hermione watched intently and seemed to get something out of them. The Marauder’s Map _was_ an incredibly complex bit of charms work, she saw, almost like a computer program. She was just beginning to get a mental image of a kernel of high-powered spells, many more tied in for detail work, and what seemed to be a huge amount of rune work underneath.

And then, quick as a wink, the shapes vanished, and the page went blank.

“AHH!” Fred and George cried.

“What did I—?” Hermione started in horror, but then, she saw something else happening. New words began to form on the page, in four different handwritings:

 

_Mr. Prongs detects the use of unwelcome detection spells on the Marauder_ _’s Map._

_Mr. Moony suggests the complexity of spells indicates a teacher is trying to gain access to the Map._

_Mr. Padfoot disagrees with Mr. Moony. The intruder is casting far too fast to read anything—unless that_ _’s you, Dumbledore?_

_Mr. Wormtail requests the intruder identify himself or herself and explain why they wish to access the Map._

Fred and George sighed with relief. “Thought you’d broken it for a minute there,” Fred said.

“Looks like they don’t like intruders,” George said. “On the bright side, Mr. Padfoot thinks you’re Dumbledore.”

“But what do I do now?” Hermione asked.

“If you tap your wand to the Map and speak, they’ll answer,” George replied.

“Usually,” Fred added.

“Okay…” Hermione hovered her wand over the parchment, but then stopped. “What happened to “Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain’?” she asked.

Fred’s and George’s eyes widened in horror. “You don’t think the _Map_ is…” George started.

“No, I don’t. Luckily, I _could_ see where it keeps its brain…sort of—down in the hidden rune layer. I think that’s where these responses came from. I didn’t see any dark magic, anyway. I just thought I’d let you know your father wouldn’t appreciate what you’ve been doing—nor would Ginny.” Both of them winced. Then, Hermione touched her wand to the parchment and said, “My name is Hermione Granger. I’m a student, not a teacher. I’m just good at arithmancy. I wanted to figure out how the Map worked.”

The writing disappeared at once and was quickly replaced by more:

 

_Mr. Moony gives his regards to Miss Granger and advises her to tell a more plausible lie._

_Mr. Prongs agrees with Mr. Moony and would like to add the obvious statement that no one is that fast at arithmancy._

_Mr. Wormtail repeats his enquiry to Miss Granger, if that is her real name._

_Mr. Padfoot would like to register his astonishment that anyone can understand that stuff in the first place._

 

Hermione bristled at the accusation. She wasn’t about to take that lying down. She tapped her wand again and said, “I wasn’t lying. I’m _really_ good at arithmancy. I’m taking my O.W.L. as a third year, and I was starting to get an idea of how this thing worked before you interrupted.”

The writing changed once more:

 

_Mr. Wormtail apologises to Miss Granger on the grounds that such an audacious statement must be either true or a mark of insanity._

_Mr. Padfoot agrees with Mr. Wormtail and would like to add that Miss Granger sounds like one scary lady._

_Mr. Prongs disagrees with his associates on the grounds that he has told equally audacious lies in the past._

_Mr. Moony overrules Mr. Prongs on the basis of the accuracy of Miss Granger_ _’s spells, but advises her that access to the Marauder’s Map is not open to the general public._

“Okay. How do I get the Map back, then?”

The final response was only a single line, written in the handwriting of Mr. Prongs:

 

_Only one who has sworn the Marauder_ _’s Oath may know the Marauders’ secrets._

“Fine,” Hermione grumbled. She had a good guess what that oath was. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” In seconds, the Map returned, just as it was.

Fred and George sighed with relief again. “Wow, Hermione,” Fred said. “I can’t believe you could work the Map like that.”

“I guess it’s just a matter of understanding how it works,” she shrugged. “If they’d cooperate, I could probably reverse engineer it and add the areas that aren’t marked, but it would take a long time.”

The Twins’ eyes widened at the prospect, but George kept it practical: “I think that’s enough for now, though.”

“That’s fine with me. For now.” Hermione started to fold up the map for them. “Wait,” she said. “Do you think this could be used to track Sirius Black if he gets in again?”

They nodded. “He should show up if he’s here,” said Fred.

“We checked for him after he broke in on Halloween,” added George. “But by the time we looked, he was gone.”

“Do you know how he got in, though?” Hermione pressed. “Does the Map show secret passages?” She’d never thought to ask Sonya about secret passages out of the castle.

Fred and George both laughed. “Does it show secret passages, she asks?” said George.

“Does it show secret passages?” his twin replied.

“My dear, the Map most _definitely_ shows secret passages,” George explained, flipping through pages and pointing them out. “These four Filch knows about. This one caved in last year. This one comes out outside, under the Whomping Willow. No getting in through there. But _this_ one…” He pointed to an obscure corridor on the third floor. “We reckon we’re the only ones who know about this one.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “But if there’s a passage that the teachers don’t know about, couldn’t that be how Black got in?”

“Nah,” Fred said. “That one comes out in Honeydukes, and the owners live over the shop. Usual anti-theft wards and such. Day or night, he couldn’t break in without getting caught.”

“I don’t know,” Hermione countered. “He got out of Azkaban…Of course, if he can do that, there could be any number of ways he got in,” she said dejectedly. “Alright, so the Map’s not much help. How do you turn it off, now?”

“Oh that’s easy.” Both Fred and George touched their wands to the parchment again.

“Mischief managed.”


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling’s ownership of Harry Potter is an invariant under braid theory.

At breakfast on Monday, things were almost back to as close to normal as they ever got at Hogwarts, although Harry was still pretty down about Quidditch. Hermione, however, was in a good mood. Her presentation for Arithmancy class, after some considerable work, was all set to go. Except that she thought it would be even better with a live subject. But that was easily remedied; she found the person she was looking for at the Ravenclaw Table and asked, “Luna, what time does your first class end today?”

At nine-fifty-five, after her single class had ended, Luna Lovegood walked in on the middle of Hermione’s double Arithmancy period. Hermione immediately rose from her seat and walked to the front of the class. “Thank you for coming, Luna,” she said. Several of the Ravenclaws rolled their eyes. “I’m ready, now, Professor.”

“Alright, Miss Granger, go ahead,” Professor Vector said with an amused tone.

“Everyone, this is Luna Lovegood. I asked her to come because she probably has the longest hair in the castle. Turn around, please, Luna.” She did, showing them her long cascade of hair. “My presentation today is a Hair-Plaiting Charm, and I wanted to prove that it works on hair of any length.” She gathered Luna’s hair together into three strands at the back of her head and then raised her wand, preparing herself mentally. She had managed to keep the incantation the same, but the new wand movement the spell required was long and extremely precise, so precise that she could barely cast it. She moved her wand in a slow, careful motion and said, “ _Fasciculi Pilis Plectere_.”

Hermione watched as Luna’s hair braided itself, over left, over right, over left, over right, again and again, down, down, down, all the way down her back until it reached the very end, and she tied it off with a hair tie.

“Excellent, Miss Granger,” Professor Vector said. The class applauded politely. “A very good use of weaving elements, and I suspect you could get a bonus point or two from Professor Flitwick for that wand work.”

Hermione smiled. These past few weeks, she felt like all of her sometimes-lonely studies of maths in primary school were being vindicated now that they put one of the most powerful forms of magic at her fingertips. And besides that, she felt like she was really accomplishing something. Her previous achievements, even though they had netted her two academic papers and also saved her from a basilisk, had felt trivial in terms of the difficulty involved, but true spellcrafting was something she could really sink her teeth into. She could see the potential already in it already. It was a power that few others ever realised, even in the field, and there was no telling where she might end up with it.

“And thank you for volunteering, Miss Lovegood,” Vector added, snapping Hermione out of her thoughts.

“You’re welcome ma’am,” Luna replied. “I do love Arithmancy. I really prefer Runes, but both are important for advanced spellcrafting, aren’t they? Mummy taught me a lot of Spellman’s Syllabary when she was alive.”

“You know Spellman’s Syllabary already?” Vector said in surprise.

“Yes, much of it. Mummy loved runes. Daddy’s still using her runic puzzles for the _Quibbler_. She wrote enough to last until I can write them myself.”

“You should have said something, then. Professor Babbling might have been willing to let you test in early.”

“Oh, that _would_ have been nice, wouldn’t it?”

“You know what, Miss Lovegood?” Vector lowered her voice. “Why don’t you talk to Professor Babbling anyway? If you know the material well enough, you might still be able to advance to the fourth year class next year.”

“Oh my, that sounds excellent. Then we would have a class together, wouldn’t we Hermione?”

“Well, depending on the schedule, we could,” she said uneasily. She wasn’t sure how much Luna she could take at once, although she didn’t much appreciate several of the Ravenclaws sniggering at the pair of them.

* * *

Oliver Wood called for a Quidditch practice after classes on Monday, despite the fact that Madam Pomfrey would really rather he not leave the Hospital Wing by then. After some discussion, the Quidditch match had been rescheduled for the eleventh of December. That didn’t bode well for Harry, since it didn’t give him much time to solve either of his problems. For now, he and Ginny would both be practising as Seeker, but with both of them on school brooms, Gryffindor’s chances at the Quidditch Cup were not nearly as good as before, as Hermione had to explain at length to people asking her for the odds.

As such, Ginny was also at the practice, and Ron and Hermione tagged along to give her and Harry moral support. Ginny had Hermione plait her hair into pigtails again to get it out of the way. Hermione had noticed that Harry was very quiet all through History Class, but he didn’t sleep at all, which was a rarity, and when the practice came he looked very determined.

“Okay, Potter, what’s up?” Wood asked.

“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” Harry reported. “The good news is Professor Lupin says there’s a way to fight dementors, and he’s gonna try to teach me.”

That got most of the team excited, but Wood remained cautious: “And what’s the bad news?”

“The bad news is he says I’ll have to be really good to be ready for the makeup game against Slytherin…that, and I still don’t have a broom,” he said unhappily.

“Alright, then,” Wood said. “We’ll just have to make do. Use school brooms for now, and I’ll see if I can scrounge up something better. Potter, I want _you_ to coach Ginny to play Seeker.”

“What?” Harry and Ginny said at once and glanced at each other. “Me?” Harry added. “But I don’t know anything about coaching.”

“But you’re a brilliant player, present circumstances excepted, and that’ll count for something. If you aren’t play I at least want you training the one who is. Just drill her on all the moves and formations you normally do.”

Harry still looked petrified at the responsibility. “But I—I mean I can, but—”

“Don’t worry, there, Harrikins,” Fred jumped in.

“Yeah, we’ll be there to help you,” said George.

“Just remember, Ginny,” Fred added, “keep your eye on the Snitch, not the coach.”

Ginny and Harry both turned bright red.

“Okay, everybody, let’s revise our formations, just like last week,” Wood said. “We would’ve had this match in the bag if it weren’t for the interference, so we just need to keep on top of things. Let’s go.”

The team mounted their brooms. Harry looked very unhappy with his school broom, but there wasn’t much else he could do. He took to the air, but Ginny stood there on the ground, holding her broom in one hand and trembling slightly. Suddenly, she grabbed Hermione by her cloak and said, “You gotta help me, Hermione!”

“Ginny…” Hermione pried her fingers off her robe. “I’m no good to you up in the air. You have to do this yourself. Your brothers can help you, but you just have to focus.”

“But it’s Harry— _teaching_ me!”

“Yes, but it’s also Quidditch. You’re _good_ at Quidditch. I’ve seen you. Concentrate on that, and you’ll be able to get through it. Don’t worry about impressing Harry. Just worry about playing your best.”

Ginny took a deep breath, then another. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I can do this.” She took another deep breath and mounted her broom.

“Okay…er—” Harry stammered as she faced him in the air. Ginny was too petrified to speak. “I know you already know the basics of flying, so I guess you can start off with these.” He pulled several golf balls from the pocket of his robes. “Uh, I’ll just throw a couple of them, and you try to catch them, okay?”

Ginny nodded wordlessly.

“Okay, here it goes.”

He threw one of the golf balls hard off to the side in a high arc. Ginny hesitated for a moment, then jerked and veered her broom off in that direction. She flailed madly for the ball, but she didn’t get anywhere close, and she slipped and had to clutch her broom handle for balance.

Harry grimaced and sincerely hoped that was just a fluke. Ginny looked back at him, flushed even redder than before, and cast her eyes down to the grass.

“Okay…” Harry said. “Let’s try that again. Keep your eye on the ball and follow it right away. Got it?”

Ginny met his eyes with difficulty and nodded. Harry threw the second golf ball in a different direction. This time, Ginny went after it right away and came close, but she choked at the last second and missed it by inches. She looked really uncomfortable, but Harry tried to encourage her.

“Better. Better,” he said. “Try it again. Stay focused.” This time, he took a chance. Giving her a moment to get ready, he threw the ball hard nearly over her head. He was pretty sure it was within her capabilities, but only if she was really on her game. It paid off. Seeing the challenge for what it was, Ginny went after it two-fisted. She performed a quick, if sloppy back flip and dived after the ball, swooping in and scooping it up only a few feet from the grass. Harry could have done it more gracefully, even on the school broom, but it was definitely above Malfoy’s league.

“Yes!” Harry yelled. “ _That_ _’s_ what I’m talking about. Keep doing that, and you’ll be golden.”

“Really?” Ginny squeaked, nearly dropping the ball.

“Definitely. Let’s try a few more of those. If you can get three in a row, we’ll move on to the formations. Go on, toss it back.”

Ginny threw the golf ball, and it sailed straight at Harry. He snatched it out of the air easily, without even having to move his broom. “Wow, good arm. You should train for Chaser, too, if you get a chance. Now think fast!” He threw the ball again and proved just how easily Ginny could be distracted by a compliment from her hero.

It took Ginny a while to make three catches in a row, but with Harry’s encouragement, she steadily improved. Watching from down in the stands, Hermione marvelled at how much Harry always felt most comfortable in his own skin when he was flying high on a broom, and at how much he was able to help Ginny with no teaching experience. At the same time, she was amazed at how Ginny was most comfortable around Harry when _she_ was on a broom, and at how she was finally opening up around him. That was one thing Hermione couldn’t do. She could fly if she had to, but she had never really _enjoyed_ the flying lessons back in first year. For his part, Ron simply looked astonished that his “baby sister” could fly so well.

“Good job. You’re getting the hang of this,” Harry said once Ginny finally got three in a row. “Just remember a real Snitch buzzes around like an insect. It won’t fly in a nice arc, so it’ll be harder to follow. But let’s get back to the team so we can cover some formations next.”

They flew with the team for most of the rest of the practice, and then Harry let Ginny have a go at the real Snitch. Given the time constraints, Harry had to spot it and point out where it was to her, but she gave chase, and after a rather difficult pursuit, she caught it. It wasn’t a great performance, but it was good for her first try.

“You were great up there, Ginny,” Hermione said once they’d landed and started back for the castle.

“Yeah,” Ron added. “I saw it, but I don’t believe it.”

“Thanks,” she said, only blushing a little this time. “I had a great teacher though—and I still wouldn’t stand a chance against him.”

“That’s okay, Ginny,” Harry said. “You only have to beat Malfoy, and I’m sure you can do that.”

“Eep! Really, Harry?”

“Definitely.”

Ginny grinned.

Hermione had a serious question, though, something that had been bothering her all afternoon. “Harry, was that all Professor Lupin talked to you about—about the anti-dementor lessons?” she said. “You seemed…preoccupied about it.”

Harry turned serious as well and motioned for them to huddle closer and lowered his voice: “No, he explained some things, too—like why I react worse to the dementors than everybody else.”

“He did?” Ron said in surprise. “I just thought they were going after you for some reason.”

“No, it’s not that. He said dementors make you relive your worst memories, and I always faint because I have worse memories than most people.”

“How d’you figure?” Ron asked. “We’ve been through all the same stuff together, and they don’t do that to us.”

“I don’t mean at Hogwarts,” Harry said. “I figured out what the screaming I heard was. When the dementors get close to me, I can…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I can hear Voldemort murdering my mum,” he whispered.

All three of his friends gasped in horror. Ginny gripped his arm tightly. Ron looked down at his feet awkwardly. Hermione laid a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, though she was still confused.

“But…how is that possible?” she said.

“Huh?” Harry said.

“You were only fifteen months old. The limbic system isn’t fully developed to retain long-term memories until you’re at least two. It should be neurologically impossible for you to remember…” She realised the other three were staring at her. “Unless it’s different for magicals?”

“I dunno, but I can hear it,” Harry said. “And the worst part is it’s the only way I can remember her.”

“Oh, dear,” Hermione said. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” he said. “That’s why I need the lessons, though. When I hear her screaming, I faint.”

No one had anything to say to that, but Ginny released her vice grip and awkwardly patted him on the arm. They continued on in silence until they ran into another, more unwelcome foursome: Draco Malfoy came into view with Pansy Parkinson on his arm and flanked by his two bodyguards. Upon seeing both Harry and Ginny in their Quidditch robes, Malfoy smirked and said, “Do my eyes deceive me? The Weaslette’s training for Seeker. It looks like you’re being replaced, Potter. Dementors scared you off the team, did they?”

A few hours ago, Harry Potter would have lashed out in shame and frustration at that insult, but after the practice he’d just had, he was having a pretty good day, all things considered. He stood his ground, thinking faster than his friends had ever seen him think, and said, “ _No_ , Malfoy. We just thought we could use a reserve, and we thought _you_ _’d_ be good for her to cut her teeth on.”

“Ha!” Malfoy didn’t miss a beat. “This little waif? As if. I know she’s a pureblood, Potter, but come on.”

Both Weasleys fumed at that, but Ron was also feeling clever today. “Hey, Hermione, what’re the odds?” he growled.

“Well, assuming Ginny keeps practising like she did today, and comparing it with your past performance, Malfoy,” Hermione answered calmly, “considering you missed the Snitch from practically under your nose last year, and you flew off the pitch at the first sign of trouble on Saturday when you could’ve won it…I’d give it to Ginny at somewhere between five to two and three to one on.”

“Oh, shut up, chipmunk. Nobody cares about your numbers,” Parkinson snapped.

Hermione froze up as Malfoy sniggered at her expense. She hadn’t been called “chipmunk” for a _very_ long time—not since her front teeth first came in, and “Nobody cares about your numbers’ was practically word for word the taunt she kept hearing back in Year 3 of primary school. But it still stung. And yet…she knew now what numbers could do. Perhaps it was time to use that spell she’d been saving. She would have been horrified to think it two years ago, but now, well… _Just give me a reason, Malfoy,_ she thought.

Harry hadn’t noticed Hermione’s reaction yet. He was too busy needling Malfoy. “Ginny’s _going_ to beat you, Malfoy,” he boasted. “She can’t lose with me training her.”

“Oh yeah?” Malfoy sneered. “Her and what broom? She’ll be lucky to stay on that cheap piece of junk she has to fly on. Of course, that’d still be an improvement over you, wouldn’t it Scarhead.”

Ginny drew her wand. Malfoy instantly reacted by drawing his own, and in a flash, six others were drawn, too. “You wanna rethink that, Malfoy?” Ginny snarled.

Malfoy quickly sized up the standoff and made a fatal miscalculation. He started to wave his wand at Ginny. “ _Everte Statum_!”

“ _Chiroptera Mucosa_!”

“ARGH!” Malfoy yelled as the Bat-Bogey Hex hit him.

Everyone stopped and stared in shock. For it was not Ginny, who had been knocked flat on her back, but _Hermione_ who stood there, glaring, with her wand pointed at Malfoy’s face as a black bat crawled from his nose and beat him about the with its wings.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Harry yelled, aiming at Parkinson before she could get a spell off, thinking her the next most dangerous caster.

Crabbe and Goyle, not being too bright, both cast hexes at Hermione for nailing Malfoy, but Ron shoved her out of the way, and they left themselves completely open to him and Ginny as she leapt to her feet.

“ _Tarantallegra_!”

“ _Mordeodigiti_!”

The fight was over quickly, with the Slytherins solidly bested. “You’ll pay for this, Granger!” Malfoy yelled, but with none of them fit to cast straight at the moment, they limped away.

“Pfft. Boy really can’t take a hint,” Ginny said. Then, she whirled on Hermione angrily, poking her in the chest. “Hermione Granger! Did you go behind my back and convince Bill to teach you that spell?”

“ _No_ ,” Hermione said, pushing Ginny’s hand down. “I just watched you cast it enough times that I was able to arithmantically reverse-engineer it.”

“You…you used arithmancy?”

“You figured out her spell just by _watching_ it?” Ron said in awe.

“Yes. Mind you, it wasn’t easy. It took quite a bit of sixth-year maths, but I did it.”

“That’s bloody brilliant!” Ron said. Hermione smiled coyly.

Ginny gaped for another moment, then said, “That’s it. I’m taking Arithmancy next year.”

Ron groaned: “Aw, great, Hermione, you just made my sister even more dangerous.”

“You’re just jealous because you’re stuck with Runes,” Ginny said.

“Hey, I actually like Runes,” he shot back.

“Ron actually likes a class? Mark it on the calendar.”

“You just watch it, Ginny. I’ve still got the Slug-Belching Curse Charlie taught me.”

Ginny just laughed.

But it wasn’t all fun and games because on the way to dinner, they ran into a very unhappy-looking Professor McGonagall. They all looked at each other uncomfortably.

“Miss Granger, did you really hex Mr. Malfoy this afternoon?” she said.

Hermione turned very pale. What would her parents say if she got detention, especially for fighting? “I…I…”

“No, ma’am,” Ginny jumped in. “ _I_ did it.”

“What?” Hermione gasped. “Ginny, no—ouch!” Ginny jabbed an elbow in her ribs.

“Really, Miss Weasley? Because Mr. Malfoy says different,” McGonagall said suspiciously.

“Then I must have scrambled his brain, too. It’s my spell. I’ve never taught it to anyone else. Hermione asked me three times last year, and I turned her down.” That much was actually true.

“Malfoy cast first anyway, Professor,” Harry added.

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed, and her lips compressed into a thin line as she looked the four of them over suspiciously. “Is that what happened?” she asked. Hermione said nothing, mostly because Ginny was standing on her foot. The boys seemed to have the same idea. “I also understand that Miss Weasley was the first to draw her wand?” Ginny reluctantly nodded. “Very well, Miss Weasley. Detention tomorrow and ten points from Gryffindor.” Ginny hung her head in an exaggerated manner. “Five points from the rest of you for fighting in general. Mr. Malfoy and his friends have received a similar punishment.” That didn’t sound too bad, they thought. “Oh, and Miss Granger…” McGonagall added. Hermione paled again. “I’m sure Professor Vector would find your skill at analysing spells most impressive, but I shouldn’t need to remind you that hexing fellow students is not acceptable.”

“Professor, I—” she started, but Ginny stopped her.

“She understands, Professor,” Ginny said.

“I see,” McGonagall said. “That will be all for now.”

“Bloody hell, she’s so smart, it’s scary,” Ron said once they were out of earshot.

“Ginny, why did you do that?” Hermione demanded. “You shouldn’t have taken the fall for me.”

“It’s fine,” the younger girl replied. “I would’ve got in trouble anyway, and I had to pay you back somehow for everything you’ve done for me.”

“But you didn’t have to—”

“Well, too bad. Besides, I’ve got in trouble for that spell before. _You_ have your goody two-shoes reputation to uphold.”

Hermione snorted: “Ha! If they knew what I really got up to last year…but thanks, Ginny. You’re a good friend.”

* * *

Despite Ginny shouldering most of the blame, the word soon began to spread around the school that Hermione Granger was not as helpless as she used to be. The change was subtle, but surprising. The Slytherins glared at her more, of course, but none of them tried anything. However, a number of first years, who had had unpleasant run-ins with Slytherins, just as she’d had back then, seemed to look up to her more. And, of course, Fred and George, who had felt the sting of that hex several times, bowed to her with exaggerated deference when they found out. (“Told ya you don’t wanna make Hermione mad,” said Fred.)

Her new reputation wasn’t exactly the one she wanted to be known by, but it did come in handy at one point a few days later. The students were mingling after lunch, and Hermione happened to spot Luna. Actually, she was hard to miss with all that hair and her…eccentric taste in accessories. Hermione was working her way over to say hello and check up on the girl when the Ravenclaw was accosted by three of her house-mates.

“Hey, Loony,” one of the girls said, a taller, curly-haired girl Hermione was pretty sure was a fourth-year. “Rebecca says you’re getting into arithmancy and runes, now. Hoping to follow in Mummy’s footsteps, are you?”

Hermione frowned, wondering what that was about. All she knew about Luna’s mother was that she had passed on her love of runes and that she was no longer alive. She pushed her way closer.

The fourth-year Ravenclaw girl and two others she thought were in Luna’s year laughed and jeered. They bumped and elbowed Luna as they passed, and one of them “accidentally” snagged her long hair. She’d suffered worse herself, but Hermione was angry at the sight.

When Luna replied to the other girl, she sounded less dreamy than usual—more of an edge to her voice and a slight quaver, and Hermione caught something—a barely perceptible pinched look around her eyes. Hermione doubted the hecklers even noticed, but she recognised it from when she found Luna on Halloween, and even more so from her own face in the mirror when she had had to endure this sort of bullying—those times when she told herself it didn’t bother her, and she _almost_ believed it.

“I’ve always admired my mother’s work,” Luna said, “but I’ve always felt a more rigorous approach would be better in my own studies.”

“Oh, so she at least taught you that much,” one of the younger girls said. “I guess she wasn’t a total loss, then.” The laughed again, and at that moment, Hermione caught up with them.

“Ahem,” she coughed. “Hello, Luna, is there a problem here?”

The other three girls stopped and stared at her, but Luna smiled and said, “I’m quite alright, Hermione, thank you.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to see you having any trouble,” Hermione replied.

“What d’you care about Loony, Granger?” the other second-year girl said. “She’s completely nutters.” The fourth-year glared at her to be quiet. Evidently, she was more up on the gossip about Hermione.

“ _Luna_ happens to be my friend, and I don’t appreciate her being called names,” Hermione said sharply. “Surely, Roger Davies mentioned that to you when he told people to stop hiding her clothes.”

“He might’ve said it in passing,” the fourth-year girl said, flinching a little at Hermione invoking a prefect. “I was just escorting these two to the library.” She laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’ll see you around, Loon—er, Lovegood, Granger.”

Hermione stared at Luna for a moment, then cautiously said, “What was all that about?”

“Well, they don’t really think too highly of my parents,” Luna said. “I suspect it’s because Daddy runs the _Quibbler_ —that’s a magazine. I can give you a copy, if you like.”

“Er…okay?” Hermione said, worrying what she was getting herself into.

“It sells well enough for us, but every publication has its detractors.”

If Luna’s father was anything like she was, Hermione could guess why. “Right, but your mother…?”

“Mum was a very good spellcrafter,” Luna said. “She was an experimentalist, though.”

“Direct manipulation of the magical energies,” Hermione remembered.

“That’s right. It’s very useful. You can do things with it that you could never do with arithmancy alone, but it’s also more dangerous. Mum was very good at it, though. She worked for many years without any serious mishaps. I loved to watch her work. The shapes and colours of the threads of magic were very pretty. One day, one of her spells got away from her, though. She had dreamed of making a shield charm that would absorb some of the energy of the spells that hit it to reinforce itself.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. She’d never even heard of something like that. “That’s…” she started. “I couldn’t even begin to guess if that’s arithmantically possible. It seems…like, too easy.”

“Perhaps. But it _is_ possible if you catch the spells and manually dissect them. Mum wanted it to do it on its own, but everything she produced was unstable. It wouldn’t hold the energy. Once, she thought she had done it, but when she touched the shield, it exploded and destroyed most of the house…I was nine.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open a little as she filled in the blanks in her mind. “I’m sorry, Luna,” she said, putting an arm around her. She was also angry. She couldn’t believe anyone would taunt Luna about her mother’s death. Things rarely even went that far between Malfoy and Harry.

“Yes, it was rather horrible,” Luna said, still sounding disturbingly cheerful and conversational. “The worst was when Dad had to pull me away from her and out the door. The house nearly collapsed, you see. I still miss her very much. But I’ve still got Dad. And anyway, I know I’ll see her again someday.”

Hermione mind spun for a moment until she figured out what Luna meant. She stopped short, turned, and stared into her silver eyes. They had a different look to them than before: bright and shining, with no doubt or reservation in them. Luna must be a girl of extraordinary faith, she thought. She had rarely met anyone whose faith was that strong. Or who could withstand bullies like that, for that matter. If anyone said those things to Harry, there _would_ be spellfire, at least. “I…I’m sure you will, Luna…” she said awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond. “So then…Arithmancy and Runes?”

“Yes, I still want to become a spellcrafter, like Mum—although I would also enjoy searching for new magical creatures, like Dad—but I decided I would need a stronger theoretical background. Someday, I hope I can figure out where she went wrong.”

“Wow…that’s…well, when it comes to it, if there’s any way I can help you with that, I will.”

“That’s very kind of you, Hermione. And it’s very kind of you to say you’re my friend. I think I rather like having a friend.” ( _“A” friend?_ Hermione thought. _I_ _’ll have to have a word with Ginny._ ) “Most people think I’m very odd, you know. You’ve been very nice to me, though.” She looked down and lowered her voice: “I know you don’t agree with me about nargles and snorkacks. Most people don’t think they exist.”

Hermione bit her lip uncomfortably. “No, I don’t,” she admitted. It was really frustrating, she thought. She could admire Luna’s faith, but then she went on and believed the most implausible things in the here and now without evidence. And yet, there was something oddly endearing about it. It took her a minute to place why, but she realised Luna wasn’t her only friend with an odd way of thinking. “But you know what?” she said. “I think being friends with the elves has taught me a lot about tolerance for people who believe differently than I do.”

Luna cocked her head. “I suppose they do have a unique perspective on things.”

“Unique is an understatement. I’m a muggle-born, remember? I don’t believe in slavery at all, even voluntary slavery. But if I can be open-minded about that for their sake, I suppose I can be open-minded about cryptomagizoology, too.”

Luna continued staring at her, looking even more surprised than usual. “You’re a very unusual witch, Hermione.”

Hermione giggled slightly, unable to decide if being called unusual by Luna Lovegood was a good thing or a bad thing. “That’s me,” she said. “Can’t ever do things quite normally. Honestly, Luna, you fit in just fine with my other friends. I mean, I’m on speaking terms with Filch, for heaven’s sake. And I still visit Myrtle every so often, and then there’s Hagrid and…Why do I suddenly feel like I’m living on the Island of Misfit Toys?”

Luna giggled. “Is that like the lost island of Thule? That’s where the heliopaths’ summer breeding grounds are. They need the midnight sun, you know.”

Hermione suppressed an eye roll. She had momentarily been amazed that almost everything Luna had said in this conversation made sense, but that was a little too much to ask. “No, Luna,” she said. “It’s a muggle thing. I’ll tell you closer to Christmas.”


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Is a broom that flies a hundred and fifty miles per hour really practical for Quidditch? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do no own Harry Potter.

“It’s called the Patronus Charm,” Harry said halfheartedly. His first anti-dementor lesson with Professor Lupin had evidently not gone well. He’d learnt the bare mechanics of the spell, which Hermione quickly determined was optional material even at N.E.W.T.-level, but had not produced any useful results. “I guess it conjures… _something_ with hope and happiness that gets in the dementor’s way so it can’t ‘feed’ on you.”

“Hmm, I can see how that would be useful,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Is that the only way to fight them, though?”

“I dunno. Lupin kinda sounded like there were other methods, but he must think I’d have the most luck with this one.”

“That seems logical.”

“Yeah. It’s bloody hard, though. It’s not like regular spells. You have to focus on a really happy memory to cast it, and that’s really hard with a dementor around.”

That _did_ sound strange to Hermione. Most spells were at least partially intent-based. You had to understand what the spell did and focus on it to cast it. But it sounded like the Patronus Charm carried an added requirement of a particular emotional state. She grimaced a little when she realised that Harry probably didn’t have that many happy memories to choose from. His so-called relatives had a lot to answer for.

“He’s not making you practice with a real dementor, is he?” she added.

“Oh, no, he found another boggart,” Harry said. “My fear is a dementor.”

“He has another boggart?” she said excitedly.

Hermione made a point of staying behind after Defence class the next day.

“Excuse me, Professor,” she said quietly.

Professor Lupin looked up from where he was packing up for the week. “Yes, Hermione? May I help you?”

“Harry told me you found another boggart, sir?”

“Yes, I did. I’m using it for his Patronus Charm lessons. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that I didn’t get a chance to face the one in the first lesson, and I was wondering if I could face this one.”

“Oh, well you’re certainly welcome to, as long as you don’t banish it completely, although I’m sure you know the theory well enough to do it on the spot if need be.”

“I’m not so sure, Professor,” Hermione said. “The thing is, I’m not exactly sure what form the boggart will take for me. I don’t want to be caught off guard.”

“Oh? You don’t know what your greatest fear is?” Lupin said in surprise.

“Not really. I mean, I don’t think it’s something so mundane as flunking Arithmancy. I think it’s most likely it’s the basilisk, but that doesn’t quite feel right, and neither does anything else I can think of.”

“Hmm, interesting. Typically, that means you’re not thinking in broad enough terms—but no matter. Whatever it is, the boggart will bring it out. Come into my office, if you please.”

Hermione followed him into his sparsely-furnished office and heard a rattling noise coming from a cupboard underneath his desk.

“I found him in Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet, although honestly, it’s hard to tell in his office,” Lupin grinned, standing beside the cupboard. “Whenever you’re ready, Hermione.” She took her position and nodded. “One…two…three!”

Professor Lupin opened the door. Hermione braced herself for the basilisk or whatever other horrible monster was about to come out, whilst still trying to wrack her brain for what her worst fear truly was. She knew it had to be something else—something she couldn’t quite see—something just out of her reach…And then it was there, but it wasn’t a monster at all.

It was her parents. And then she knew.

“Oh no,” she breathed in horror.

Her parents stood before her, holding hands (they would need to be in physical contact for the boggart to mimic both of them) and looking very grave.

“Hermione,” her mother said. _No! It_ _’s not her! It’s not her!_ “We’re very sorry, but we’re going to pull you out of Hogwarts. It’s far too dangerous here, and they obviously have no idea how to keep children safe in this country.

“No, please,” she begged. “You can’t!” _No! It_ _’s not real!_

“Really, you should want this,” her father continued. “Honestly, a mass-murderer got into your sleeping area here. Beauxbatons has a perfectly respectable program. Why could you possibly want to stay?”

“Mum, Dad, I have to. All my friends are here.”

“Hermione?” Professor Lupin said, but he seemed far away.

_They_ _’re not real! They’re not real! My parents couldn’t possibly be at Hogwarts, especially in a cupboard! Oh, why do they seem so real?_

“And that’s another thing,” her mother said. “You’re going to have to cut ties with your friends.”

“No, you can’t do that! You can’t make me do that!” She started crying. _Come on, I have to do something! The spell! I need to use the spell!_

“Hermione, it’s not real!” Lupin called.

“They attract far too much trouble. Harry always seems to have some evil wizard after him, and it’s too dangerous if he knows where you are,” her father said.

“No, please, anything but that! You don’t know what Harry’s life has been like! I can’t abandon him! It’d be too horrible to him to lose a friend like that!” _It_ _’s not real! It’s not real! God, please don’t let it be real!_

“The discussion is closed, Hermione,” he said sternly. “Now, come with us.” He reached out a hand as if to grab her.

“Hermione!” Lupin yelled. “Use the spell! Make it funny!”

Hermione was shaking in her shoes. She wanted nothing more than to run away and never come back. In fact, if it weren’t for Professor Lupin, she might have. But she had to face this. She had to beat it. _Come on, Hermione, think!_ she thought. _How do I make them funny? What_ _’s the most absurd, insane, impossible thing that could possibly happen to my parents?_

She had it.

“ _RIDDIKULUS_!” she screamed.

Bang! Suddenly, her parents were each sporting a horrible set of snaggle-teeth worse than Marcus Flint’s, plus a pair of tusks, which made it impossible to speak clearly. Seeing a pair of dentists looking like that was even more hysterical than she thought, and she laughed until she cried. Meanwhile, Professor Lupin cast a spell that forced her boggart-parents back into the cupboard and shut the door. Then he looked at her very awkwardly.

“So…” he said nervously. “Your worst fear is…”

“That my parents will decide it’s too dangerous here, pull me out, and ship me off to France, and I’ll never see my friends again…you were right, sir. I was thinking too narrowly,” she said sadly. “I didn’t think…”

“That’s a very mature fear in many ways, Hermione,” he assured her, “and it speaks of great loyalty to your friends. I do hope it proves to be unfounded.”

“Thank you, Professor. Er…I think I’m glad I didn’t face it in class now.”

“No, I can see why you wouldn’t want that aired out in front of the class.”

She nodded. It was embarrassing enough having Professor Lupin see it. It really wasn’t the objectively scariest thing she could imagine, but it was certainly the one that had been weighing on her the most. Maybe _that_ _’s_ how boggarts really worked. If they were mind-readers, it would make sense. “I knew they couldn’t possibly be real, sir,” she said. “Why did they seem so real?”

“That’s the magic of boggarts. There may be a simple charm to repel them, but they’re nastier than most wizards think. If come upon one and can’t control it, it can suck you in and paralyse you with fear. That’s one of the most important reasons to learn that charm early.”

She nodded again. “I should go,” she said. “Thank you again, Professor.”

“You’re quite welcome,” he said. She turned and started to leave, but just as she reached the door, he called out, “Hermione?”

She turned back. “Yes, sir?”

Lupin seemed to wrestle with himself for a minute, but he finally said, “What did you mean when you mentioned what Harry’s life was like?”

Hermione paled. She hadn’t particularly meant to let that bit out, but still, he was a professor. It should be fine. “I don’t know the full story myself,” she explained, “but Harry lives with his aunt and uncle during the summers, and they’re really awful people.” Lupin nodded as if he’d known that much. “I mean…he hasn’t told us everything, but I’m pretty sure he was at least neglected before he came here. You should’ve seen how small and skinny he was back then. He told us his relatives can’t stand magic. They called him a freak. They called his parents freaks. They made him do all the chores while they spoilt his cousin. They let his cousin beat up on him. And they tried to keep his Hogwarts letter from him. Professor Dumbledore kept sending him more and more letters until finally he sent Hagrid.”

Lupin blinked a few times in surprise. “Merlin’s beard,” he muttered. “I knew…I had heard that Harry was living with some unsavoury characters, but I didn’t think they’d go that far.”

“They’re still awful to him, Professor,” she said suddenly. “The summer after first year, they locked him in his room, and Professor McGonagall had to save him. It’s only because she and Professor Vector keep visiting that they stay in line. I really wish Professor Dumbledore wouldn’t push so hard for him to stay with them. It’s not healthy. I just know it’s not.”

“Professor Dumbledore’s behind it?” Lupin said.

“Yes, sir. He just says something about the importance of family and gives Harry a nudge to put up with them for another summer.”

“Hmm…well…well, I think you should run along, Hermione. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Yes, Professor. And thanks again,” she said. She left the room wondering just what Lupin would do.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Harry made gradual progress in learning the Patronus Charm. (“I dunno. It’s supposed to have some kind of form, but it just looked like a white mist,” he would say.) If Lupin said anything to him about his relatives, he didn’t mention it to Hermione. Unfortunately, he was forced to admit that he probably wouldn’t be ready in time for the makeup Quidditch game, but that was really moot anyway, since he didn’t have a broom.

Then an odd occurrence happened on the twenty-fifth of November.

“Hermione! Hermione! You gotta come up and _see_ this!” Ron yelled to her from across the Common Room before breakfast. That was so unusual that she picked up Crookshanks and hurried up after him, climbing to his and Harry’s dorm on the fourteenth floor.

“Don’t bring _him_ in here!” Ron yelled, pointing to Crookshanks, but Hermione wasn’t paying attention. She was preoccupied by Harry, Dean, Seamus, and even Neville crowded around Harry’s bed, staring at something lying in a mass of coloured paper, which Harry had apparently received this morning. Coming closer her jaw dropped, and Crookshanks slipped out of her arms and onto the floor.

“Harry…” she said in shock. “Is that a…”

“A Firebolt!” he exclaimed. “It’s the fastest broom in the world—top speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour.”

“A hundred and fifty!” Hermione quickly did the mental maths. “That’s got to be near the limit of what can be practically done on the Pitch, what with g-forces and all—And more importantly, how on _Earth_ did you get a Firebolt, Harry?”

“No idea,” Harry said. “There wasn’t a note or anything, but it was all wrapped up in red and green paper like a Christmas present.”

“But Christmas isn’t for another month,” Hermione observed.

“Yeah, but I also need a new broom before then.”

“But where did it come from? A broom like this must cost…”

“Price on request,” Harry said. “It must be hundreds of galleons.”

“Exactly. You could buy a new car for that. Who would have sent it to you?” Actually, Hermione was getting a suspicion, but she didn’t want to believe it.

“Oi! Crookshanks, get away from Scabbers!” Ron interrupted. “GET OUT!”

“ _Sorry_ ,” Hermione said in a huff. She made to put her cat out of the room, but he was faster. He ripped Ron’s pyjamas with his claws, trying to get at the rat in his hands. Ron kicked at him, but missed and kicked open Harry’s trunk.

“Ron! Don’t hurt him!” Hermione cried. She made a dive and grabbed hold of the cat. He struggled for a moment, but finally held still in her arms. She pushed him out the door, saying, “Crookshanks, you really need to stop going after Scabbers. He’s far too old for this excitement, and there are plenty of other rats around here. Now I need to talk to Harry for a minute, okay?” Crookshanks meowed in protest, but she reluctantly shut him out.

“You need to control that beast,” Ron said as he tried to calm Scabbers down.

“He’s not a beast, Ronald, and I’d like to see you do any better,” she said as Ron put Scabbers back in his pocket. She thought the rat was starting to look old, too. He’d lost a lot of weight, and his fur was starting to fall out. She was starting to worry that his condition was terminal, but she didn’t say it. “Anyway, Harry, who do you think would have sent you a top-model broom with no note?”

“Probably Dumbledore,” Ron said dismissively. “He sent Harry the—” He glanced at the other boys and said, “you know, your dad’s cloak, and he didn’t sign that.”

“Yeah, but that was my dad’s,” Harry said. “Dumbledore was just passing it on. He wouldn’t spend that kind of money on a student.”

“Okay, then…what about Lupin,” Ron suggested.

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, even though she knew she really shouldn’t. No werewolf could afford something like that.

“What?” Ron snapped.

“Do you really think Professor Lupin could afford something like this?” she said.

“I dunno. He likes Harry, and some blokes are weird about money.”

“Well, I can…I can pretty much guarantee he can’t,” Hermione said.

“What, did your arithmancy tell you that?” Ron said.

“…Yes,” she lied. She wasn’t about to betray Professor Lupin’s confidence.

“But who else could’ve sent it?” Harry asked.

Hermione crouched down and picked up Harry’s pocket Sneakoscope, which was quietly whistling on the floor, and examined it. The thing had never worked right, always going off at the oddest times, despite having it inspected. But now, she had to wonder…She considered whether to take her concerns straight to Professor McGonagall without telling them, but no, that was no good. They’d find out sooner or later. “I have a theory…” she said, “but you won’t like it.”

Harry already looked like he didn’t like it. “What is it?”

“I think,” Hermione replied, “that that broom was probably sent by Sirius Black.”

Silence reigned for a moment, and then, Ron, Seamus, and Dean all broke out laughing. “Ha! Good one, Hermione,” Ron said.

“That wasn’t a joke.”

“But…but…come on, why would an evil murderer send Harry a super-expensive broom?” Ron started laughing again.

“Because he knew Harry would ride it!” Hermione yelled, silencing the room. “Who knows what kinds of curses someone like Black could have put on it. It probably would’ve been easy for him to steal it, curse it, and send it to you, Harry, knowing you’d want to hop on it right away, and then it could throw you into the ravine or something.”

“Hermione, that’s crazy!” Harry said. She was surprised by his bluntness. “There’s gotta be loads of cheaper and easier ways for Black to curse me. I’m sure the broom’s fine.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you really believe that, Harry? Or do you just want to believe it?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the broom, Hermione,” Harry insisted.

She stood her ground: “Then we’ll just see if Professor McGonagall agrees with you.”

“What? McGonagall? No! She’ll just take it away!” Harry said frantically.

“And why’s that? Only because she’ll know that there’s a good chance I’m right. That broom needs to be checked over before anyone rides it.”

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said, “you can’t do this to Harry. He needs a new broom to win the Quidditch Cup.” Seamus nodded his head in agreement.

“He won’t be winning anything if the broom throws him off at the start.” She moved towards the door. “We need to do the responsible thing and have it checked.”

She looked at Harry and saw fear in his eyes. “Hermione, please don’t,” he said. It hurt her a little, especially knowing that he had so few nice things in his life, but she had to do it for him if he wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry, Harry. If I’m wrong, I’ll apologise, but this is for your own good.” She threw open the door and hurried down the stairs.

“STOP HER!” Ron roared.

Hermione raced down the stairs as fast as she could, with the boys thundering down behind her. Crookshanks got between them and slowed them down a little, but he was no match for them in this state. Hermione nearly tripped when he darted forward between her legs.

Eight flights later, and they were outside Professor McGonagall’s apartment, when their Head of House was just heading out to start her day. Unfortunately, everyone started shouting at once, which quickly angered the professor.

 _CRACK!_ went McGongall’s wand, with a loud bang to silence the group. “Honestly!” she said. “Ten points from Gryffindor for lack of decorum. Now, what seems to be the trouble—one at a time, please.”

With that, Harry, Ron, and Hermione each told their version of the events of the morning as McGonagall listened with a suspicious expression. When they had finished, she looked at Harry and said, “I am sorry, Mr. Potter, but I’m afraid I have to agree with Miss Granger.”

“What?” Harry and Ron both gasped. “Professor, it’s fine, really,” Harry said.

“You can’t know that, Potter. I know that no member of the staff bought that broom for you, nor did any member of the Quidditch team or their families. I would have been informed. If you don’t know where it came from either, then Sirius Black becomes a very worrying possibility.”

“But it can’t be,” Harry said in horror. “Why would he…how could he…?”

“Because Sirius Black is a mad genius,” McGonagall said. “He has already circumvented our security once. It is quite possible that he could do so again with a ploy just like this one. Now, I realise it is possible that some other anonymous donor sent you that broom, Potter, but it will have to be checked for curses and sabotage just the same. I daresay that Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—”

“Strip it down?!” said a horrified Ron. “You can’t strip down a racing broom! What if they mess up the spells?”

“I assure you that Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick are highly trained professionals, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said with an edge.

“But how long will it take?” Harry asked. “I need that broom for the match in two weeks.”

“I’m afraid that’s almost certainly too soon,” she said reluctantly. “You will have to make do with a school broom for that match. However, if it proves to be jinx-free, you should have it back in time for the following match.”

“But it’s the Slytherin game!” Harry said. He’d never live it down if Malfoy beat him just because he didn’t have a decent broom.

McGonagall didn’t relish the thought of Slytherin beating Gryffindor either, but she stood her ground just as Hermione had: “It is a small price to pay to be sure it won’t kill you, Potter, and I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

* * *

The next two days were painful ones for Hermione. Ron flat-out refused to speak to her over the Firebolt. Harry spoke to her a little, but he was short with her and sounded resentful. She suspected he at least understood, but didn’t want to admit she was right. Worse, Ron blabbed the story to most of Gryffindor, which made a lot of them turn against her, especially the Quidditch team. Even Ginny seemed distant, and she had to start watching her back around Fred and George because she could tell that while they might not be outright malicious, they were itching to prank her for this.

She didn’t sleep well the next two nights.

Saturday morning dawned cloudy, dreary, and cold. It was an important day. Today was the Ravenclaw versus Hufflepuff game—a game that didn’t directly affect Gryffindor’s standings in the Quidditch Cup, but would determine which would be the team to beat next spring. Cedric would be playing his first game as starting Seeker and Team Captain for Hufflepuff. Roger was also playing as the Ravenclaw Captain, but oddly, Hermione found herself drawn to supporting Hufflepuff.

But most of all, she wanted her friends back.

It was startling for Hermione to realise how much she had come to enjoy Quidditch this year, and it just wasn’t the same without Ron and Harry speculating about the match with her over breakfast or Fred and George asking her to lay odds. And it just wouldn’t be the same without her friends there to watch with her. Just like when the dementors were near, her life felt colder and emptier when she was being alienated by her house. She remembered how Luna was practically cut off completely, and she couldn’t understand how the girl could handle it.

She had got a copy of the latest _Which Broomstick?_ from Cedric, to see if it could give her any insight into Harry’s problem (as if she could do anything). She learnt that the Firebolt’s twigs were individually selected for balance and precision, and it had loads and loads of brand new proprietary charms, such that it would be risky to even try to “strip one down.” The ironwork was goblin-made, which was supposed to be far better than anyone else’s with all of _their_ secret magic; the handle was ebony and polished with diamond dust; the registration number was embossed in twenty-four karat gold—the works.

And none of it was helpful. They didn’t even know if the one Harry received was stolen or legally purchased.

No, scratch that. They had the registration number. They could just check with the company.

“With the company…” Hermione whispered out loud. “Oh, Merlin’s beard, why didn’t I think of that before?” She could barely wait for breakfast to finish, and then she immediately said, “Come with me, Harry,” grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him off towards Professor McGonagall’s office.

“Why?” he grumbled.

“Because I think I can solve your broomstick problem.”

Harry willingly followed her for the first time in two days. Needless to say, Professor McGonagall was surprised when they showed up at her door.

“May I help you?” she said suspiciously.

“Professor, we need to talk to you about the Firebolt,” Hermione said.

McGonagall gave them both a rather angry look. “Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, I have told you that it must be thoroughly checked over,” she said stiffly.

“I’m not asking you to stop, ma’am, but I thought I had a better solution,” Hermione said.

Their teacher still looked suspicious. “Oh? And what may that be?”

“Well, first of all, do you know if the broom was legally purchased, ma’am.”

“Yes, we enquired with the manufacturer, and it _was_ legally purchased—under an assumed name, which raises our suspicions still further, but I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

“Okay. Harry has two problems right now. One is that he needs a good broom to ride in two weeks, and the other is that, with all due respect, ma’am, having Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch try to strip the spells down will at the very least void the warranty. So I was thinking, wouldn’t it be easier to trade Harry’s broom for a loaner from the company and have _them_ check it over? That way, someone who knows all the spells on it will be able to check it—maybe even fix it, and Harry will still have something to ride.”

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again and said, “That’s a very interesting idea, Miss Granger. I admit I had not seriously considered it. Mr. Potter, I assume I don’t need to ask your thoughts on the matter.”

Harry was gobsmacked by Hermione’s idea: “Oh, Merlin’s beard, why didn’t I think of that before?”

“Quite,” McGonagall replied with a slight roll of her eyes. “I should warn you, Potter, that in the event that your Firebolt proves to be cursed, the company may not be able to repair the spellwork, and you would not be able to keep the loaner.”

Harry sighed. “I understand, Professor, but at least I’d have it for the Slytherin game.”

“Yes, I can see how that would be desirable,” McGonagall said with a gleam in her eye. She was still a die-hard Quidditch fan at heart. “I will inform Professor Flitwick and Madam Hooch and contact the company today. We should be able to acquire a loaner broom within the week. And Miss Granger, five points to Gryffindor for that excellent suggestion.”

“Thanks a lot, Hermione,” Harry said with a smile. He looked like he was about to hug her, but he stopped and awkwardly patted her on the back. “Um, sorry about the last couple days.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know it means a lot to you. Just go and tell Ron now so he can quit being a prat.” _If that_ _’s possible_ , she thought.

To his credit, Ron’s response was not to rub her face in his supposed moral victory, even if he wasn’t too keen to apologise, either. “Okay, I get that Sirius Black might’ve sent Harry the broom, and that’s bad,” he admitted, “but still, you don’t just go stripping down a Firebolt. It’s sacrilege!”

 _He_ needs _to sort out his priorities_ , Hermione thought.

Fred and George were more positive when the story reached their ears. They caught up with Hermione, Ron, and Harry on their way down to the Quidditch Pitch to watch the match.

“Hermione, our bushy-haired friend,” Fred exclaimed, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“It seems we’ve misjudged you,” George continued.

“We thought you were causing some real trouble for us, turning in that Firebolt,” said Fred.

“Even if it _was_ possibly sent by a mass murderer. Quite an understandable reaction,” George admitted.

“But it seems that as usual, you’ve found Harry a better solution. We just needed to have a bit more faith.”

“We _have_ been rather unpleasant to our little arithmancer for the past couple of days, haven’t we, Fred?”

“That we have, George. Custard cream, Hermione?” Fred offered. “Just to show no hard feelings.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well,” she said, taking the proffered sweet and popping it in her mouth. Moments later, she felt a strange prickling sensation in her ears. Then, Harry and Ron stopped and stared at her, trying not to laugh.

“What?” she said.

“E-e-ears…” Ron sniggered, pointing at her head.

Hermione quickly felt for her ears. They weren’t where they were supposed to be. They had morphed into large triangles poking out of her hair on top of her head. She whirled on the Twins, cursing her lack of vigilance. Never trust those two, _especially_ when they say “no hard feelings.”

“Hmm, still needs some work,” Fred said clinically. “It was supposed to make you grow fur, too.”

“I told you we should’ve gone with feathers,” George said.

Hermione embraced the part and hissed at them. Then, she drew her wand: “Boys, do you remember which spell I recently mastered?”

Fred and George looked at each other in horror and ran for it. She pursued them and soon nailed Fred with the Bat-Bogey Hex. (She wasn’t worried about those two turning her in.) But about a minute later, she felt her ears snap back into place, so his accomplice was spared…for now.

“Heh, good one, Hermione,” Ginny told her when they reached the stands. She high-fived her. “So who do you think is gonna win today?”

“Ravenclaw is going in as the favourite. They have the better Chaser squad. But it really comes down to the Seekers. Would you say Cedric Diggory or Cho Chang is a better Seeker, Harry?”

“Dunno. Neither of them has played starting before,” he said.

The two teams walked out onto the pitch, to cheers from the crowds. As Cedric and Roger shook hands, Hermione couldn’t help but notice the difference between this and the Gryffindor-Slytherin game. Cedric and Roger embodied the epitome of a friendly rivalry, whereas with Oliver Wood and Marcus Flint, the nicest thing you could call it would be an _unfriendly_ rivalry.

She also couldn’t help but notice the difference between the two Seekers. Cedric was tall and musclar, and she felt a small lurch in her stomach when she saw how good he looked in his Quidditch robes. Cho Chang, on the other hand, was tiny—a head shorter even than Harry, who was none too tall. If she followed his gaze carefully, Harry seemed to be staring at her.

“Well, it looks like Cho has the weight advantage,” Hermione suggested as they took to the air.

“Yeah, definitely,” Harry said absently.

“But then again, Cedric’s _really_ talented,” Hermione said a bit dreamily. “He never would’ve made starting Seeker if he couldn’t compete with someone like her.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess.”

It was an exciting game. As she predicted, Roger and his two fellow Chasers were dominating the pitch for Ravenclaw, but Hermione and Harry were both primarily interested in the Seeker duel. Cho seemed to have a habit of marking Cedric, which Hermione thought didn’t reflect well on her. Since she was lighter and faster, she should have the advantage out in front. Cedric was playing a good, if straightforward game, scanning for the Snitch carefully and systematically, pulling a couple of feints, and blocking the Ravenclaw players when he got the chance. Both she and Harry were watching them fly so intently that they barely noticed Fred and George slipping their heads between them.

“Enjoying the view?” they said.

“Eep!” Hermione jumped and spun around. She felt herself turning bright red. She started to deny it: “I was just…” But she couldn’t think of how to finish it.

“Sure you were,” George said knowingly.

“Cedric’s a very good player,” she managed.

“Of course he is,” Fred grinned. “And so’s Cho, eh, Harry?”

“Um…” he said.

It was then that she noticed Harry had also turned bright red. Cho, of course. Hermione could tell she was very pretty. It was a little odd, though. She had never really seen Harry as someone who thought about girls, mostly because of his difficult upbringing, but the past two years had fixed a lot of that.

“Diggory’s spotted it!” Lee Jordan’s voice boomed over the pitch.

Everyone looked up to see Cedric racing after the tiny golden ball with Cho hot on his heels. Then, she made her move, and Hermione finally understood her strategy. She had just flanked Cedric until he spotted the Snitch and then darted around in front of him. It was sneaky. A charitable description would be ruthless. And risky—Cedric nearly knocked her off her broom trying to outflank her manoeuvre. But she proved just how good a flier she was when she rolled over to avoid him and pushed forward to snatch the Snitch almost from under his nose.

“And Chang catches the Snitch for a total score of Ravenclaw three hundred, Hufflepuff eighty!” Lee announced. “A massive win for Ravenclaw!”

Harry started cheering, heedless of the attention he was getting. Hermione applauded politely, but she was mostly disappointed to see Cedric lose—oh, God, Fred and George were right, weren’t they?

In fact, Hermione found herself blushing again the next time she met Cedric in class as she offered her sympathy for losing the game. If anything, that was even more embarrassing. She’d never blushed in front of Cedric before. New year, new problems.

But she had other things to worry about. One was whether or not to go home for Christmas. Even not telling her parents the full extent of what was happening at Hogwarts, she still felt like she’d rather not give them the opportunity to change their minds about the place. On a more academic level, she was becoming aware that she really wasn’t sure what maths to study next after linear algebra, and she’d need to ask her parents to send whatever new textbook she picked over the holidays. She’d have to contact her correspondence professor about that. Yet another worry reared its head a few days later when Harry’s loaner Firebolt came in—the worry that he wouldn’t crash it.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_After careful consideration, I have decided that I want to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. My reasons are similar to why I was initially planning to stay last year. Harry gets lonely over the breaks, and I want to keep him company. He especially needs cheering up this year with all the dementors about. I also wanted to use the time to catch up on my reading in the library, and I have a little project I want to work on with Fred and George, too. (Don_ _’t worry, it’s not a destructive or illegal one.)_

_The other reason I want to stay is that I really feel like I should experience an authentic Hogwarts Christmas at least once. It sounds like a wonderful time, to hear Harry talk about it. I don_ _’t intend to make this a habit, but I do want to see one, and this year seems as good as any. I hope you can understand that, and I do look forward to seeing you next summer._

_Love from Hermione_

* * *

Harry was probably the most excited he had been all year when he went out for Quidditch practice with his new Firebolt. Oliver Wood was downright giddy, and even Madam Hooch was impressed by the craftsmanship. The one disappointment was that he knew he still wouldn’t be ready to fly in the match. No dementors had shown up to last week’s game, but it wasn’t a chance he could take again. He would just have to work around it.

For now, though, he would enjoy flying the Firebolt, the fastest broom in the world. But it wasn’t the raw speed that was the important thing—Hermione had calculated that at top speed, he could only just barely stay inside the pitch unless he’d been moonlighting as a fighter pilot. But the _acceleration_ was phenomenal. As soon as he lifted off the ground, he felt it. The g-forces were huge, and once or twice, he threatened to slip off, but he kept his grip and ran the broom through its paces with an ease that he had never felt with his Nimbus. He could turn so tight at normal flying speeds that his teammates screamed and thought he would go flying literally off the handle. He could stay inside the pitch comfortably at a hundred miles an hour, something his Nimbus never could have managed—not without ominous creaking, anyway. And even when he went into a dive (Hermione had warned him strenuously about diving that with one tiny slip, he wouldn’t be able to pull up in time), the control was so much better that he could get _closer_ to the ground than before.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so alive. The Firebolt’s balance and precision were so great that it seemed to obey his thoughts. When Wood let out the Snitch, he caught it three times in a row so easily that he thought he understood how Eunice Murray felt when she petitioned for “a faster Snitch because this is just too easy.” And the whole team ran their drills so well with Harry leading the charge that Wood didn’t have a single criticism. (“It’s a sign of the apocalypse! Run!” Fred and George said.) Finally, Harry swooped down beside his friends and hopped off the broom easily, letting it hover in midair.

“Harry that was incredible!” Ginny exclaimed.

“I thought you’d gone mad, flying like that,” Hermione admonished.

“Can I have a go, Harry?” Ron said.

“Sorry, not yet, Ron. We’ve got more practice, still,” Harry told him. “Ginny, it’s your turn, now.”

“What?!” all four Weasleys on the pitch said at once.

“H-Harry, I can’t—” she started.

“Yeah, you can’t let Ginny fly that,” Ron insisted. “She’ll kill herself on that thing!”

“Oh, and you wouldn’t, Ron?” Ginny said in a huff. “I’m at least good enough to make the team.”

“Hey!”

“Harry, are you sure about this?” George said. “We know you’re good, Gin, but you’ve never even flown a Nimbus.” Ginny actually looked a bit uncomfortable at that.

“Look,” Harry said. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to fly in the match, so Ginny’s gonna have to fly. She’ll need a good broom to beat Malfoy’s, and this is the best one there is—I think you can do it, Ginny,” Harry said.

“You d-do?” she said, blushing. “But I could never fly it like you did.”

“Maybe not yet, but I told you before, you only have to fly it better than Malfoy…But George is right though, the Firebolt’s harder than it looks…say, Wood, can I borrow your Cleansweep Seven? I want to be able to stay close to her.” Ginny blushed again at that.

“Sure thing, Potter,” Wood replied. “If you can get her in the air on that, be my guest.”

“Great. Come on, Ginny.” Harry led her down onto the grass, where he directed her to climb on the Firebolt while he mounted Wood’s Cleansweep. He hovered close enough to her to hold the handle of the Firebolt with one hand. “Okay, the first thing is that the Firebolt has a much lighter touch than anything you’ve flown before. Just a slight nudge will take you where you want to go, and you don’t want to push too hard, at least until you get used to it. So let’s take it off the ground nice and slow.”

Harry let go of the handle, and Ginny took off. He was right. She felt like she could move the broom with her little finger. The effortless power at her fingertips was intoxicating, and it was all she could do to follow Harry’s instructions correctly. She couldn’t believe she was riding an actual Firebolt—not only the fastest broom in the world, but also the most expensive, surely. She’d never dreamed that she’d ever be able to so much as touch one, and here she was, actually flying one at age twelve. A nudge here, a nudge there, and she was all over the pitch, soon outstripping Harry on Wood’s Cleansweep Seven.

“Looking good, Ginny,” Harry told her. “Now, the hard part will be doing all the drills with the new control—that and diving. It dives great, but you have to learn to estimate the speeds and distances all over again. You want to err on the side of pulling up too soon.”

“Got it,” she said, and Harry soon had her diving and running drills with the rest of the team, and he eventually backed off and let her do some free flying, which was probably the biggest compliment of all. She was nowhere near Harry’s level; she doubted she could even match him on the Cleansweep, but with another week’s practice, she was sure she could beat Malfoy.

* * *

The big day arrived, and Harry let Ginny carry the Firebolt into the Great Hall at breakfast so that Malfoy could see exactly what he was up against. The Slytherin ponce grinned at her evilly at first, still expecting an easy win, but his glee turned to horror when he realised exactly what kind of broomstick she was carrying. His own Nimbus Two Thousand and One _had_ been the fastest broom on the market—until now.

Ginny had more than once beat Harry to Snitch over the past week with him on the Cleansweep, and he declared that she would definitely beat Malfoy today. Hermione also gave her good odds, and the excitement down at the pitch was palpable.

“And it’s a big shake-up on the Gryffindor Team today,” Lee Jordan announced. “They’re feeling so confident that they’re trying out their new reserve Seeker, Ginny Weasley—and it’s obvious why because Ginny is riding a brand new Firebolt, the product of a completely new manufacturing process, which is quickly becoming the broom of choice in the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Jordan,” McGonagall interrupted, “kindly keep your commentary on the game.”

Ginny laughed as Lee continued to advertise the Firebolt more than he announced the match, but she quickly found that a real Quidditch game was dangerous business. With her on a clearly superior broom, Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin Team decided that the best way to deal with her would be to knock her out of the game early.

That proved to be a mistake. Fred and George were very protective of their little sister. With the Twin Beaters flanking Ginny, anyone trying to mess with her had better be willing to get twice as good as they gave. The only downside was that it stretched them thin and gave the Slytherin offence more openings, so she was under some time pressure to get the Snitch before they got too far ahead.

Finally, Ginny saw the Snitch, away at the far end of the field. Malfoy was closer, but she had better acceleration. She leaned forward and took off like an arrow. Malfoy’s reaction time was surprisingly good, but he just couldn’t match the Firebolt. By the time she was close enough to the Snitch to give chase, she was more than a broom length ahead of him. With the Firebolt’s speed, she gained on it quickly. She nearly fumbled it, but she soon wrapped her fingers around the winged ball.

“Ginny Weasley has caught the Snitch!” Lee roared. “Just goes to show how the Firebolt can beat anything else in the air. A win for Gryffindor at two hundred twenty to one hundred ten.”

She zipped down to the pitch, where Fred and George lifted her up on their shoulders as soon as they dismounted and paraded her by the stands. It seemed like all of Gryffindor wanted to congratulate her after that performance, Harry included.

“Brilliant! Really brilliant! You were great out there, Ginny,” he said when she came face to face with him.

“Well, I had a really good teacher,” she replied.

Suddenly, without warning, Harry leaned forward and hugged her.

She froze up again, speechless, like she would have done a year ago. Her brain didn’t want to work at the moment. She noticed Hermione smiling at her.

“If I couldn’t beat Malfoy, I’m glad you could,” Harry continued.

“Th-thanks,” she squeaked back.

That quite possibly counted as the best day of Ginny Weasley’s life.


	50. Third Year, Spring Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The Four Principle Exceptions to Copyright Law do not include Harry Potter, so thanks to JK Rowling for not suing us all.
> 
> Credit to Pahan for the “Eigen” idea. I actually don’t have a problem with the term “eigenvector” myself.

At first, Rebecca Gamp thought that she was having a good day. After ploughing through a lot of that linear algebra stuff that Granger had been working on, putting in a lot of time and effort and working at top speed, Professor Vector had told her that she was welcome to attend their independent study session that afternoon. Unfortunately, she was soon to learn just how hard to keep pace it really was.

Granger, of course, started right in: “Well, I can imagine that eigenvectors would be a big help in finding invariant terms in transfiguration spells—” She stopped because Rebecca had started giggling. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” Rebecca smiled. “It’s just that ‘Eigen-Vector’ sounds like a trashy romance novel.”

Professor Vector blushed furiously, and Granger looked between the two of them, confused. “I’m sorry, I think I’m missing something,” she said.

Once Vector got herself under control, she explained, “About a century ago, there was a brilliant German arithmancer named Siegfried Eigen, who was the first person to apply these techniques to spellcrafting. He proved that the five principle exceptions to Gamp’s Law, which were already known at the time, were characteristic vectors—what he called ‘eigenvectors’ of the matrix expansion for the General Transfiguration Spell.”

“Really? But I thought ‘eigen’ just meant ‘own’ in German,” Granger said.

“Only a lucky coincidence,” Vector said. “Eigen started publishing some of his results in the muggle journals, in violation of the Statute of Secrecy. The German Ministry tried to cover it up, but unfortunately, by then David Hilbert had picked up the terminology, and it stuck in the muggle world. We still speak of characteristic vectors and characteristic roots here.”

“Of course, not to be outdone, my great-grand-aunt, Hesper Gamp Black, came back and proved that the list of five exceptions is not complete,” Rebecca said proudly. “There’s at least one more left to be found.”

“Yes, arithmancers have been searching for a hundred years for a sixth exception to Gamp’s Law. There are a number of theories, but none has been proved,” Vector said.

Granger was eagerly taking notes, no doubt wondering if _she_ could solve the problem. “Hesper Gamp _Black_?” she said interestedly.

“Oh, right,” Rebecca grumbled. She considered not saying anything, but really, it shouldn’t matter, she thought. “Well, if you must know, Hesper was great-grandmother to Sirius Black.”

“You’re related to Sirius Black?” she said, wide-eyed.

“Don’t look so surprised, Granger. All the old pureblood families are related. Your pal Weasley is related to him at the same level I am.”

“He is? He never mentioned it.”

“He might not even know. The Weasleys aren’t known for caring about that sort of thing. Anyway, we’re here for arithmancy, aren’t we?”

“We are, Miss Gamp,” Vector said. “I thought we should take a look at how characteristic vectors assist in constructing more specific transfiguration spells.”

With that, they were off to the races, especially Granger. Rebecca had seen the younger girl’s proficiency with arithmetic, but this was a whole other league. She skipped through the material, making logical leaps at a blinding speed, so that that she even had to explain them to Professor Vector at times.

The basic concept of characteristic vectors was that if you took a two-dimensional image (although it would work in any number of dimensions) and stretched and squeezed it in various ways, the directions in which it was stretched and squeezed were the characteristic vectors—what the muggles annoyingly called eigenvectors. The characteristic vectors never changed direction, while all of the other vectors did, which made them essential for understanding certain types of spells.

The hard part—the part that Rebecca couldn’t quite wrap her head around, was the fact that if you rotated the image instead, so that _all_ of the vectors changed direction, there were still eigenvectors, but they were imaginary. She could do the maths and get the right answers, but she couldn’t just see it like Granger apparently could, to hear her talk about it. Even though she made some useful contributions to the discussion, she couldn’t help feeling like a third wheel—like she was holding them back— _her!_ She might still have written it off, though, if it weren’t for a conversation that Granger and Vector had near the end of the session.

“Professor McGonagall tells me you’re staying for Christmas,” Vector said. “How are you going to finish the linear algebra course?”

“I’ll just write to Professor Tremaine and ask him to send me a final exam. If you’d be willing to proctor it over the holiday?”

“Of course—”

“Final exam?” Rebecca blurted. “You’re taking the final in this stuff already.”

Granger actually looked surprised at the question. “Yes,” she said, “I do two of these courses a year through a correspondence program with a muggle university. That’s how those degrees usually work—you’d call them masteries.”

Rebecca paled a bit. “Two a year?” she said. “How can you do that? I had to skim over a lot of this stuff just to catch up with you.”

“But you started late in the term, Rebecca. You’re doing fairly well considering we’ve only covered the basics of matrices in class. If you want, I can ask Professor Tremaine if he’s willing to send you the materials to do the full course in the spring.”

Rebecca bristled. She didn’t appreciate being patronised. “And what will _you_ be doing?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to ask Professor Tremaine what he recommends I study next.”

“Well, when you decide, let me know,” Rebecca said haughtily. “I think I’ll just carry on with these notes for now…Seriously, do you think you’re going to be some super-Arithmancer, doing all this stuff?”

Granger just shrugged: “I don’t know that I’m particularly trying to be anything yet. I just think that arithmancy is fascinating, and I want to keep studying it.”

Rebecca Gamp harrumphed and went away from that meeting sulking. She was smart enough to know it would be almost impossible for her to catch up with Granger. That girl was too bloody _fast_. With linear algebra, she could, but Merlin knew what Granger would pull out of her hat next. She’d already been studying calculus for two years, after all. True, Rebecca was two years ahead of her in her other classes and was probably even a better spellcrafter right now because of that, but it was only a matter of time before Granger left her in the dust, and worse, Granger knew it. Maybe she didn’t flaunt it, exactly. Maybe she really did only care about it academically. Maybe she was even trying to be nice about it and help her out, but it still came off as patronising because she _knew_ just how smart she was. Vector knew it, too, and probably most of the class knew it. And Vector obviously adored her, besides.

Even Roger didn’t understand. He liked Arithmancy, but he’d never once thought of pursuing it as a career. People didn’t understand how tough it could be. Great-Grand-Aunt Hesper had worked for years to get over being upstaged by Siegfried Eigen and had succeeded. But Granger—Rebecca hated to admit it, but she was in another category entirely. If she kept pushing herself like this, her name would be beside those legends in the textbook someday, and she’d probably make it look easy.

* * *

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Enclosed, please find a copy of the final exam for your linear algebra course, as well as instructions and paperwork for your Prof. Vector. (Is that really her real name?) I am delighted that your course has gone so well thus far, and I am sure you will do well on the final. You_ _’ve been the talk of the department ever since you first contacted us._

_As for your question of what to study next, the most natural course to take after Linear Algebra is Abstract Algebra, which deals mostly with group theory in the first course. This has many important applications in advanced physics. However, the things you wrote to me before, particularly your interest in geometric transformations, suggest that you may prefer to go in a different direction. Therefore, I have also enclosed a leaflet for an excellent textbook on non-Euclidean geometry. This book treats several different types of non-Euclidean geometry in the language of linear algebra and group theory based on Klein_ _’s Erlangen Program, and it may also serve as a convenient bridge to Abstract Algebra later on. I hope you find this helpful._

_Sincerely,_

_Prof. Tremaine_

“Non-Euclidean geometry?” Hermione mused. She hadn’t particularly thought of that one. Universities didn’t offer that many geometry courses. But then, she looked around at the walls of Hogwarts—those walls that couldn’t exist without bending time and space a little bit—and she smiled. “That could be _very_ useful.”

* * *

A week before Christmas, and the day before most of the students would be returning home for the holidays, there was another Hogsmeade weekend. And once again, Professor McGonagall informed Harry that he should stay in the middle of the town and avoid the Shrieking Shack.

“But it’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled out his folded invisibility cloak from under his winter cloak.

“Brilliant!” Ron said.

Hermione smacked her forehead with her hand. “Harry, there’s _snow_ on the ground,” she said. “Everyone will be able to see your footprints.”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Ron insisted. “We can walk single file with him in the middle. That way it’ll cover his tracks.”

She stared at him. That was actually pretty clever—still reckless, but clever. And it didn’t look like they were going to back down. “Oh, fine,” she huffed, muttering “Boys,” as an afterthought.

However, they never got to the Shrieking Shack, due to the very disturbing distraction they heard when they stopped in at the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer.

At first, it was a perfectly pleasant day between the fresh air, the snow, and the time spent with friends. Even Hermione was enjoying taking a chance to kick back and relax. But then, to their surprise, the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge walked into the pub, followed by Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Hagrid. They sat at the bar and started chatting up Madam Rosmerta. Seated where they were, directly behind them, Hermione, Ron, and Harry seemed to go unnoticed by them.

“So what brings you to the village, Minister?” Madam Rosmerta said amiably.

“What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black,” Fudge replied in a low voice.

Suddenly, quick as a flash, Harry ducked under the table and covered himself with the invisibility cloak before popping back up.

“Harry?” Hermione said in confusion. “He doesn’t mean he’s here now.”

“Shh! I wanna hear what he says about him,” Harry replied. “No one will tell me anything.”

But by the time it was over, they all wished they hadn’t.

When Ron and Hermione pulled the cloak off him, Harry looked like he was in shock, and he would only speak to them in monosyllables. Ron said they should put the cloak back over him until they got back to the castle so that no one would bother him, and even when they got back, they had to lead him on, or he wouldn’t do anything.

Ginny bounced up to them happily, oblivious to what had happened. “Hi, guys, how was Hogsmeade,” she said. Then, she noticed their faces. “Is something wrong?”

“Not here,” Hermione whispered. Ginny followed as they led Harry to an empty classroom. Hermione didn’t think he was ready to face the Common Room yet. “Harry is it okay if we tell her?” she asked.

Harry just nodded absently.

“Harry? Harry, what’s wrong?” Ginny said worriedly.

“We were in the Three Broomsticks,” Hermione said. “And Minister Fudge came in, and we overheard…”

“He was their friend,” Harry rasped out suddenly, amd he started to cry. “And he betrayed them…HE WAS THEIR FRIEND!”

“Ahh!” Ginny staggered back in fear. “What is it? I don’t understand.”

“Sirius Black,” Hermione explained. “He was a friend of Harry’s parents.”

“No!”

“It’s true,” Ron said. “It was awful. They even made him Harry’s godfather. But then…he was the one who betrayed them to You-Know-Who.”

“Oh Merlin! He didn’t!”

“He did!” Harry growled.

“Are…are you sure?” Ginny said tentatively. “How do they know—?”

“Because he was the only one who could tell!” Harry snapped. “And he meant it, too! That spell…” he trailed off.

Ginny looked back to Hermione in confusion, and she explained, “They used an obscure spell called the Fidelius Charm to hide. It’s a way of magically hiding a secret so that only one person can tell it—and Professor Flitwick said it blocks a whole bunch of ways to force it out of someone. He had to choose to give it up.”

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry!” Ginny threw her arms around his neck without thinking. “I can’t believe he did that to you. I thought he was just in there for killing all those people.”

“No, that happened after,” Hermione said. “Another friend of theirs, Peter Pettigrew, went after Black, but Black…he got the better of him.” She remembered Fudge’s words clearly, even if she couldn’t bring herself to repeat them: “Black cast one curse—one curse so dark even the Unspeakables still don’t know what it was—and all that was left of Pettigrew was one finger! His torn robes, and one finger—and those twelve muggles dead with him, and a crater blasted clear down into the sewers.”

“But how? How could he do that with one curse?” Ginny said shakily after Harry described it in more colourful terms.

“Probably a spell he got straight from You-Know-Who,” Ron said. “Who knows what nasty stuff he had up his sleeve?”

“Are you okay, Harry?” Ginny whispered.

“Do I _look_ like I’m okay?” Harry snapped at her.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “Of course you’re not okay. But we’re here for you, you know that?”

Harry stood up, seemingly ignoring them. “Thanks,” he muttered before he wandered out the door without them.

The three of them tried to keep an eye on Harry for the rest of the day. He was going through the motions, but his mind seemed far away, unsurprisingly. Hermione couldn’t imagine what he was going through. It was hard enough just to hear it vicariously. Even then, she could see it in her mind when she closed her eyes. When she crawled into bed that night, weary and emotionally drained, she couldn’t help imagining Black turning Harry’s parents in to Voldemort, both men laughing at their foolishness. She imagined Black chasing after Pettigrew across the country, through fields and country lanes, down city streets and dark alleys, finally cornering him on a crowded thoroughfare, laughing like a maniac, brandishing his wand, and casting a curse at Pettigrew that…

Did _what_ , exactly?

Suddenly, she was wide awake again. It was a valid question. All that was left of Pettigrew, Fudge had said, was his torn robes and one finger. And yet, the blast was powerful enough to kill twelve bystanders and crack open a sewer pipe. That didn’t sound like a simple explosion. What mundane blast could destroy a body so completely— _almost_ completely—but still leave identifiable robes behind. If it was a blasting curse, as gruesome as it sounded, there should have been pieces of Pettigrew all over the place. There _was_ magic that could make things go away entirely, but then why the robes and the other twelve bodies? Even if it was some massive, area-effect Vanishing Spell that only worked on living tissue, why the one finger?

The whole thing was academic, of course. Black was a very evil man who had a very evil spell to do it, but like a sum that didn’t add up, her brain wouldn’t let it go until she’d solved the inconsistency. But as she lay there half the night, nothing came to her.

Well, there _was_ one thing that came to her. Professor Vector had told Hermione long ago that she had taught Harry’s mother. And if they were in the same year, she, like many of the other teachers, must have known Sirius Black.

* * *

“Hello, Miss Gamp.”

Rebecca Gamp looked up from her book in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express and saw Draco Malfoy, of all people, standing in the doorway.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she acknowledged carefully. “Can I help you?”

“I just thought I’d drop by for a chat.”

 _Uh oh,_ Rebecca thought. _Draco Malfoy_ never _just drops by for a chat, especially since we_ _’ve barely even spoken to each other before._ “What about?” she asked.

“I saw you in the Three Broomsticks yesterday,” he said casually. “I think we were glaring at the same people. Are the Gryffindorks getting to you, too?”

She relaxed a little. At least this wasn’t directly about her. “No, only Granger,” she said.

“Ah, Granger,” Malfoy grumbled. “What’s she doing to you?”

“Only being so insufferably smart. Professor Vector’s been giving her an independent study in masters-level Arithmancy that I can barely keep up with.”

“Yeah, I knew Vector had a soft spot for that mudblood. Some Slytherin she is.”

“Hey now, there’s no need for that kind of language, Malfoy,” Rebecca admonished the younger boy automatically. “But you’re right. You should see how Vector fawns over her.”

“Disgusting,” Malfoy said. “Do you know what she did to me? Aside from hexing me a couple times, she tricked my father into freeing our elf.”

“She didn’t!” Rebecca gasped. She didn’t really care about the Malfoys’ personal lives, but that was just bad form.

“She did. And it was also on her word and Potter’s that Father was removed from the Board of Governors. Merlin, who does she think she is coming in here like that? I mean, look at you. You come from the best family of spellcrafters in Britain, and she didn’t even know magic existed three years ago.”

Rebecca shook her head sadly: “It doesn’t matter. Granger’s smarter than I am, and we both know it.”

Malfoy grimaced. He couldn’t stand the thought of a mudblood passing up all the purebloods like that, but even he had to face facts. Granger was way out of his league at Arithmancy, and apparently out of Gamp’s, too. At least Potter was only average competition for him, and Weasley didn’t even take the class. “So what does she think she’s gonna do with it, then?” he asked.

“That’s the worst part. She’s so Ravenclaw about it; she just wants to study it. No ambition at all.”

“Well, we can’t all be Slytherins. So what’re gonna do about it?”

“What can I do? She’s got me beat. I can try to catch her, but…Why do you care, anyway?”

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders casually. “Have you considered trying to get her expelled?”

Rebecca’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting… “I’m not evil, Malfoy,” she said. “And besides, you’d never be able to do it. Do you remember she’s a goody-two-shoes _and_ teacher’s pet to boot?”

“I think it’s possible,” he said. “Granger’s a lot more jinx-happy than she used to be, and she’s on thin ice from hexing me before. With the right push, she just might fall in. You have to admit, Miss Gamp, getting expelled _would_ slow her down a bit.”

Maybe it was a little tempting, but… “Still not evil, Malfoy,” she said.

“Just think about it,” he said before leaving the compartment.

* * *

The next day was a long one. After a rather sleepless night, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny had spent most of the morning trying to convince an even more sleepless Harry that going out looking for revenge on Black would be a monumentally stupid thing to do—the very thing Mr. Weasley had warned him against—the thing that Malfoy had been maliciously trying to goad him into. But all of Hermione’s perfectly reasonable arguments fell on deaf ears. And poor Ginny—if it had been anyone but Harry Potter, Hermione was sure the redhead would have slapped him hard in the first ten minutes, but she still wasn’t quite over her hero complex.

Ron’s attempt to distract Harry by visiting Hagrid was only partially successful. In fact, the only thing it succeeded at was Harry making Hagrid cry, angrily demanding why he’d never told him Black knew his parents. The huge man blubbered that he hadn’t wanted to worry Harry about it, and Harry stormed out.

By mid-afternoon, Hermione was starting to get paranoid that Harry might throw on his invisibility cloak and actually try it, dementors or no dementors.

“Harry, please,” she heard Ginny plead with him tearfully once more in the empty Common Room. “Even if you find Black, how’re you gonna keep him from killing you like he did Pettigrew? He wouldn’t even have to hit you. He’d just have to hit _near_ you, and you’d be dead.”

“I can sneak up on him. I’ve got an invisibility cloak, don’t I?”

“That Black _knows_ about!” Ron shouted. “ _Think_ Harry, that cloak came from your dad. Black’s bound to know you have it.”

“I’ve done my thinking, Ron!” Harry yelled back. “I’ve been doing nothing but thinking since yesterday. I can’t just sit here while he’s out there!” He started to move.

“Oh for the love of—” Hermione fumed. Suddenly, she drew her wand, whirled on Harry and exclaimed, “ _Expelliarmus!_ ,” pushing as much force as she could into the spell.

Harry went sprawling on the floor, and his wand flew into her hand. Ron and Ginny both gasped. She stood over him as he looked up at her with shock and betrayal. “Harry Potter!” she said. “What did I tell you two years ago?”

“W-what?” he said, his mind spinning.

“When you tried to go after the Philosopher’s Stone on your own, what did I tell you?” She was met with confused silence. “I told you, “If I thought we had the slightest chance, I’d be right there beside you—if only to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed.” But your thirteen years old, Harry. You couldn’t even stun Black if you met him, let alone kill him. Now, give me a decade to figure out what the hell Black _used_ on Pettigrew and how to counter it, and then we might have a shot, but so help me, I will _not_ let my best friend throw his life away on something that’ll only see him getting blown to bits!”

All three of her friends were staring at her in amazement. Ginny broke the silence first: “I’m starting to see why Fred and George say not to make Hermione angry.”

“Yeah, sis, she gets _scary_ when she’s angry,” Ron said.

Harry still looked mutinous.

“Harry, if I give you your wand back, will you not do something stupid?” Hermione asked.

She thought Harry might snap at her, but he took a deep breath and grumbled, “Fine, I won’t do something stupid.”

“Good. I’m sorry had to hex you, then.” She knelt down and handed him back his wand. “You know, Harry, there was a muggle poet named George Herbert who wrote something that I think applies here: “Living well is the best revenge.” You have a good life, Harry, lousy relatives aside. You’ve made the most of it despite Black’s best efforts. And since any other form of revenge would be suicide at the moment, I think you should make a real effort to embrace that philosophy.”

Whether it was because of that last suggestion or because he was cowed by her anger, Harry seemed to stop brooding after that, to the point where Hermione felt safe leaving him to Ron and Ginny and going to her meeting with Professor Vector, which had been rescheduled due to the Hogsmeade trip.

An hour of arithmancy later, Hermione spoke up nervously while they were wrapping up: “Professor, I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

“Of course you can, Hermione. What is it?”

“Did…did you ever teach Sirius Black, ma’am?”

Vector paled. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that I happened to hear that Black was friends with James Potter, and you mentioned once that you knew him.”

“Oh. Not exactly. And I’m not sure if anyone _really_ knew Black. I never taught him myself. He didn’t take Arithmancy, but I knew of him. I couldn’t believe it when he went dark, though. He always seemed like one of the few good people in his family.”

“That’s what everyone seems to say, ma’am,” Hermione said. “It kind of makes you wonder how long he was a sleeper agent.”

“Sleeper agent?”

“An infiltrator who doesn’t do anything until a specific time or signal. I don’t see how he could have been much of anything else.”

“Hmm…no, I suppose not. I don’t know what makes a man turn his back on a friend who was literally better than family. His own family couldn’t stand him, nor he them, to hear him talk when he finished school.”

That was news to Hermione. She couldn’t understand it either. That would be like Harry betraying her, Ron, and Ginny. It would be unthinkable—as in she literally couldn’t make her brain think it.

“But there was one other thing that didn’t make sense to me, ma’am,” she continued.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“I’m sorry to be morbid, but…I also happened to find out what happened with Peter Pettigrew, and—”

“Hermione, do you actually go _looking_ for these disturbing stories?” Vector said.

“No, I don’t!” she answered truthfully. “It was just by coincidence I found out. But I was just wondering because something doesn’t make sense—Ma’am, do you have any idea what spell Black hit Pettigrew with?”

“No, I do not,” she said firmly. “And frankly, I’m rather surprised you’re interested in knowing.”

“I’m not, really. It’s just that something doesn’t add up, ma’am. They say all they found of Pettigrew was his robes and a finger. But what kind of spell almost completely destroys a body like that, but leaves behind a mostly-intact robe and a finger, especially when it was strong enough to kill twelve bystanders and blast a crater in the street?” She didn’t mention her argument with Harry, for which the answer was also relevant.

And with that, Septima Vector started to think. For twelve years, she had simply accepted the eyewitness accounts without question. But Hermione was right. When you pulled on that thread…something _didn_ _’t_ seem to add up. “I honestly don’t know, Hermione,” she said. “It does seem odd…but I don’t think it’s anything to worry yourself about. Not all of the secrets of the Dark Arts are open to us, and that’s probably for the best.”

“Yes, Professor,” she said. She would do her best to put it out of her mind. Although for Hermione Granger, anything even metaphorically like an unsolved maths problem was an almost irresistible temptation.

* * *

On Christmas morning, Hermione and Ginny descended the stairs to meet the boys, hoping for a happy day. Harry’s attitude had softened over the course of the week, but there was still a chance he would try to ruin the celebration.

But he seemed to be cheerful this morning, as were Ron as well as the Twins, who had also decided to stick around for the holiday for Harry’s and Hermione’s sake.

“Hey, Hermione, Ginny, check out Harry’s haul,” Ron said eagerly. “Mum sent him loads of food.” Suddenly, he stopped and blushed when he saw what Hermione was wearing: “Er, Mum sent you a jumper?”

Hermione was indeed wearing a Molly Weasley Christmas jumper, the same as Harry and all the Weasleys. Hers was a light pink similar in colour to the light hooded jumper she’d brought from home, and Lavender and Parvati insisted it went well with her hair. “Yes, she did,” she answered. “I was kind of surprised, but I like it.”

“You’re welcome,” said George.

“Excuse me?”

“We thought that after you helped save Ginny—” Fred started.

“—and after certain of our…collaborative projects—” George added.

“—that you should be promoted to an honorary Weasley, just like Harry.”

“Mum was happy to make you a jumper.”

“Well, thank you,” Hermione said. Honorary Weasley was certainly an unusual title, but it was good to know they cared so much. “I see you two swapped jumpers again?” she added, seeing the F and G switched.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Twin with the G said. “I’m Gred, and he’s Forge.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say, Fred,” Hermione replied.

Harry looked the two twins over: “How can you tell?”

“Easy. Fred is the evil twin, and George is the…less evil twin.”

“Ooh, she’s on to us, brother,” George said.

“We’ll have to be more devious, now,” Fred replied.

Harry, Ron, and Ginny all laughed. “So did you get anything else good, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Oh, sure,” she smiled. “My parents sent me my new Non-Euclidean Geometry book. And they found this really nice mechanical watch with an alarm and stopwatch on it.” She showed off the timepiece. “It can’t have been easy to find in a women’s size.”

Just then, Crookshanks, who had followed her down the stairs, made his move at Ron. Scabbers scrambled out of his pocket and ran across the Common Room with surprising speed.

“Crookshanks, stop!”

“CATCH THAT CAT!”

The Common Room was in chaos with people tripping over each other until both animals were brought back under control. Just another day at Hogwarts.

With the threat of Sirius Black hanging over their heads, the school was exceedingly empty. The six Gryffindors constituted fully two thirds of the students in the castle. At lunch, Dumbledore decided to have all of the students and staff—seventeen in all, sit at one large, round table in the middle of the Great Hall, which was definitely an unusual experience.

Later in the day, once she was sure the cleaning shift would be over, Hermione suggested that they should go and wish the elves a happy Christmas. Fred and George had wandered off to cause more mischief, but she convinced Harry, Ron, and Ginny to come with her.

“Have I ever shown you where the elves live, Ginny?” she asked as they climbed the miniature spiral staircase to reach the space above the Great Hall.

“No, you haven’t. You mentioned it, though. It sounds neat.”

“Oh, it is. Everything’s miniature. I bet a lot of people would be surprised how well the elves live here.”

“Yeah, everything’s miniature including the ceilings,” Ron complained. It was starting to get difficult for him to crawl through the elf-sized corridors.

When they reached the miniature corridor along the bedrooms, they found a number of elves milling about, who greeted them and escorted them to the Common Room. Their tea towels had been charmed red and green for the day.

“Happy Christmas everyone,” Hermione called when they entered.

Her reception was still colder than it had been in previous years, although a number of elves still swarmed around all four of them, especially Harry, and led them to seats. However, Hermione was hit by one red and green missile—the only one in normal clothes—as Dobby ploughed into her. “Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione! Happy Christmas! It is being good to see you.”

“Happy Christmas, Dobby,” she said.

Harry and Ron were quickly seated near Sonya and Tilly, while Ginny was looking around wide-eyed at all the elves and the Common Room that was made to fit them.

“Oh, right,” Hermione said. “Everyone, this is Ginny Weasley, Ron’s sister.”

“Hello, Miss Ginny Weasley,” a number of elves called.

The girls took their seats and greeted the other elves at the table. Dobby immediately came back to Hermione with a parcel. “Miss Hermione, Dobby mades these for you,” he said timidly.

“Why thank you, Dobby. You didn’t have to.” She opened the gift, revealing two handmade, woollen socks that only in Dobby’s mind could be called a pair. One of them was pink with green Christmas trees on it, while the other was green with little white angels. “Er, thanks. I got something for you, too, Dobby.”

Many of the elves stopped and stared at an elf being given a present by a witch, but Dobby looked like he was about to break down in tears as he took it from her hands, and he hugged her in gratitude. Dobby’s present was a small package of gobstones. “Just be careful wagering them,” Hermione said.

There was a giggle to her right, and Hermione turned to see Sonya’s cobalt-blue eyes gleaming mischievously. “Sonya is not thinking that is the best gift, Miss Hermione Granger. Dobby has not had good luck keeping gobstones.”

Hermione just smiled and said, “I’ve brought a present for you, too, Sonya.”

Sonya’s eyes grew wide as she took her gift. It turned out to be a deck of deluxe Exploding Snap cards…with Anti-Cheating Spells. “Hermione Granger is being a very cheeky witch,” she said, “but Sonya is still glad that she remembered her.”

“Hello, Miss Ginny Weasley,” a tiny voice squeaked. A little elf child less than two feat tall was tugging on Ginny’s sleeve.

“Well aren’t you adorable,” Ginny cooed. “What’s your name?”

“I is Smidgen, miss…You is having very pretty hair, miss.”

“Why, thank you, Smidgen,” Ginny giggled.

Suddenly an adult female elf pulled the tiny girl back. “Smidgen you shoulds not be with Dobby’s friends,” she whispered.

“But they is nice, Mummy,” Smidgen said.

“They is bad influences for young elves.”

“Excuse me,” Hermione said sharply. “What is your name?”

“I is Speckle, Miss Hermione Granger,” the mother elf said in a tone that she had not heard from an elf before. She could only describe it as snippy.

“Well, Speckle, I don’t see how we’re bad influences,” Hermione told her, “especially since none of you had a problem with me my first two year here.”

“That was before Dobby, miss,” Speckle said.

Hermione sighed. “Dobby, does this still happen a lot?” she said.

Dobby looked reluctant to speak, but he eventually whispered, “Many of the elves is still not liking Dobby very much, Miss Hermione. They does not respect a free elf.”

“Hmph.” Hermione stood up and addressed the elves: “Listen, I know most of you don’t agree with the way Dobby lives his life, but he’s still a good elf. He’s only here to work, just like the rest of you. His situation is a special case. He’s not looking to recruit anyone else, and I’m not looking to free any elf who doesn’t want to be freed. That’s been my policy since I first came here, and it hasn’t changed. You all used to say I was a good friend to elves, and I hope you can accept Dobby and my friends in the same spirit, especially on Christmas.”

“See, Mummy? They is nice,” Smidgen said. “They is not bad to elves.”

Speckle still put up a fuss, but with some further assurances from Tilly, the elf teacher, she allowed Smidgen to join them at their table. She soon got to work plaiting Ginny’s hair.

“Sonya, you’re okay with Dobby, aren’t you?” Hermione asked nervously.

Sonya crossed her arms: “Sonya does not agree with Dobby’s life, but Sonya is nice to him for Miss Hermione Granger’s sake.”

 _Well, that_ _’s better than nothing._ “Thank you, Sonya. You know you’re still my friend here, right?”

Sonya sighed at the disarming question. “Yes, miss, you has always been a good friend to Sonya.”

“Good. Now, do you want to break in those cards?”

They left a little before dinner. Harry and Ron had had a surprisingly good time with the elves, and Ginny seemed to have enjoyed the introduction to their world. By the time they left, her hair was fully braided in a silly, irregular pattern, courtesy of Smidgen.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As Harry Potter was going to St. Ives, he met JK Rowling with seven books.

_We need a place to study toy wands. We need a place to study toy wands. We need a place to study toy wands._

At that request, the Room of Requirement produced a large work room. In the middle of the room was a similarly large work table lit by two desk lamps and arrayed with a strange variety of tools. Some of them look like miniature versions of old hand carpentry tools—hand drills, awls, chisels, small saws, planes, hammers, and pliers. Others looked more like the dissection instruments in Hermione’s biology class the year before she started at Hogwarts: scalpels, forceps, scissors, and needles. There were also powerful table-mounted magnifying glasses and even a microscope, albeit one that looked like it was from the eighteenth century.

A small rest area at one end of the room held three comfortable chairs, but the other end was where all the additional resources were: three desks and a smallish bookcase, which, on closer inspection, had a mixture of books about wandlore, herbology (presumably to identify the wood), enchanting, and even one on magical toys in particular.

Even though they had seen some of the Room’s capabilities before, Fred and George stood in awe behind Hermione, who was pretty impressed herself by what it had produced.

“Wicked,” the Twins said in unison.

“Wow, you really went all out, Hermione,” said Fred.

“I was pretty vague. It’s the Room that did it,” Hermione corrected.

“Books, though!” George said. “Does this mean we can just ask the Room anything?”

“I doubt it,” she said. She inspected the books more closely. Many of them were very old and dusty and in poor condition. “Look at the state they’re in. I can’t imagine the Room could just conjure this information out of thin air. I bet it summons them up from wherever all the stuff that gets hidden in here goes. And…yes, see, all of these titles are ones that I would have picked out for this project. There aren’t any surprises. So either I happened to get it right, or the Room only gives you certain books based on your expectations. I doubt it would be much help if you had no idea what to look for.”

“Hmm…sounds like experimenting with the _Room_ may be in order,” Fred suggested.

“Maybe later,” Hermione answered.

“Hey, what’s in here—? Wicked! Check it out!” George had found a bin beside the bookcase, but it wasn’t a rubbish bin, as it had appeared. Hermione looked inside and was astonished to find dozens and dozens of toy wands. Most of them looked damaged, burnt, or broken, but some still looked to be in working order.

Upon seeing them, Hermione started laughing, and she laughed so hard that she fell over backwards, and the Twins had to catch her. “I should’ve known!” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I asked it for a place to study toy wands, and it gave us all the toy wands it had, too.”

“Excellent!” Fred agreed.

“But who would bring toy wands to school besides us?” George wondered.

“Other experimenters?” Hermione speculated. “Or a few of the first years? Even if it’s not many people, quite a few could accumulate here over a century or two if this is where all the junk goes. Anyway, now we’ve got a lot more to experiment on.”

“True—Aw, but then you wasted those two galleons on the ones you bought,” George said.

She shrugged her shoulders: “It’s not a total loss. The ones I bought are a known quantity—straight out of the package, never used, and several of the same model. And besides, at the rate I’m going, I’ll probably make those two galleons back from your World Cup betting pool.”

The Twins laughed. “You just might,” quipped Fred. “Your arithmancy’s serving pretty well there.”

“Just be careful,” George added. “They’re going to the tournament stage next summer, and it’ll get harder.”

“We’ll see,” Hermione said confidently. “You know, the interesting thing is that England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland all doing so well in the group stage. But I suppose that’s what you get when you actually invent the sport. Anyway, let’s get to work.”

“Right. How do we do this?”

“Well, I had some ideas for experiments to do with the toy wands I bought, but I think we should look at these others before we try most of them, in case we learn something new, so we don’t waste them. There’s just one that I want to start now.” She pulled one of the cheap one-sickle wands from her bag and opened the package. “I want to see how long it’ll keep up a Lumos Charm before it burns out—you know, see how good it is at its intended function.”

“But even a cheap one could last for hours,” Fred reminded her.

“I know. That’s why I want to start it now. We can switch off whenever we want. We just need to keep it going so I can time it properly.” She examined the wand. It was small—not too out of the ordinary in length at eight inches, but very thin. It seemed to be made from a five-sixteenths-inch dowel, while her own wand was a hair over half an inch at the base, and even that was thinner than average. The toy was rounded off at one end, but was otherwise unadorned. She a made a note of all of this in her notebook and then held it out to the Twins. “Would one of you like to start it?”

“Sure,” George said, taking it in hand.

Hermione readied the stopwatch on her new wristwatch. “Whenever you’re ready.”

George flicked the toy and said, “ _Lumos_.” Hermione started her stopwatch. The wand gave off a harsh white light that flickered much more than with a normal wand, rather like a fluorescent light that was on the blink. It must be the quality of the materials, she thought. She made a note of that as well.

“Looks pretty sickly, doesn’t it?” Fred observed.

“Well, it is very cheap,” George replied. “So what’s next, o wise arithmancer?”

“Next, I think we should sort through all the wands in that bin and see which ones work. The ones that don’t we can safely take apart to try to figure out how they’re made.”

“Sensible,” Fred quipped.

They went through the used toy wands and eventually sorted them into four piles, though it was a little inconvenient since one of them had to keep holding the lit wand. The first and largest pile consisted of wands that produced no response at all. Nearly all of these showed signs of serious damage: they had large cracks, were snapped in two, or else had large burn marks on them. The wands in the second pile flickered or shot out sparks for a second and then “burned out” with a crack eerily reminiscent of a light bulb burning out. This always at minimum produced singe marks near the tip and often caused them to crack or snap. Two of them caught fire and one violently exploded into splinters such that it was lucky none of them got hit in the eye. The room immediately furnished them with three pairs of safety glasses after that. (“Wow, this place is pretty smart,” said George.)

The third pile of wands were those that didn’t burn out, but refused to cast _Lumos_ properly and only produced sparks. The fourth and smallest pile, only eleven wands, _did_ cast _Lumos_ , although all but three of them flickered or blinked on and off so badly that there was obviously something wrong with them. It wasn’t surprising that almost none of them were in good working order. After all, if they worked properly and weren’t contraband, why would they be in with the junk and hidden things?

“Quite a selection we have here,” Fred said. “The question is, what makes them tick?”

“That _is_ the question,” Hermione agreed. “The only thing we can really do is take the apart to see how they work.”

Fred grinned. “Well, lucky for you, that happens to be a speciality of ours. See, we’ve looked into selling our own line of joke products, we wouldn’t get very far if we couldn’t dissect the competition.”

A flash of fear crossed Hermione’s face. “You’re going to _sell_ pranks?” she said. “Merlin help us all.”

Fred and George laughed. “Someday, what we’d really like to do is open a shop,” George explained. “We figure between my brains and Fred’s planning—”

“Not to mention my rakish good looks,” Fred added.

“—we can probably beat out Gambol & Japes in Diagon Alley.”

“We, uh, _might_ be able to take on an extra partner, if you’re interested,” Fred suggested with a smirk.

“I cannot condone such blatant rule-breaking,” Hermione said primly, knowing full well that she’d done more than her share of that. “But I do admire your initiative. I’m sure it’ll be great. Now, let’s see what you make of these.”

The first thing the trio did was to take a close look at several of the toy wands under a magnifying glass. All of the broken ones had cracks of some sort, and near or in the cracks were scorch marks, seemingly originating from the tip. The cracks tended to follow the grain of the wood, which wasn’t particularly straight nor aligned with the shaft. That was how several of the wands had splintered in two. However, they soon noticed that in some of them, the cracks did go perfectly lengthwise through the wood, and when they looked close, Hermione saw that they were actually along a seam.

That seemed as good a place as any to start. Using the tools at their disposal, they carefully pried one of the toys apart along the seam. It was easy to miss, but it looked as if the dowel had been split in half and glued back together. Between the two halves were the charred remnants of a thread or fibre of _something_ , and far more pronounced scorch marks, as if it had been burnt from the inside out.

“Well, it looks like this fibre is the wand core, or something like it,” Fred reasoned.

“And it looks like it’s the weak point of the device,” Hermione said.

“Is it, though?” George countered. “Maybe the wood cracks first, and exposure to air makes it burn.”

“Hmm, that’s a good point,” Hermione said. “Although, Ron’s old wand had the unicorn hair sticking out, and it didn’t burn…Of course, that’s with completely different materials, different manufacturing processes, and who knows what else.”

“It’s too bad we can’t dissect a real wand,” Fred said.

“No…” Hermione brightened at once: “We can take a look at one, though.” She whipped out her own wand and held it under the magnifier. “I can’t believe I’ve never _really_ taken a close look at this thing before.”

The first thing she noticed about her own wand was that it was much more carefully-made. Instead of being roughly sanded, it must have been polished with a very fine-grained paper (or spell) and varnished over top of that. Moreover, the varnish had not worn away one bit after two and a half years of handling and was probably magical itself. The wood was of very good quality—perfectly straight-grained, parallel with the shaft, and also with a very tight grain, like the wood of a fine violin. Ollivander had called it vine wood, but had never explained what type of vine, although if the vine pattern he had carved into it was meant to match, it was probably English ivy, and it couldn’t have been easy to find a piece of such a plant that perfect. She didn’t know if there was some additional magical quality to the wood, but it seemed likely. No seam was visible to insert the dragon heartstring core, although there might still be one, invisible under the varnish or magically repaired.

There was one odd thing though—something she had noticed before, but never paid much mind—little grooves carved into the wood in between the vine carvings, except that under the magnifying glass, they weren’t grooves at all.

“Holy cricket, they’re _runes_!” Hermione exclaimed.

“They’re runes?” Fred and George said in surprise.

“Yes! Look. Right here. I can’t believe I never saw that before.” Sure enough, there were tiny letters a fiftieth of an inch high all up and down the length of the wand, carved with incredible precision by some tiny tool beyond what the Room had given them. They must have been filled in with varnish, or Hermione would have felt the roughness under her fingers, but they were in the material of the wood, and that was the important thing. They were probably near the limit of what could be accurately carved into the cellular structure of the wood.

“You don’t think…” Fred said. He and George both pulled out their own wands and examined them.

“Bloody hell, they’re there, too,” George said. “I can’t believe _we_ never noticed that.”

“And look, they’re not all Norse, either,” Hermione said. “See? That line looks like Latin written in a Gothic script.” Professor Babbling had explained once that the spacing of Gothic-style letters was more uniform than modern ones, making for more reliable runes.

“I wonder what they’re all for,” Fred mused.

Hermione looked closely at the letters. “Well…” she said hesitantly, “I don’t know all of these, but I see a lot of runes that have to do with permanence, strength, and power. They’re probably intended to make a real wand able to withstand a lifetime of hard casting, while from the sound of it, the best toys couldn’t do that even with first year spells.”

“Magic _can_ be hard on things,” George agreed.

“I always wondered what old Ollivander did with his time,” Fred added. “He must only sell about a hundred wands a year, at most. And that must be why they’re seven galleons a pop. I wouldn’t wanna do all that carving.”

Hermione thought it might be interesting to make her own wand someday, but she agreed she wouldn’t want to do it for a living. It seemed there was a lot more to a real wand than just better materials. Even her expensive one-galleon toy wand, which had fairly good wood and was varnished, was only decoratively carved—no runes in sight.

“I’d like to get a better idea what these runes mean,” she thought to herself. “Maybe I should ask Ron.”

“Ron?” the Twins said incredulously.

“As in our little brother, Ron?” added Fred.

“The classic underachiever?” said George.

Hermione sniffed: “He doesn’t underachieve at what he’s good at. And he’s surprisingly good at runes—good enough to be worth a second opinion, anyway. Maybe not on the level of, say, analysing the Marauder’s Map, but that would be a big project for anybody.”

An unreadable look crossed the Twins’ faces. “Runes, huh? Who knew?” George said.

“In the meantime, we should keep working,” said Fred, waving the still-lit toy. “You know, we should do this again sometime, Hermione. I like where this is going.”

“Me too,” said George.

“Yeah, definitely. This is fun,” Hermione agreed **.**

* * *

Classes soon started up again, more or less the same as before, and Hermione was as busy as ever. She had of course passed her Linear Algebra exam with flying colours and had also shown Professor Vector her Non-Euclidean Geometry textbook. Vector agreed that it was a very good subject to learn, as it was critical for various advanced topics like Extension Charms, magical architecture, and geomancy.

Meanwhile, Harry’s next anti-dementor lesson with Professor Lupin on Thursday evidently did not go well. Lupin had mentioned to him some time ago that he had known Harry’s father in school, and while Harry had calmed down since the beginning of the holidays, he still demanded to know why Lupin hadn’t mentioned Sirius Black. He didn’t find Lupin’s short response of “Yes, I knew him, or I thought I did,” to be very satisfying, and it apparently threw off his casting ability pretty badly.

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione told him afterwards. “Black was his friend, too. It probably hurts him almost as much as it does you.”

Harry reluctantly agreed with that, but he was in bad mood for the rest of the night. Lupin seemed off his game, too, the next day, at least considering it was more than a week since the full moon, so Hermione decided it was time to stick around for another brief chat with him after class.

“I wanted to apologise for Harry yesterday, Professor,” she told him. “He understands it must be hard for you. It’s just that he doesn’t like people keeping things from him. They tend to do that a lot, especially this year.”

Lupin sighed. “Yes, I suppose we have,” he said. “I can only plead that nearly everyone involved thought it was for his own good. How did he take it when he first found out?”

Hermione grimaced: “Very badly. For a little while, we were really worried he’d go and do something stupid. I had to hex him to make him see reason—Disarming Charm.”

He cracked a smile and chuckled softly. “Harry’s very lucky to have a good friend like you. I remember there were times I had to hex the sense back into James…and Sirius…” His mood turned darker. “You know, Hermione, everyone says they had no idea that Sirius Black would turn dark, but there was one time—just one. One of his “pranks’ went too far…I won’t give details, but suffice it to say he could’ve killed someone. I was so angry I nearly threw him out a window…In hindsight, I think I might be sorry I didn’t.”

Hermione felt rather awkward. She wanted to do something—to reach out to him, maybe, but she didn’t know Lupin as well as she did Professor Vector. “I’m sure you did what seemed right at the time, sir,” she said.

“Yes, yes I did,” he said, “and Black narrowly escaped expulsion. But I’ve always wondered if that was the first sign…But I shouldn’t disturb you anymore. You should go be with your friends.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, and she decided to take a chance with the question that was still bothering her: “Professor, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but there’s something that doesn’t quite make sense to me.”

Lupin’s eyes narrowed: “What is it?”

“Well, do you happen to have any idea what kind of spell Black used on Pettigrew?”

Lupin gasped softly and paled a shade or two. “Th-that’s not exactly the kind of magic you want to be getting into, Hermione,” he said.

“I’m not getting into dark magic, sir,” she insisted. “I only asked because something doesn’t add up, and you know how I am about maths problems. You see, I don’t know much about dark magic, but muggles do know a thing or two about explosions, and I’ve heard the description…and I just can’t see how to get one intact finger and a set of robes out of that blast, when they didn’t find anything else but a crater, and twelve bystanders were killed.”

Lupin’s eyebrows rose a fraction, and he stared at her in thought. Hermione could practically see the gears in his mind spinning faster and faster. Obviously, he’d never thought of that problem either. Wizards were far too quick to accept “magic” as an explanation.

“I-I-I…I’m afraid I have no idea what the spell was, Hermione, but…I think you may be right that there was something very unusual about it—purely academic, of course; however…I really think you should be going. If I have any sudden insights into your question, I’ll tell you—within reason.”

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said, hiding her disappointment. She started to leave, but just before she reached the door, she turned back to him. “Professor,” she said, “if you knew Harry’s dad, and Black, then that bright muggle-born girl who was also a friend of yours…?”

He smiled and nodded, seemingly relieved. “Harry’s mother,” he confirmed. “And I do believe you’re one of the few witches I’ve met who would’ve been her equal. I think the two of you would have been great friends had you ever had the chance to meet.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Hermione nodded in return and left with a smile. As highly as everyone spoke of Lily Potter, that was praise indeed.

* * *

“Ooh, and tough luck for Cho Chang!” Lee Jordan announced. “Draco Malfoy gets the Snitch with half a pitch length head start for a Slytherin win, two-sixty to two-fifty. Well, sometimes that’s just the luck of the game.”

“I can’t believe it!” Harry complained as he and his friends walked back to the castle. “If Cho had tailed Malfoy like she did Cedric, she would have beat him easy.”

“She didn’t because Malfoy’s a mediocre Seeker,” Hermione told him. “She didn’t think he had a chance of spotting the Snitch first. You must know that.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still don’t have to like it,” he grumbled. “Cho deserved it. She’s way better than Malfoy.”

“Yes, I understand, Harry,” she replied. “I had it three to one on Cho, and most of that one was either what happened—the Snitch popping up in Malfoy’s end of the pitch—or Cho getting knocked out by a Bludger.”

“No way! She’s too good for that!” Harry defended the Ravenclaw Seeker.

“Okay, okay! Yes, she’s a very good player, Harry.”

“Not bad looking, either,” Ron muttered.

“Yeah…” Harry said. “Er, I mean…” He trailed off and turned red as he realised what he’d said.

Ginny, however, turned pale and hung back, looking to Hermione for help.

“Just give him his space, Ginny,” she whispered. “You can’t expect a lot out of boys, especially at this age.” She sighed sadly.

“Y-you sound like you’ve got the same problem,” Ginny whispered back.

Now, Hermione turned pink: “What? No!”

Ginny grinned, momentarily forgetting her own boy troubles, and said, “Anyone I know?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione stammered as she tried to banish the image of a certain tall, dark-haired Hufflepuff from her mind. _He_ _’s just a friend._

Fortunately for her pride, a distraction came in the form of a loud taunt from a group of Ravenclaws: “Hey, Loony, where are those nargles of yours when we need ‘em?”

Luna Lovegood was walking quickly, clearly trying to put some distance between herself and the girls—and one boy this time—whom Hermione knew were the usual suspects who gave her a hard time and isolate her from the rest of her house.

But at the same time, from prolonged observation, Hermione had noticed something about Luna’s attitude. Some might have called it confrontational, but Hermione saw it as more of a need to try to get along with everyone and treat everything like a pleasant conversation—well, unless you insulted her parents. Hermione suspected it was some kind of coping mechanism—a way of denying to herself that they were really giving her a hard time, and in this case, that trait manifested itself when Luna turned around and walked backwards, saying, “I’m afraid the nargles cannot be easily controlled, especially to influence a Quidditch game. I’ve certainly never had any luck with it.” She turned back around and quickened her pace a bit more.

“Well, you’re no help, then,” one of the bullies said.

“Ginny, come on,” Hermione whispered, and the two of them ran over to intercept Luna. “Hey!” Hermione called to the bullies, “Just because you lost doesn’t mean you have to take it out on your own house-mates.”

“Oh, stay out of this, Granger,” the one boy said, a fourth-year she didn’t know.

“Why do you care, anyway? It wasn’t your team playing,” said the curly-haired fourth-year girl she saw before.

“But we’re Gryffindors. We don’t want to see Slytherin win either. At least it’s still between you and us for the cup, as badly as you flattened Hufflepuff last month.”

“Are you okay, Luna?” Ginny asked, catching up with her year-mate.

“Hello, Ginny,” Luna replied brightly. “I’m fine, although that match _was_ rather disappointing. But you know what they say: win or lose, there’s always pudding, right?”

“Um…I think that’s what _you_ say, Luna,” Ginny said awkwardly, shaking her head. She turned to her assailants and told them, “You know, it really doesn’t look good for any house if you don’t stick up for your own, so maybe you all should just lay off.”

“Thank you, Ginny,” Hermione agreed. “In Gryffindor, we at least know how to stick up for our friends.” However, from the glares they were getting, she didn’t think it would be that simple. She walked closer to her friends and said softly, “I still say you’d be better off taking this up with the teachers, Luna.”

Luna flashed her a sad smile. “I understand why you say that, Hermione,” she said, “but I don’t want to cause more trouble. We Ravenclaws are smart, you know. I’m sure they can find ways to cause trouble within the rules.”

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. That was a surprisingly cogent reply, coming from Luna. Was she having more trouble than she let on? Hermione didn’t really have a response to that, so she decided to try to find a creative solution. She wandered over to two of her other house-mates and asked, “Fred, George, can I get you two to back me up on something?”

* * *

Hermione stood outside the door to Ravenclaw Tower. Interestingly, there was no portrait here, only a solid door, which had no doorknob, but a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. She’d heard that there was also no password—just a riddle to be solved. That suited her well. It was time to make her move.

She gave the bullies a brief chance to have a change of heart. They were limited in how far they could go, but there were still a couple of incidents of them tormenting Luna verbally or with minor pranks over the next couple of days and even one of someone hiding some of her things.

“Scandalous!” Fred had said when Hermione explained the situation.

“A breach of basic pranksters’ etiquette,” George agreed. “Pranking should be kept lighthearted and not cruel, except when Slytherins are involved.”

To the extent that she condoned pranking at all, Hermione quite agreed, which was why she was here. She had sent Ginny to distract Luna so that she could attack the problem at its source. She knocked twice with the eagle knocker, and suddenly, the knocker spoke:

 

_“As I was going to St. Ives,_

_I met a man with seven wives._

_They couldn_ _’t carry all their cats,_

_And so they kept them in their sacks,_

_But each cat_ _’s seven kits they sold_

 _To chase seven rats from each ship_ _’s hold._

_And if each kit then had nine lives,_

_How many rats fled from St. Ives?_ _”_

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the knocker. The riddle was ambiguous and didn’t technically have enough information to solve it. If the traditional number of 343 cats was intended, then the answer should be 151,263, but even most Ravenclaws wouldn’t get that. Plus she knew the traditional solution of the riddle was to rethink your assumptions…

“Zero,” she answered. “The kits ate them all.”

“Cleverly reasoned,” the knocker said, and the door opened.

Hermione drew quite a few eyes when she walked into the Ravenclaw Common Room, wearing her red-trimmed Gryffindor robes.

“Hey, you’re in the wrong place,” one of the older students yelled at her.

“I’m just here for a visit,” she called back. She scanned the room. It was a cool, airy-looking place, with high ceilings and bookcases full of the more popular reference books so that the Ravenclaws wouldn’t monopolise the library so much. It was more elegant, but more impersonal that the cosy Gryffindor Common Room. As she looked, she found she was in luck. Her eyes rested on Luna’s roommates, the main instigators of her torment.

“I’m sorry to barge in here like this,” she continued, “but I wanted to help Luna Lovegood with the _issues_ she’s been having, and short of going to the teachers behind her back, this was the best way I could think of to handle it.”

There were some annoyed murmurs in the Common Room complaining that she was wasting their time as many people turned away and ignored her, and there were a couple of defiant shouts that “Loony” was nutters.

“Yes, I know Luna can be… _eccentric_ ,” Hermione said icily, “but I still consider her a friend. In fact, she’s not even my weirdest friend, and she’s quite caring in her own way. Now, I have noticed her consistently being singled out, berated, and outright bullied by members of her own house this year, and from what I hear, last year too. I don’t know what Professor Flitwick told you, but in Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall told us that your house is like your family, and family doesn’t do that to each other. I want it to stop.”

Hermione was getting a lot of looks, now—mostly annoyed and confused, but some intrigued or even worried. However, one of the second-years made the mistake of speaking up and saying, “Oh, yeah? And what’re _you_ gonna do about it, Granger? You’ve got no proof.”

Hermione smiled serenely. “No, but I do know several people in particular who I’ve seen giving Luna a hard time,” she said. _Including you_ , was clearly implied. “And if those people or anyone else continue to give her a hard time like that, I can, and will, sic the Weasley Twins on them.”

A shudder ran through the room. The girl who had confronted her and several of the other bullies paled and turned away without answering.

“Thank you for your time,” Hermione finished with a smile and quietly left the Common Room.

* * *

Amazingly enough, Luna had an easier time of it after that. _I guess it_ _’s true what the Americans say,_ Hermione thought. _Speak softly and carry a big wand._ She got back into the swing of things for the next few weeks—that is, until things started to go wrong again at the end of January.

It was a Thursday, and Hermione had a free period early while Harry was in Arithmancy and Ron was in Muggle Studies. She took the time to relax and fiddle a bit with geometry, and everything was fine until she went to Transfiguration, to which Lavender and Parvati had just come from Divination. Her two roommates were casting nervous glances at her the whole period and generally looking very solemn. At lunch, they kept this up until Hermione finally got fed up with it and confronted them.

“Okay, what is up with you two today?” she demanded. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Excuse me?” said Nearly-Headless Nick, who was floating by.

“Sorry, force of habit,” Hermione said, embarrassed.

“Oh, Hermione, you need to be really, really careful!” Parvati said.

“Yeah, something terrible’s gonna happen,” added Lavender.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“We were burning laurel leaves in Divination for pyromancy,” Parvati explained.

“And ours weren’t burning very well at all,” Lavender continued breathlessly. “And that’s a bad omen. They were crackling, and the flame was bending all around.”

“So of course, Professor Trelawney came over for a closer look,” said Parvati, “and just as she did, whoosh! The fire blew out, and there was this huge billow of smoke that spilt all over the table!”

They sat there, staring at her with wide eyes as if that should mean something to her. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“That means impending catastophe!”

Hermione sighed. She was really glad she hadn’t taken Divination, now. “It was probably just a draft caused by all those shawls she wears. Honestly, it’s a miracle she hasn’t caught fire herself, yet.”

“But that’s not the worst part,” Lavender said, not listening. “After the fire went out, the ashes fell into that weird long-S shape you’re always writing.”

“An integral sign?”

“That’s it! It was a warning for _you_ , Hermione.”

“I highly doubt that, Lavender. Even if it’s a real omen, the integral sign is a pretty simple shape. It’s probably just a coincidence.”

Parvati shook her head: “I don’t think so. The ashes show the subject of the prediction, and Professor Trelawney confirmed it herself. She says there’s grief and terror coming for you, and soon.”

“Coincidence!” Hermione insisted. “I think the dementors are getting to you. There’s certainly no reason for grief and terror to be coming for me in particular.”

“Just be careful, okay?” Lavender said.

“Okay, but I’m telling you, I’m going to be fine.”

Hermione was perfectly certain that nothing bad was about to happen, but at sunset, she was reminded of one thing that gnawed at the back of the mind for the rest of the night: tonight was the full moon. As much as she thought divination wasn’t worth more than her horoscope in the _Times_ , she’d feel better tomorrow when the sun rose and she could see if Professor Lupin was alright.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter has finite length, but JK Rowling’s world has infinite volume.

The next day, in yet another unpleasant lesson, Professor Snape informed them that Professor Lupin was ill again, but would recover. No grief or terror in sight.

“Ya reckon Snape’s doin’ something to him?” Ron said the day after that after Hermione bugged the boys to work on their Defence homework. “Everyone knows he wants the job.”

Harry stared as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I dunno,” he said worriedly, “but I think Lupin did say something about getting potions from Snape once. You’d think Dumbledore wouldn’t let him get away with it, though.”

“I don’t get it. It’s like he’s sick every month.”

Hermione tutted to herself in frustration. Could the entire school really be that thick? She’d figured it out a month in, and yet now it was the end of January, and no one else would admit to suspecting Lupin. The only thing she could figure was that everyone who was prejudiced against werewolves refused to believe that Dumbledore would hire one, and those who weren’t were keeping his confidence just like she was, but that seemed like a leaky ship as far as the other muggle-borns were concerned.

“And what are you tutting at us for now?” Ron demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

“Yes you were. I’m seriously getting worried about Lupin. Something’s wrong with him.”

“Augh. He has a condition that lays him up every few weeks,” she said. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Or that’s what Snape wants us to think.”

“Ron, I don’t like Snape any more that you do, but it’s obvious he’s right on this one.”

“Obvious to _you_ , maybe. Care to explain it to us mere mortals?”

Hermione glared at him. It seemed like every full moon there were times she wanted to just tell the secret and rant about how oblivious everyone was being, but she couldn’t do that. “You know what? No,” she said. Ron’s and Harry’s jaws both dropped. “Not this time. If you can’t figure it out on your own, I’m not going to help you.”

“Um…are you okay, Hermione?” Harry said to this sudden change in behaviour.

“I’m fine, Harry. I just think you need to do your own problem solving for a change…I need to get to my meeting with Professor Vector.” She gathered up her books to go. “Don’t skive off while I’m gone,” she added, knowing full well that they probably would.

Professor Vector noticed her mood at once when she arrived. “Something wrong, Hermione?” she asked.

“Nothing, Professor…” she answered. “It’s just that…how can everyone be so clueless about Professor Lupin?”

By now, Vector showed no surprise that Hermione knew this secret. “If you’ve done your research, as usual, you should know already,” she answered. “Werewolves are outcasts in magical society. They’re feared because of their contagion, and many people believe—unfairly—that they are vicious and amoral even in human form. Hiring a werewolf to teach would be so unthinkable to many people that they can’t imagine anyone else would think it either. After all, Professor Lupin was the only werewolf to ever come here as a student, at least in my lifetime, and no other students ever figured it out, except perhaps his closest friends. They’ll search for any other explanation that satisfies them first…I do hope you haven’t discussed this with any of your fellow students.”

“Of course not, ma’am. I already told Professor Lupin I’d keep it a secret. I just can’t believe nobody else has figured it out yet.”

“Well, if there’s one position with which I agree with Professor Snape, it’s that far too many witches and wizards are lacking in logic,” Vector said. “In any case, let us begin. I’m finding your non-Euclidean geometry course to be more and more interesting. I admit I’ve only seen the most basic of geometric applications of vectors and matrices beyond strict linear algebra.”

 _Likely because arithmancy is about a century behind muggle maths,_ Hermione thought. “It’s definitely interesting,” she said. “Right now, the only application that comes to my mind is for more rigidly-controlled extension charms, but I’m sure there are others.”

“Hmm…perhaps. I suspect that the ability to mathematically anchor linear transformations in physical space could do interesting things for many areas of magical art and craftsmanship. Reading ahead a bit, I think some of the material on projective geometry could be worth a paper along those lines.”

“Huh. I’ll have to take a close look at that.”

Affine and projective geometry were just two of the half dozen forms of geometry covered in the book, each of them generalised versions of traditional Euclidean geometry that could be characterised (in some ways) by what your were allowed to do in them. In Euclidean geometry, the only kind most people ever learnt, two shapes were considered the same if one could be turned into the other by some combination of moving it, turning it, and flipping it—or translation, rotation, and reflection, to use the technical terms—just as if they were rigid physical objects.

In affine geometry, any affine transformation was allowed. Affine transformations included all of the linear transformations she learnt about last term, plus translations. With affine transformations, any triangle could be turned into any other triangle, for example, but straight lines stayed straight, parallel lines stayed parallel, and proportions along a line also stayed the same.

Projective geometry was a little more complicated. It had some weird concepts like parallel lines meeting at a “line at infinity,” but projective transformations could be thought of in terms of a point light source projecting an image from one screen onto another screen, except that in this perfect mathematical abstract, the two screens could be at any angle and any position, even behind the light source. In linear algebra terms, this just turned out to be a three-dimensional linear transformation. In projective geometry, straight lines still stayed straight, but proportions didn’t stay the same. Also, parallel lines didn’t stay parallel since they were said to meat at infinity, and in projective geometry, any quadrilateral could turn into any other, and any conic section—a circle, ellipse, parabola, or hyperbola—could turn into any other, making it much more versatile.

But for now, they were focusing on the basics of affine geometry. “There was something very interesting that I noticed in the book, ma’am,” Hermione said.

“Oh, what was that?” Vector asked.

“The book mentioned in passing that a lot of fractals are self-similar under affine transformations, not Euclidean ones. I never really noticed that before, but it’s true. Certainly a lot of natural fractals like ferns are like that. Of course, parts of the Mandelbrot Set are only projective self-similar, at best—”

“Whoa, slow down, there, Hermione,” Vector interrupted. “You’re getting out of my field. I have only a vague understanding of what a fractal is.”

“Oh, right, I should have realised. Most of the field of fractal geometry was invented in the twentieth century, and so much of it is computer driven…It’s really too bad, Professor. Fractal geometry is some of the most beautiful maths there is. I’ll have to see if I can find a good book on the subject.”

“I’m sure I would enjoy that,” Vector said with a smile. “So a fractal is…some kind of branching structure, like a fern or a snowflake?”

“Oh, no, no, it’s much more general than that. Um…” Hermione tried to think what the best example would be to get her point across. “Here, look at this. I draw an equilateral triangle. Then, I remove the middle fourth like this.” She grabbed a piece of parchment and marked off a triangle with her quill. Then, she drew a second, smaller triangle between the midpoints of the first and shaded it in, leaving three similar triangles around it. “Then, I remove the middle fourth of each of the remaining three triangles.” She repeated the process, leaving nine even smaller triangles joined at their corners. “Then I do it again.” She quickly shaded in the middle of each of those nine triangles as well. “And in principle, you repeat the process _ad infinitum_ , although the triangles are invisibly small after a few steps, so it doesn’t matter. Then, if you look, any part of the picture—” She circled one of the three medium-sized triangles. “—looks like a smaller version of the whole thing. _That_ _’s_ the definition of a fractal. This one is called the Sierpinski Triangle.”

“I see,” Vector said with interest. “And so ferns, trees, and snowflakes are like natural fractals because they branch in such a way that each part of them resembles the whole.”

“That’s right, ma’am. There’s a lot of other fractals more interesting than this one, though. And they tend to have weird properties. Well, I’m sure you can see that with each step—each iteration—the area of the triangle decreases by a fourth, and the perimeter increases by half. So if the process is continued to infinity, the true Sierpinski Triangle has an area of zero, but its perimeter is infinite!”

Professor Vector actually turned pale at that revelation. “Hermione,” she said, “I think I should warn you to exercise great caution in this field. Arithmancers who dabble in infinities like this have a tendency to go insane.”

Hermione giggled inappropriately, remembering the apocryphal story that Georg Cantor’s proofs of unequal infinities slowly drove him out of his mind. “Don’t worry, ma’am,” she assured her teacher. “Muggle mathematicians have been doing this for decades. I’ll be fine.”

Vector, however, was not too keen on the subject. “It sounds very interesting,” she said, “but I think I’m going to have to build up a tolerance for the impossible slowly.” Moving on, they had a very productive conversation about the applications of affine geometry over a cup of tea. It was only when they were wrapping up that, on a whim, Hermione asked the question that would haunt her for months afterwards.

“This may sound a bit strange, ma’am, but why do the dementors wear those hoods? Is it their uniform or something?”

The colour drained from her teacher’s face, and she suddenly became very cold and standoffish. “Miss Granger,” she said, “we really need to have a talk about how you gravitate to these morbid topics. That is really something you’re better off not knowing.”

“Better off not knowing?” Hermione said incredulously. Rarely was there any such thing, in her opinion. “Is it really that bad, what they look like under there?”

“It’s not what they look like,” Vector said with some hesitancy. “In point of fact, I don’t know what they look like, myself, and I don’t particularly care to. There aren’t really any good descriptions…Those aren’t really cloaks the dementors are wearing. What look like cloaks and hoods are actually a part of their…bodies—although since dementors are spirits, you can’t talk about them having bodies in the normal sense. The point is, they leave their hoods up by choice. Very few people have ever seen what’s under them, and only a tiny minority of those were in a condition to describe it afterwards.”

“Why is that, ma’am?”

She sighed: “That, Hermione, is the part that you’re better off not knowing.”

“Professor, that’s not really working,” she insisted. “Now you’re just making me curious.”

Vector turned stern: “Miss Granger, as a scholar I very rarely say this, but you should not ask questions you do not want to know the answers to.”

“Well, I can’t exactly know I don’t until I hear it, can I?” she shot back. Vector said nothing. “How bad can it be, Professor? Do they have killer eyes like the basilisk? Turn you to stone? Erase memories or cause brain damage?”

“No, no, no,” Vector stopped her over-eager student’s speculating. “It’s worse than _any_ of those.”

“ _Worse?_ How can it be worse?” Hermione demanded. “Ma’am, I’m sure I can find a resource somewhere that explains it. If it’s as bad as you say, I’m sure Professor Snape would _love_ to tell me.”

It was a low blow, but it worked. As much as it hurt, Vector couldn’t stomach the thought of Hermione learning the darkest secrets of the magical world from Severus. “Alright, alright. I expect we’ll both regret this, but I’ll tell you…The only time a dementor lowers its hood is to perform…the Dementor’s Kiss.” She gave a small shudder at the words.

“The Dementor’s Kiss?” Hermione said. That sounded disgusting just from what she already knew about dementors, and yet so much more ominous as well.

“Yes, the Dementor’s Kiss.” Vector actually looked slightly ill as she described it. “They have some kind of mouth or jaws, which they clamp over the victim’s mouth, and they…they suck out the victim’s soul.”

There was a long silence that stretched on as Hermione blinked and stared in confusion, trying to make sense of those words. They were all but gibberish to her. She had no points of reference that made sense from which to interpret them. “Suck out the victim’s soul?” she said. “How can you say…? What does that do…? What does that even _mean_?”

“It means exactly what it says,” Vector said softly. “The victim’s soul is…gone. Their body is left as an empty shell—alive, but with no awareness, certainly no mind, no more than reflexive responses to stimuli. I think the muggles call it “brain dead.” It requires intensive Healer’s care to keep it alive, and there’s really no use for that because there’s no hope of recovery. The victim’s soul is forever lost.”

Hermione still didn’t understand that—or rather she didn’t _want_ to understand. She didn’t want to believe it. She tried to stop her mind from making the connections, but she could never do that. Her brain traitorously laid the facts bare before her, and at once, the crushing existential horror came down hard on her almost as if there were a dementor right there in the room.

_Dementors can suck out people_ _’s souls._

_DEMENTORS can suck out people_ _’s SOULS._

_DEMENTORS CAN SUCK OUT PEOPLE_ _’S SOULS!_

Septima Vector watched with worry as her favourite student sat still as a statue as she digested the horrible truth. There were times when she forgot that Hermione was still, at heart, a very sensitive young girl, but today, remembering that fact hadn’t helped her. She was too tenacious to let it go. The face under those bushy locks grew more and more fearful and turned chalk white, then changed again to a sickly grey-green colour.

“Hermione?” Vector asked.

Hermione said nothing, but her hands started visibly shaking, and she let out a low, almost imperceptible moan.

“ _Hermione_?” Vector said worriedly. She started to rise from her seat.

 _I was wrong_ , Hermione thought. _She was right, and I was wrong. I_ was _better off not knowing_ _…_ Suddenly, an instinctive feeling made her leap from her seat and rush to the door, but instead of bolting from the room, she leaned over the rubbish bin, retched, and promptly lost her lunch.

“ _Hermione_!” Vector cried. She rushed to her side, holding out a hand to support her and pulling her hair out of her face with the other. Hermione retched several more times until she was left with nothing but knots in her gut and a scratchy feeling in her throat.

“Oh, Hermione,” Vector said sadly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to warn you.” Drawing her wand, she conjured a rag for Hermione to wipe her face and vanished the contents of the bin.

“No, I’m sorry, I should have listened,” Hermione mumbled. She was shaking on her feet.

“Probably yes, but knowing you, I think it was sadly inevitable,” Vector sighed. She summoned the two chairs over to them so they could both sit down. “These are very dark truths that would be hard for anyone to learn. I can’t say I really know how to help, but—but I’m here for you.

Hermione plopped down hard in her chair. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

Vector had rarely seen someone take such a nasty turn so quickly. Hermione was staring down at the floor, her hair falling into her eyes, her skin still pale, and her hands shaking as she clutched the rag between them. Her breath was wracked with quiet sobs. Vector could only guess that it was because she was muggle-born and hadn’t been raised with knowledge of the dark side of magic that she was taking it so poorly.

But then, slowly, Hermione raised her eyes, and amid the tears streaming down her face, the storm of emotions in those eyes, there was something more than horror or even grief—something that made Vector quail: hatred. Hatred such as she had only seen from the girl—maybe—when Lockhart had tried to wipe her memory. “P-professor…” she said in a quavering voice, trying to force her tongue to obey, “ _why_ are those monstrosities allowed to exist? Why haven’t they just killed them all already?”

Vector was taken aback. She didn’t _like_ dementors. Few civilised people did. If there were one species the world would be better off without, it was almost certainly dementors, but to hear the words from the sweet Hermione Granger’s mouth was startling. Still, she answered the best she could: “Well, the simple answer is that they’re not technically _alive_. The dementors…they’re like a fungus, essentially. They grow wherever there is magical decay, and they wither away when they’re cut off from the sources of that decay. It _is_ possible to starve them out, but…there are something like two thousand dementors in Azkaban—one of the largest populations in the world thanks to the mad dark wizard who built the place. Kept there, fed on a trickle of sustenance from the worst of criminals, they’re contained. If the Minstry tried to starve them all, which could take years, they could have a fight on their hands—a fight that no one wants to have. Worse, the dementors are as likely to go for Scandinavia or the Low Countries as they are England. There’s strong international pressure to maintain the status quo.

“And so you make a literal deal with the devil,” Hermione concluded. “There must be another way.”

“To destroy them? No. No spell or physical blow has ever been seen to ‘kill’ one. The Patronus Charm only repels them. And reforms to Azkaban have never seen much popular support anyway, like it or not. But honestly, Hermione, are you alright? Do you think you should go to the Infirmary? You’re acting really…unusual.”

“Do I _look_ like I’m alright?” she snapped. “I’m having an existential crisis, here! I don’t think Madam Pomfrey can help with that!”

“I know—I know this is disturbing,” Vector said calmingly, “but it’s perfectly safe here in the castle. It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad?!” Hermione cried. “Did you even hear what you said a minute ago? I’ve never been all that religious, Professor—Christmas and Easter and a few times a year besides that, you know? But now you’re telling me that immortal souls definitely exist, but they’re _not actually immortal?_!”

Vector leaned back a bit. She’d finally got at the root of the problem. Christianity wasn’t common in the wizarding world—or wizarding _Europe_ , to be more precise. They’d made a pretty clean break in the days of the Inquisition, but it had been slowly and quietly reintroduced by muggle-borns over the ensuing centuries. Nearly all wizards _did_ believe in an afterlife, though. There was enough evidence—rumours of the Veil and such—and in that light, the idea that a soul could be…snuffed out like that…well, most people tried to think about it as little as possible. For Hermione, it had to be even worse. In a culture where the by-phrase was “immortal soul,” the very _possibility_ called all her beliefs into question, even ones she hadn’t paid much attention until now.

It was no use lying to her. “Honestly, we don’t know,” Vector said apologetically. Hermione seemed confused. “People generally believe that the Dementor’s Kiss destroys the soul,” she continued, “but that’s little more than a guess based on what we can actually see. It’s entirely possible that the soul survives, but is trapped in the dementor’s “body.” Or that the soul is wrenched from the body and sent on wherever it’s supposed to go, unseen. There’s just no way to know for sure.”

Hermione finally started to calm down. She wiped her eyes and said, “there’s no way to test it, ma’am? Even with magic?”

“How? By cutting open a dementor to see what’s inside? Even if it’s possible, I wouldn’t want to be the one to try it.”

“Well, someone should do _something_ , shouldn’t they?” she demanded. “I _think_ the distinction is kind of important, isn’t it? I mean, think about it. If the Dementor’s Kiss just “wrenches the soul from the body,” then they’re only dark creatures on the level of a basilisk. But if they can actually destroy a soul, then their very existence is an abomination against God!”

Vector held up her hands: “I’m sorry. I’m not disagreeing with you, but even if you find people who agree on your theology…or philosophy…there’s simply not much call for any research into those questions. The only people to have regular contact with dementors are the prisoners in Azkaban and a few Aurors, and they’re contained well enough that until recently, the question of the Dementor’s Kiss was mostly academic.”

“Until recently?” Hermione said worriedly.

Vector silently cursed her big mouth, but it was too late to back out now: “When Azkaban Prison was founded, they put the law on the books is that the punishment for escaping was the Dementor’s Kiss—”

“You mean the Ministry actually _uses_ it?” Hermione cried.

“Not normally, but it was pragmatic. Anyone who can break out of Azkaban once can probably do it again, and no one’s been able to replicate whatever Grindelwald did at Nurmengard. I admit it might be better to make it an ordinary execution, but since no one’s ever broken out of Azkaban until now, no one ever bothered to change it.”

Hermione took a deep breath, mostly mollified on that point. “So that’s what they’ll do to Sirius Black, then?”

Vector nodded: “Unless someone intervenes on his behalf, and I can’t imagine anyone would. Granted, from what I’ve heard, the Minister sounds just a little too eager about it. He’s been pushing the Wizengamot give the dementors a Kiss on Sight order against Black.”

“Kiss on Sight? They can do that?”

“You know Black’s dangerous. You know what he did the last time he was cornered. The dementors are immune to anything he could throw at them, and if they can act on their own, they might actually save some lives for once.”

“Tsk. I understand deadly force, ma’am, but there’s a difference between deadly force in defence of others and a summary execution. Every muggle knows that.”

“Perhaps, but now you’re getting into politics, and I think you’ve had more than your share of worry for the day. If there’s anything else I can do to help you, I will, but I really think you should go to Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught and get some rest.”

“Th-thank you, Professor, but I think I can manage,” she said shakily. “I think I might just grab a bite and go to bed early or something.”

“Very well. I do hope you’re feeling better on Monday.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione packed up and walked, still a little unsteadily, out of the room. “Calming Draught,” she muttered to herself. “I’m not twelve years old anymore.” However, she later had second thoughts about it when she got to dinner because she realised that her stomach was still tied up in knots. She had no appetite at all despite having lost her lunch, and she ate only slowly and mechanically out of habit. She brushed off any and all questions from her friends about whether she was okay.

She probably would have made it through more or less alright, though, except that she happened to catch the eye of Luna Lovegood, who smiled and waved at her. Suddenly, she remembered that day back in November when Luna had confided to her her absolute faith that she would see her mother again someday, and Hermione started to feel sick again. She couldn’t push the thought out of her mind, no matter how hard she tried. Even though the odds were astronomical that a girl as sweet as Luna would ever run afoul of dementors, even if the true nature of the Kiss was uncertain, just the possibility that such a thing as a soul-eating demon existed the world…her mind refused to think it.

She pushed her plate away sharply. “I’m really not hungry right now,” she said. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” And with that, she rushed from the Great Hall. A few minutes later found her curled up tight in her bed with the curtains closed. She continued to refuse all questions from her roommates when they returned, only pleading with them to leave her alone, and so help her, if Lavender and Parvati said _one word_ about that prediction from Divination Class, she would Bat-Bogey Hex them.

She didn’t get much sleep that night.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling is irrevocably quantum entangled with Harry Potter.
> 
> The Double Cluster as seen through an eighteen-inch reflector is probably my all-time favourite astronomical sight. Definitely check it out if you get a chance.

“Linked runes,” Professor Babbling said in the class on Monday. “Pairs or groups of runes may be magically linked by spells or by other runes for any number of effects. Most advanced enchanting requires runes with multiple types of links. To name a few simple examples, linking multiple identical runes can strengthen a spell or apply it over a wider area. Linking different runes can chain multiple spells together one after another. This is especially important for warding, where breaches in the wards should trigger multiple effects including defensive spells and notifying the owner of the property. Another common example is that linked communications runes in a rune stone network can allow the entire network to be controlled from the anchor stones and can transmit information about the entire network…”

Several people in the class were staring at a strange sight as Babbling spoke: Ron Weasley was eagerly taking notes on the lecture, while Hermione Granger was staring sleepily and halfheartedly jotting down only the essential points. No one, not even her friends, had been able to coax out of her what had so upset her over the weekend, but she had clearly not slept much and had not been able to focus if how long it took her to finish her homework was any indication. Lavender and Parvati hadn’t seen her like that since her breakdown in first year, and that it had come up so suddenly was very worrying, but when they pressed her, she would only say that they didn’t want to know and then yell at them to go away. They were lucky that she honoured their longstanding agreement to go to bed on time, since they feared her newfound hexing skills, but they could tell she wasn’t sleeping much even after she went to bed.

“Now we’ll only be covering the simplest method of linking runes for now. It’s really only useful for testing purposes, but it’ll be a good introduction for later on.” Babbling wrote out a spell on the board, _Bliviklet_ , with a complicated wand movement. “As you can see, this is already some of the most complicated wand work you will have come across in your studies because the spell must be cast on both runes. To wit, this spell must be cast on an identical pair of runes and creates what is known as an entangled pair. In such a pair, any action on one of the runes is instantly replicated on the other, so if it is a rune to cast a spell, triggering one will trigger both. However, this simple entanglement fails when the runes are damaged. If one of rune is broken or erased, then both of them are.”

Despite her sleep-deprived state, Hermione’s ears pricked up. That sounded an awful lot like quantum entanglement. She wondered idly if the maths would turn out to be similar if she dug into the arithmancy.

“Entangled pairs can be useful for simple defensive or monitoring systems—for example, a monitor rune can notify you through its partner when it is broken, just like a ward line, albeit a temporary one. But this is largely academic because everything they can do can be done with more stable and flexible spells, often incorporating more than two runes,” Babbling concluded. “However, I hope that it will show you the potential of these techniques and prepare you for more advanced ones later on.”

No, not quite like quantum entanglement, then, Hermione decided. Quantum entanglement by itself couldn’t actually transmit information. But the mechanics of tying runes together like that _was_ interesting. And Ron continued to surprise her by agreeing with that sentiment.

“It’s really cool how you can make runes do all kinds of stuff just with one anchor stone,” he said. “I mean, d’you remember that room of defensive runes Babbling made in first year? Those looked like they really put up a fight.”

“Mm hmm,” Hermione answered wearily. “In some ways, it looks a lot like a crude, organic form of computer programming, which is interesting because that means wizards have been doing it for centuries longer than muggles, even though it still looks pretty rudimentary. What would really interest me is if you could use modern numerical methods to make runes do arithmancy at high speeds.”

“Oh boy, as if you aren’t scary enough already,” Ron joked. “The last thing we need is you doing arithmancy even faster.”

Hermione glared at him.

“Okay, seriously, Hermione, what’s wrong?” he said, noticing her short temper. “You’ve been acting weird since Saturday. You didn’t have a fight with Vector, did you?”

A fight with Vector? She could almost laugh. “No, Ronald,” she huffed. “I’ve just got some things I need to work out for myself.” And before he could respond, she quickened her pace and walked away.

* * *

People continued to notice Hermione’s precarious mental state, though. “Okay, Hermione, we’re all getting really worried about you. What’s the matter?” Cedric said at the study group the next day.

“I…I…nothing,” she stammered. “I just…I need to deal with some stuff.”

“You shouldn’t hide it though,” Alicia said. “You can tell us what’s going on.”

“You really don’t want to know, Alicia. Besides, I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“No, you won’t,” she insisted. “Not at the rate you’re going. You clearly aren’t sleeping, and you know how you break down when that happens.”

“Seriously,” Roger chimed in, “what’s got you so upset all of a sudden?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she closed herself off. “Come on, you need help with those polynomial functions, right?” She roughly opened up her textbook.

Cedric reached out a hand and gently took hold of her wrist. “Hermione, you don’t have to do this alone,” he said. “If you want to keep whatever’s going on with you private, that’s fine, but we want to help you if we can.”

Hermione blushed, and her breath hitched at the contact. She really didn’t want to make this about how she felt or didn’t feel about Cedric right now. Yet she stopped and considered: her study group friends were two years ahead of her, and Cedric’s father told him a lot from the Ministry. Maybe… “I…I wasn’t trying to hide it,” she said, staring down at her book. “I was trying to spare you the horror. You see, last weekend I let my curiosity get the better of me, and I convinced Professor Vector to tell me about the Dementor’s Kiss.”

Cedric drew back and nodded knowingly: “Ahhh…dark business that…And you look like you’re taking it pretty hard. I know some people are more sensitive to dementors than others. Is there anything we can do?”

She cracked and let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know,” she choked out. “I know I’ve barely even had contact with those… _things_ , but even so, every time I close my eyes, now, I see…” She stopped and shuddered. “I don’t know why it’s hurting me so much—I just think there’s something wrong with the world I’m living in when something like dementors exist, much less work with the Ministry.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s _that_ bad,” Roger said. “I mean, I don’t _like_ them, but I feel better knowing they’re guarding Azkaban.”

“They’re not exactly doing a good job, are they?”

“One escape in three hundred years? That’s not such a bad record. You’re just worried because they’re hanging around here. You’ll feel better once they get Black and get out of here.”

Hermione sighed again. “It’s not that they’re here on the grounds. It’s the principle of the thing. In every muggle story I’ve ever read, making a bargain with the soul-sucking demon never ends well.”

“Yeah, but muggles never get magic quite right,” Alicia dismissed her.

She glared at her. Did _nobody_ understand around here? “Are you saying you _don_ _’t_ have a problem making a bargain with the soul-sucking demons?”

“You don’t have to get snippy about it. We gotta do something with them, don’t we?”

“My dad’s explained it,” Cedric added. “It’s not ideal, but it’s the safest way to contain the dementors without hurting too many people.”

Hermione wasn’t convinced of that. No matter what the wizards said, the well-cultivated sense of justice her parents had instilled in her was still there in the back of her mind. In her heart, she still believed that the dementors of Azkaban would someday be seen—at best—like the debtors’ prisons and whipping posts of the previous century. But she was too tired to argue right now. “Let’s just get to work,” she said. “I need to get through this stuff, and I have Astronomy tonight, Arithmancy first thing tomorrow—I can’t deal with this right now, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Roger said.

“Just…try to take care of yourself,” Alicia added.

“Yes, please,” Cedric agreed. “Uh, look, I know this probably isn’t something you want to hear, but I just want to raise the possibility—If this is really hurting you that much, you might have the option to have the knowledge Obliviated.”

“ _What?! No_!” Hermione cried. “I’d _never_ do _that_. Besides, it won’t change the truth, and I’d probably dig up the information again anyway.”

“Okay, I thought you’d say that,” he replied. “I just wanted to make sure you knew about it.”

Hermione nodded weakly. “Thank you, Cedric, but that’s a line I’m not going to cross.” She got on with her work and made some progress, but she was still terribly out of whack. She still wasn’t very hungry for dinner, and she had to push herself for most of the evening to finish her homework, neither of which was a good sign. She said nothing as the class trudged up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. As tired as she was, she still wasn’t particularly sleepy—nightmares tended to do that to a person. But what she saw when they reached the roof _did_ catch her attention.

Professor Sinistra had set up one of the largest telescopes she had ever seen in person on the roof. It had what looked like an eighteen-inch mirror and would have stood eight feet tall if pointed to the zenith, needing a stepladder to reach the eyepiece, though it was currently pointed low to the east. Even Zacharias Smith was interested in this piece of optical technology.

Sinistra herself stood with a lantern showing a soft, white light, unlike her usual red, and she soon explained why: “Good evening, class. I’ve arranged a special treat for tonight. I finally managed to get good photographs from the muggles’ Hubble Space Telescope. I know that a number of you have disbelieved my claims about this flying telescope, so I’m going to do my best to prove it to you. The muggles have photos of many objects in the deep sky—star clusters, nebulae, and galaxies—but this is the one they’re advertising most and is one of the best.” She held up a poster-sized photo in the low light—one that looked like several blurry blobs.

“This is a photo of the centre of the galaxy Messier 100 using the old, faulty mirror,” she explained, “and _this_ is the new photo using the corrected mirror.” She swapped the picture with another one, where the blurs became sharp outlines of bluish, spiral-shaped clouds, spangled all through with stars, with a yellow glow in the middle. It was beautiful, Hermione thought, and to her delight, she wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Wow, that’s really neat.” “I’ve never seen anything like _that_.” “That’s really in the sky?”

“Yes, it’s quite real,” Professor Sinistra said. “And there’s more. This is an image of a larger part of the galaxy.” She swapped photos again. The small spiral proved to be just a part of a much larger swirl of starry clouds that was even more impressive.

“Is it broken? Why is there a bite out of the picture?” someone asked.

“There isn’t. That’s just how the camera is shaped.”

“Why’d they make a camera like that?”

Sinistra hesitated, not being familiar with the finer points of digital astrophotography, so Hermione raised her hand. “It’s really four cameras that do different things,” she said. Her parents had sent some information about it in their last letter. “If you look close, you can see the border between the pictures.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Sinistra said. “Now, Messier 100 happens to be in the sky now.” She motioned in the direction the large telescope was pointing. “This telescope will allow us to see it much better than we could with our small telescopes. However, I warn you that it will not be as impressive as it is in the photos. The Hubble Space Telescope takes very long exposures to make these pictures. However, I do have a way to improve the view somewhat. I very rarely do this, but this is a special occasion.”

At this, she put the red filter on her lantern—the one Hermione had charmed extra-red—and she held up a tray of tiny glasses filled with some kind of liquid, something like communion glasses. “This is a high-quality Night Vision Potion,” Sinistra explained. “Its effects are two-fold. First, it locks your eyes into their sensitive night vision state for a short period, instead of requiring many minutes to adapt and being easily ruined by bright light. And second, it magically dilates your pupils wider than is normally possible—to the full width of your irises, thus maximising your ability to see faint light. I add that it’s a potion that should be used sparingly, as excessive exposure can cause vision problems. And most importantly, while the potion takes effect, your eyes will not be able to adjust to bright light, and the effect is not pleasant. Therefore, anyone producing anything but red light before it wears off will be strictly disciplined. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Professor Sinistra,” everyone said.

Hermione drank the small dose of potion. It didn’t taste too unpleasant, but it caused a prickling sensation in her eyes. She guessed her sleep deprivation wasn’t helping her reaction. But then, she looked up and gasped in awe, along with most of the rest of the class. There were three times as many stars as she had ever seen before. The sight brought tears to her eyes. Oh, if only there were a way for the eyes to adapt like this naturally. The human eye was such an imperfect instrument for seeing the magic of the universe. Viewing Messier 100 through the telescope, it didn’t look like much, but it was more impressive than any galaxy she had seen before. The spiral structure was clearly visible in the wisps of starry clouds. Professor Sinistra then moved on to other interesting objects in the winter sky—a host of other galaxies displayed similar swirls. The Orion Nebula was phenomenal. The great globular cluster Messier 13 was a shimmering swarm of stars. But Hermione’s favourite had to be the Double Cluster in Perseus. The two groups of young stars looked like a handful of diamonds scattered across the field of view even with normal eyes and looked phenomenal tonight.

At the end, it was unanimously agreed that that was the best astronomy class ever. Hermione actually slept well that night. She would have been well-rested the next day if she hadn’t had to stay up until half past two to do it.

Unfortunately, the cold light of day and her persistent weariness brought her anxieties back. She even considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a Pepperup Potion on the pretence of having stayed up late last night for Astronomy, but she knew it was a temporary solution. It couldn’t be used long term, and she had no idea when or how she would be able to get out of the rut she was in.

Then, on Thursday, things grew even worse.

* * *

“Explain Why Muggles Need Electricity,” Ron said, looking over his Muggle Studies homework. “Well, obviously because they don’t have magic. How else can they get anything done?” He started to put his quill to the parchment, but Hermione stopped him.

“Honestly, Ron, you should know better than that by now,” she scolded. “Muggles didn’t even have electricity until a little over a hundred years ago, and we got on just fine then.”

He raised an eyebrow: “We?”

“We—they—muggle society, I mean. I’m still half a part of that. The point is, muggles got on just fine for most of their history without electricity.”

“So you’re saying they _don_ _’t_ actually need it?” he queried.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. So much of muggle society runs on electricity now—so much of their technology—a lot of us— _them_ couldn’t survive without it.”

“So they actually couldn’t _live_ without it?” Ron said in surprise.

“A lot couldn’t. Many muggles rely on muggle medicine—healing—that requires electricity—just like Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t be able to do very much without magic. And we rely on electricity for warmth. Building a fire would work, too, but electricity so reliable that a lot of new muggle houses don’t have fireplaces. So you could say we— _they_ have _made_ themselves dependent on it in a similar way to how wizards are dependent on magic.”

“But why?”

“Well, electricity allows a lot more muggles to live in one place than they could otherwise. Being dependent on it is the price they pay for so many of us— _them_ to—”

“Hermione. _You_ _’re_ a witch. _They_ _’re_ muggles, remember?” Ron teased her.

Before she could retort, Ginny said from nearby, “Hi, Harry. How was your lesson?”

Ron and Hermione looked up to see Harry enter the Common Room, seemingly lost in thought.

“Er, it was good, Ginny,” he said when he snapped out of it. “Professor Lupin says I’m prepared to repel real dementors if they show up at another Quidditch match, so I’ll be good to play again on Saturday.

“Oh, Harry, that’s great!” Ginny said, jumping up and hugging him. Hermione got up and hugged him lightly, and Ron high-fived him and slapped him on the back. The entire Quidditch team soon joined in celebrating the good news, but even so, through it all, Hermione noticed that Harry looked subdued and lost in thought.

“Harry, what is it?” Hermione asked, sitting down next to him. “Did Professor Lupin tell you something else?”

“Er, yeah,” he said cagily. “I, uh, asked him what was under a dementor’s hood.”

Hermione gasped: “You did? He told you about the Dementor’s Kiss, then?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

She leaned closer to him and whispered, “Professor Vector told me last weekend. Are you okay? I haven’t been able to sleep all week.”

His eyes widened with recognition. “ _That_ _’s_ what you’re so upset about?” he whispered back. “It’s not _that_ bad, though. I mean, it’s really creepy, yeah, but the only person getting Kissed is Sirius Black, and he deserves it.”

“Harry! How can you say that?” she blurted.

Harry looked surprised, and then hurt. His expression turned hard, and he said, “He betrayed my parents, _remember_?”

Hermione deflated a little: “I know, Harry, but do you really think he deserves… _that_?”

He gave her kind of a twisted smile: “That’s what Professor Lupin said. But some people deserve it—for some things.”

“What’re you talking about?” Ginny said as she and Ron rejoined them.

“The Dementor’s Kiss,” Harry said. “It’s what they’re gonna do to Sirius Black when they find him.”

“Harry!” Hermione cried.

“What’s the Dementor’s Kiss?” Ginny asked.

“You don’t want to know,” she told her.

“No, really, what is it?”

“No, really, you _don_ _’t_ want to know.”

“You’re not gonna keep me out of this, are you?”

“Or me?” Ron added.

“They’re gonna—” Harry started.

“Harry, don’t tell them!” Hermione said. “I don’t know why you don’t have a problem with it, but it’s been driving me mad all week. You don’t need to worry them about it.”

“Oh, come on, Hermione. It can’t be that bad,” Ron said.

“Yes it can! Did you not hear the ‘been driving me mad all week’ part?”

“Yeah, but you’re you.”

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Well, you always get carried away about everything.”

“Do not.”

“It’s kinda true,” Ginny said flatly.

“Is not. And you still don’t want to know.”

“Harry, just tell us.”

“They’re gonna—”

“Harry!” Hermione interrupted again.

“Hermione, just let it go,” Ginny said.

“Augh! They’re gonna suck out his soul, okay?” Hermione nearly shouted.

Ron and Ginny both grew quiet and drew back a little. “Ohhh…” they said.

“That’s it?” she asked. “Just “Ohhh’?”

The two Weasleys looked at each other and then Ginny shrugged her shoulders. “Well, he deserves it,” she said.

“Ginny!”

“What? You think he doesn’t?”

“I…I don’t think _anyone_ deserves that,” Hermione insisted.

“Why not?” asked Ron in annoyance. “You know what he did—what he did to Harry’s parents, what he did to Pettigrew and all those other people.”

“Don’t remind me,” she muttered. “I know what he did, but in the wizarding world _and_ the muggle world. You don’t go mucking about with souls. It’s just not done.”

“I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” Harry said. “Black’s gonna get what’s coming to him.”

“I don’t get why you’re _not_ making such a big deal out of this. This isn’t about Black. Do you not get the existential horror of soul-sucking demons?”

“Chill, Hermione,” Ginny said. “It’s still only Black that’s gonna get it, and Harry’s got a right to some payback.”

“Thank you, Ginny,” he said.

“That’s not the point!” Hermione said. “What part of “existential horror of soul-sucking demons’ do you not understand?”

“He betrayed my parents, Hermione!” Harry yelled. “How would you like if it’d been _your_ parents he betrayed to Voldemort?”

Hermione froze, wide-eye. The entire Common Room was staring at them. She was mortified. Harry had crossed a line there, in her mind, but she wasn’t sure how to respond without crossing it right back. Tears started to form in her eyes, but Harry didn’t look to be in a very contrite mood, and that’s when she got angry. “Yes, he deserves to _die_!” she yelled back. “Go ahead and stick the knife in him yourself for all I care! I just don’t understand why no one cares that we’re making a bloody deal with the devil, here! Does no one read Goethe in the magical world? I’m sure plenty more innocent people have been Kissed by dementors before they were controlled by the Ministry than the number of criminals they’ve fed to them. Those things ought not to exist.”

“Well, why don’t _you_ worry about that, and I’ll worry about Black, okay?” Harry growled at her. “Come on Ron.” He turned and stomped up the stairs. Ron just stared at her silently, shook his head, and went up after him.

Hermione turned to Ginny hopefully. Ginny sighed as she watched Harry and Ron go. Hermione wasn’t sure which side the redhead would take. The two girls had grown a lot closer this year, but she still had a crush on Harry, and maybe even a hint of something more substantial.

Slowly, Ginny turned to her and said, “Sorry. Looks like Harry’s still pretty upset about Black.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Hermione muttered.

“You gotta admit, you were getting kind of carried away about the Dementors,” she added.

“Yeah, I guess, but Harry—I mean, we both were. But I told you it’s been driving me mad all week. I can’t think straight with those things around anymore. I just wish one person around here could see how awful the Dementor’s Kiss is.”

“Well, I get that it’s pretty awful,” Ginny said. “I don’t know if I’d say _that_ awful—sorry.”

Hermione didn’t respond.

“I don’t think you’ll get anything more out of those boys tonight. You should try to get some rest. You look really tired.”

“Story of my life,” she mumbled to herself. Ginny didn’t seem to hear her and went on up the girls’ staircase. Hermione sat in silence. The rest of the Common Room had gradually looked away and gone back to what they were doing. She realised that she had pushed Harry too hard, given _his_ emotional distress, even if she couldn’t understand why everyone was so cavalier about dementors. They’d probably never see eye to eye on the issue; she only hoped she’d be able to patch things up somewhat tomorrow.

“ _AAAHHHRRRGGGHHH! NOOOO_!”

A horrible, inhuman yell like a Jack Russell terrier fighting a wildcat emanated from the boys’ staircase. Hermione shot to her feet, but froze, like the rest of the Common Room, staring at the entrance. With hurried steps behind her, Ginny ran back into the Common Room, saying, “That sounded like Ron. What happened?”

But before anyone could answer, there was a thunder of steps from the boys’ staircase, and Ron shot out of it, screaming blue murder, with Harry hot on his heels. Ron was dragging a bed sheet, which he waved in Hermione’s face so close that she stumbled back and fell into a chair.

“LOOK! LOOK!” he yelled, still waving the sheet in her face. She could barely see what was going on, although she thought she noticed some nasty red stains on it.

“Ron, what—?” she stammered.

Ron was still screaming incoherently: “SCABBERS! LOOK! SCABBERS! BLOOD! HE’S GONE! AND YOU KNOW WHAT WAS ON THE FLOOR?”

“N-no…” she squeaked.

“CAT HAIR! GINGER CAT HAIR!” He threw several orange hairs forcefully down on her lap. “YOUR BLOODY CAT ATE HIM!”

“RONALD, BACK OFF!” She shoved him away hard to give herself room to stand up. “You don’t know that it was Crookshanks—”

“YES IT WAS!”

“THOSE HAIRS COULD HAVE BEEN WEEKS OLD—” She shouted over him.

“—HAD IT IN FOR SCABBERS FROM THE START—”

“—PLENTY OF OTHER CATS IN THE TOWER—”

“—NEVER EVEN TRIED TO CONTROL THAT BEAST—”

“—DON’T CALL HIM THAT—”

“—EXACTLY WHAT HE IS—”

“—AND GET THAT THING OUT OF MY FACE—”

“—DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO—”

In desperation, Hermione drew her wand. Ron tried to do the same, but she was faster, now: “ _CHIROPTERA MUCOSA_!”

There was a loud bang as Ron stumbled backwards and flipped over a table, collapsing to the floor. The whole Common Room gasped and stared as Hermione waved her wand around, her eyes promising the same to anyone who dared challenge her. Ron looked up at her in shock. “Ronald Bilius Weasley,” she said, “you have no proof Crookshanks ate Scabbers. You complain about me letting Crookshanks roam around, but the way you always let Scabbers roam the tower, it’s a miracle he didn’t get eaten by some other cat ages ago. So kindly bugger off!”

She heard more gasps at her coarse language. Without waiting for him to respond, she turned and stomped to the portrait hole, leaving the Common Room on the spot. She eventually ran down the library and stayed there until Madam Pince kicked her out, but she didn’t succeed in reading much of anything.

* * *

Ron absolutely refused to talk to Hermione after that. Between his anger about Scabbers and her spat with Harry, neither of them was willing to associate with her. And maybe she was biased, but it didn’t help that they kept trying to convince her she was wrong about Crookshanks whenever they did talk to her. Fred and George weren’t particularly loyal to either Ron or Scabbers, but with Harry in such a dark mood, the entire Quidditch team was feeling it. The Twins tried not to let the fight affect their own friendship with her, but their conversations became brief and strained. It didn’t help that with everything piling on, Hermione didn’t have much mental energy to spare to talk to people, so all told, she was feeling lonelier than she had since those bad days in first year.

And those weren’t the only parallels to her first year. Being unable to sleep and increasingly unable to focus on her work, she felt like all her hard work over the past two years to build herself a stable psyche had been undone, and she was left with very little support from friends to pull herself out of it. She went through Friday in a daze. She barely got through Potions without getting in trouble, and she didn’t even look at Professor Lupin when he asked her if something was wrong.

Saturday was the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and things still hadn’t improved. With her fight with Harry still ongoing, she found herself all but openly declaring that she was rooting for Cedric. Maybe she was being unfair, but she felt like he was her most supportive friend at the moment. The day was cool and clear for the match, but Hermione felt dreary and isolated. Quidditch just wasn’t the same without anyone to root with her.

“Hey, Hermione,” a shy voice said.

She looked to see who had spoken. “Oh, hi, Neville,” she said halfheartedly.

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You okay, Hermione?” he asked after a pause.

“Yeah—no, not really…but it’s a personal matter.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She didn’t pay a whole lot of attention to the match, and even less to Neville’s occasional comments. To her surprise, Luna showed up, wandering through the stands, but she still couldn’t bear to look at the little Ravenclaw’s serene smile, and she tried to brush her off gently, leaving her to talk to Neville.

She watched Cedric hopefully. The Chasers were pretty evenly matched, so it came down to Cedric versus Harry. They had just spotted the Snitch and were going after it neck-and-neck, but then, she heard screams in the stands. She looked down at the pitch, and her heart clenched.

Three tall, black, hooded dementors were gliding onto the pitch.

Hermione screamed. She started breathing fast and felt faint. She felt a pain in her chest. She wanted to do nothing but run away—to get as far away as possible from those demons and their horrible, hidden mouths.

Suddenly, she heard Harry shout, and a huge, silver _something_ —much weaker than Dumbledore’s, but clearly the same spell—raced down to the grass and bowled the dementors over laying them in a heap. Seconds later, Harry caught the Snitch and won the match for Gryffindor.

Hermione caught her breath and looked back down at the grass nervously. The dementors didn’t rise and flee like they had with Dumbledore. Instead, she saw pale limbs fishing their way out of the black robes. They weren’t dementors at all. By the time she got down to the pitch, Professor McGonagall was chewing out Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Marcus Flint for their trick.

Harry and the entire Gryffindor team were so elated that Hermione barely had time to offer a few hurried words of condolence to Cedric before she was dragged up for a party in the Common Room with the rest of her house. She wasn’t in a mood to party herself, though, with so many of her friends still not talking to her. She mostly sat in the corner and tried to focus on her Arithmancy. Alicia tried to reach out to her, but was unsuccessful. Ron was still periodically making angry comments about Scabbers being eaten, and after one too many of those, Hermione just couldn’t take it anymore. She broke down in tears and ran up to her dorm room.

She thought things couldn’t get much worse at that point, but she should have known better. Late that night, she was awakened by a horrific scream, seemingly coming from the other side of the wall—the third year boys’ dorm on the same level of the tower. It sounded like Ron again, but even worse than when he had discovered the bloody sheets. Without thinking, she jumped out of bed and ran down to the Common Room.

By the time she got there, a few of the girls and a lot of the boys had poured from their respective staircases, and Professor McGonagall was glaring at them angrily. Hermione got there just in time to hear Ron scream, “IT WASN’T A NIGHTMARE! HE WOKE ME UP! SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME WITH A KNIFE!”

_Oh, no._

Professor McGonagall made the obvious statement that Sirius Black couldn’t have got through the portrait hole, to which Ron made the surprisingly smart suggestion to check with Sir Cadogan, who was guarding the tower. Since Sir Cadogan changed the password twice a day, Hermione doubted that anyone could get in unauthorised. Unfortunately, she forgot to account for how clueless Sir Cadogan was. Not only did he not recognise Sirius Black when he saw him, but he didn’t get at all suspicious when a grown man who wasn’t a teacher tried to get into the tower by reading the whole week’s worth of passwords off a piece of parchment—a list written out by Neville, much to the his horror.

Once again, _Oh, no_.

* * *

If Hermione was having a hard time of things, Neville thought the next day, he was sure he now had it just as bad. Professor McGonagall had given him a week’s detention, banned him from Hogsmeade for the rest of the year, banned him from being told the password into Gryffindor Tower until Black was caught, and worst of all, written his Gran. He was sure there was a Howler from her on its way. No one in Gryffindor would speak to him, and most of the other houses were either angry as well, or jeered at him. In fact, he soon found that the only person he could talk to was Luna Lovegood.

“The thing is, I don’t see how Black could’ve got a hold of that parchment,” he told the odd little Ravenclaw in the library as people stared and smirked at them.  “The only places I ever put it were my pocket and my bedside table. I guess I might’ve forgot, but I don’t think I ever would’ve put it anywhere else.”

“Hmm…I suppose the nargles could have taken it,” Luna said, unperturbed, “but they usually only cause mischief, not real danger.”

“I, um…don’t think it was nargles, Luna,” he said.

“Well, I suppose it could have fallen out of your pocket,” she conceded. “Or perhaps you left it in the laundry by mistake.”

Neville groaned. “That’s the only way I can think of he could’ve got it,” he agreed. “But why would he think to look there? It had to be a long shot.”

“I suspect he corrupted a blibbering humdinger to show him the way in.”

Neville didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

“Have you talked to Hermione Granger lately?” Luna asked. “She doesn’t seem to be doing very well. I’m getting worried about her.”

He shrugged: “She said she had some personal issues or something. And I know she had a big fight with Harry and Ron.”

“She has collected one of the worst infestations of wrackspurts I’ve ever seen,” she whispered, “and alarmingly fast. I’d like to help her, but she’s stopped talking to me.”

“I, uh, don’t know anything about that,” Neville answered. “She’s been in a temper, I think. She won’t talk to _me_ now because of the password thing. I didn’t _want_ to get anybody hurt, but I couldn’t remember two passwords a day,” he muttered sadly. “I can barely remember the password normally.”

“Have you tried mnemonics?” Luna asked.

Neville gave the girl a slightly annoyed look: “Is that another creature?”

Luna giggled: “No, it’s a way to remember things. You take a word that starts with the same letter as each password and use them to make a humorous sentence. Or you can just combine the passwords together into a song or poem, and they’ll be easier to remember that way.”

“That sounds hard,” he answered after some thought.

“It’s easier than it sounds.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m banned from having the password until they catch Black. I can’t even go back to the tower alone.”

Luna seemed unconcerned. “I find it useful for memorising potions ingredients,” she said.

“Huh…I guess maybe I can try it, then.”

They said little else after that, and Neville soon picked up his things to leave, but as he did, Luna rose to her feet and hugged him.

“Um…thanks, but what was that for?” he asked, turning red.

Luna tilted her head and smiled at him: “You just looked like you needed a hug.”

“Er, thanks, Luna.”

* * *

No one in Gryffindor had slept after Black’s break-in. At that point, Hermione finally broke down and asked Madam Pomfrey for a Pepperup Potion, which she received, along with a long lecture about its proper use. After drinking it, she could understand why the lecture was needed. She was in no danger of falling asleep that day, but it didn’t really lift the haze around her mind, and she wouldn’t want to try it as a longer-term substitute for sleep, even as hard as sleep was to come by for her at the moment.

Even though it was Sunday, she still had quite a bit of homework to do, but the hours seemed to drift by far too fast. With her poor focus, she struggled more than ever to finish it. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner all came and went. She ate a little, but she knew she probably wasn’t eating enough. She still wasn’t hungry. Yes, it was just like in first year, she thought, looking back on her week. Everything was coming down on her at once: Professor Vector telling her about the Dementor’s Kiss, falling behind on her work, getting in that fight with Harry, Crookshanks eating Scabbers—yes, he probably did it, she admitted to herself—and now Sirius Black breaking in again.

She couldn’t do this anymore.

She was isolated, worn down, overworked, sleep-deprived, and dead tired, just like in first year, but it was worse now, because her closest friends were actively mad at her. She would’ve much preferred to stay in bed until Arithmancy on Monday, but no, she still had work to do, so she kept pushing herself, but by God, she didn’t have much more energy to draw on.

She couldn’t do this anymore.

After dinner, she trudged up the seven flights to Gryffindor Tower, hoping that she was tired enough to get a full night’s sleep. Unfortunately, she never got a chance to find out. As she approached the corridor, she heard some strange grunting sounds that made her nervous. As she drew closer, a horrible odour hit her nostrils, one that nearly made her throw up her meagre dinner on the spot.

She didn’t want to believe it, but when she rounded that last corner and saw them, she was done. It was too much—one more insult on top of a long, _long_ list of injuries, as sure as if McGonagall had personally slapped her in the face. They knew—they _knew_ —how she would react to this, and yet they hadn’t even tried to prepare her.

Four big, ugly, smelly trolls were guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

She ran.

Hermione ran blindly through the corridors, screaming, not caring who saw her or what they thought. _There were trolls in the castle! Four of them!_ Just one of those foul beasts had nearly killed her two years ago, and now they’d brought in four of them—deliberately—to guard the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. No. She couldn’t do it. On top of everything else she was dealing with, she couldn’t face that. Just the smell was enough to send her into a panic. Fight or flight had kicked in before she fully registered what was happening.

She stopped behind one corner to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding, and she was shaking from head to foot. She felt like she had to get somewhere safe before she passed out, but where? Trolls on the inside, dementors on the outside—her world had gone mad, and she was trapped. And besides, she couldn’t stay out of the tower forever. She needed somewhere else to go. She needed…

She had it. She started running again, but this time, running _to_ someplace. She reached the deserted corridor and started pacing frantically: _I need a safe place to sleep. I need a safe place to sleep. I need a safe place to sleep, and one where no trolls or dementors can get in._

The polished door to the Room of Requirement appeared, and she ran inside, where she immediately sank to her knees in relief. She was kneeling in a remarkably accurate replica of her bedroom at home—if her bedroom had painted landscapes instead of windows and torches instead of electric lights. There was also a small attached bath where her real bedroom had a blank wall and even—matching her expectations—a mechanical alarm clock on the dresser instead of her digital one. The rest of the room was just as she remembered it, so much so that she almost expected her parents to walk in behind her, something that wouldn’t have been unwelcome at the moment.

It was perfect. She could stay here for the whole night and work out what to do tomorrow, hopefully when she was calmer and more rested. Naturally, her roommates would notice that she was gone all night, but she certainly wouldn’t get caught in the corridors, so no one would be able to pin anything on her. Wearily, she climbed up on the bed and let herself have a good, long cry over all her problems. That wasn’t productive, but she hoped that she could act more rationally once she worked it out of her system, and crying in a facsimile of her own bedroom was a lot safer and more comfortable (not to mention less pathetic) than crying in a bathroom all day.

She slept in her robes that night. Unfortunately, while she was in a less hysterical state by the late evening, the safe, comfortable, isolated bedroom did little to help the nightmares. Those were worse than ever—filled with trolls and dementors and some kind of horrible, dream-conjured hybrid of the two, and the basilisk even made an appearance at one point. Despite spending nearly twelve hours in bed that evening and night, she still didn’t sleep very well.

* * *

She was awakened the next morning by a grating ringing sound. Leaping out of bed, she snatched her wand from the bedside table, waving it around, searching for danger. To her shock, she found herself in her bedroom at home, very disoriented. What had happened? Had it all been a dream? Had her parents pulled her out of school while she slept? And since when did her bedroom have torches and painted landscapes?

Then, she remembered. She was in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, and that awful ringing was the mechanical alarm clock. _Maybe I should_ _’ve used the alarm on my watch instead_ , she thought as she turned it off.

She flopped back onto the bed. After the horrible week, the crying, and the nightmares, she really didn’t have the energy to get back to work today. She wished she could just stay here, but no, skipping out on her dorm overnight was one thing, but she wasn’t going to miss class. She needed to get ready…

And then she realised that her schoolbooks and all her clean clothes were up in Gryffindor Tower—behind the “security trolls.” She still didn’t think she could go up there again. Her pulse quickened at the very thought of it. But she had to get her things somehow. Maybe she could ask one of her roommates to get them, but then she would have to answer a lot of awkward questions. In fact, just the thought of going down to breakfast felt wearying. She wasn’t sure she could face her house-mates right now. She couldn’t see a way out of it. Unless…

“Dobby?”

 _Pop!_ “Miss Hermione calls Dobby?” the elf said, then, after looking around, “Why is Miss Hermione in her almost-bedroom?”

“I, uh, needed some time alone last night, Dobby,” she said.

“Is Miss Hermione being alright?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just need to work through some things. Listen Dobby, could you go up to my dorm room and get my schoolbooks, a clean set of robes, um, and my toothbrush, toothpaste, and hairbrush—oh, and do it without my roommates seeing, please?”

“Yes, miss, Dobby can. A good elf is not being seen, miss.” He popped away. A few minutes later, he reappeared with a bundle containing all the things she had asked for. He really was an efficient little creature.

“Thank you so much Dobby,” she said.

“You is most welcome. Can Dobby be getting Miss Hermione anything else?”

She was about to dismiss him, but then she stopped and smiled: “A plate of bacon, eggs, and toast, and a glass of orange juice would be really good.”

Dobby’s face fell a little. “You shoulds be seeing your friends, miss,” he said. “Students is not supposed to be taking meals away from the Great Hall.”

“Well, I, uh…” she looked at the clock. “It’s just that I’m running late today, Dobby.” She _was_ surprised that she was getting off to such a slow start. “I’ll get back on a regular schedule tomorrow. You can charge the time to you on-call duties if you need to.”

The elf seemed reassured by that, and he nodded his head, his ears flopping: “Then Dobby will bring breakfast, miss.”

Breakfast was served quicker than gathering her things had taken, all perfectly proportioned. Hermione was glad they had taught Dobby the basics of nutrition over the summer. For the first few weeks, he had consistently served portions that were too large, but this was just the right amount. She could have eaten breakfast in bed, but she didn’t want to start a habit, so she took it at the replica desk in the room instead. As strange as it seemed, she felt like she suddenly understood the Malfoys better: rich enough that they didn’t have to work and with a servant who had to do everything they said, no matter how trivial, it was a wonder Draco wasn’t even more pampered than he looked.

However, her slow start didn’t speed up much. She didn’t have time to give her hair the full treatment it needed (even by her standards), and even then, she was barely on time for Arithmancy. Professor Vector rose out of her seat when she saw her.

“Miss Granger!” she exclaimed. “Are you alright? You missed breakfast, and your house-mates said you never went to bed last night.”

“Yes, I’m fine, Professor,” she said, not wanting to explain.

“But where were you?”

“I…” She eyed the rest of the class, who were staring at her. “I’d rather not talk about it, ma’am, but I promise I was perfectly safe.”

“Were you at least in the castle, then?”

“Of course.”

Vector sighed: “Very well, but please seek help from me or one of the other teachers if you need it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rebecca Gamp watched Granger in class that day with interest. The younger girl was looking really frazzled all of a sudden. And it wasn’t overwork like it had been in first year. She was _scared_. More scared than last year when the Heir of Slytherin was out and about. She couldn’t imagine why. Things weren’t scarier now than they had been all year with Sirius Black on the loose, but something had profoundly unsettled her.

A thought came to her—what Draco Malfoy had said on the train weeks ago: _“Have you considered trying to get her expelled?”_ No, she still wouldn’t do that, but if she could figure out just what was eating Granger now… _scaring_ her away from the school was starting to look like a tempting idea.

* * *

Hermione went through the motions that day. She got through all of her classes just fine, although it was a struggle to stay awake in History. She was tempted to take lunch and then dinner in the Room of Requirement, but she resisted the urge, even though she didn’t really have anyone to talk to at meals. Harry and Ron (mostly Ron) still wouldn’t talk to her, and her roommates kept asking her questions she didn’t want to answer. She managed a halfhearted conversation with Alicia, but that was about it.

But even so, she was about to write the whole thing off and start getting back to normal, but when she got back to Gryffindor Tower that evening, she stalled again. Neville was the only one in the corridor just then, leaning against the wall back near the corner and trying not to look at the trolls.

“Oh, Hermione, good,” he said. “I need the password…”

But she wasn’t listening to him. She was too busy staring at the trolls from the moment she rounded the corner. She felt rooted to the spot, and she couldn’t take her eyes off their horrible, ugly faces.

Apparently, trolls didn’t appreciate being stared at. They took a step towards her, grunting menacingly.

She turned tail and ran, not stopping until she got to the Room of Requirement.

Once inside, she broke down crying again. So this was her limit. She’d hexed Voldemort himself in the face twice. She’d looked a basilisk in the eye. She’d come nose to nose with a dementor. And a lousy squad of security trolls sent her running away in a panic—trolls that her house-mates were getting past with no trouble. Some Gryffindor she was.

What was _wrong_ with her?

She couldn’t do this anymore.

“Dobby?” she called when she calmed down a little.

 _Pop!_ “Yes, Miss Hermione?”

“Could you bring the rest of my clothes here, please?”

Dobby’s ears drooped with worry: “Students is only supposed to be sleeping in their dorms, miss. And Dobby is thinking it is not good for Miss Hermione to be living alone.”

She took a deep breath. It took a lot of effort not to reply with a cutting remark. “Well, Dobby, your advice is taken under…er, advisement,” she said. “Just the same, I’d like the rest of my clothes here, please.”

“Yes, Miss Hermione.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bliviklet: from the Danish for “be entangled.”


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Two roads diverged in a wood, and JK Rowling took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.
> 
> The original version of the previous chapter had Fred, George, and Ginny being unrealistically hostile to Hermione, which I later corrected. Thank you to the reviewers who brought up this problem, and thanks especially to Endgames and Pahan for helping me find my way again.
> 
> A lot of reviewers complained that Hermione is too weak, is too much of a pushover, and needs to make a change to fix this. I will say that this was deliberate, and it will change, starting in this very chapter. This has been my plan since the beginning of third year. Hermione will become a brilliant and powerful witch, but I had to put her through a lot of trials and tribulations to get her to the point where she will pursue that goal to the best of her abilities. She’s already learnt valuing diversity, appropriate scepticism of authority, standing up for her friends, and not running away from her problems (although she’s getting a refresher course in that). Now, she needs to learn the final lesson: taking control of her life. Yes, I know it’s been a hard road for her so far, but she couldn’t really make the changes she needs to make in her life until she hit rock bottom, which is right where she is now. Now, there’s nowhere to go but up.

Harry sat off to the side of the Common Room working on his Defence homework alone. Defence was his favourite subject, so that wasn’t too bad, but he seemed to be doing that a lot lately—working alone. Ron and Hermione were still so mad at each other that he wasn’t sure if they would ever speak to each other again. Certainly, he had no idea how to make it up between them. Come to think of it, he had no idea where Hermione was right now.

He’d tried to talk to Ron about it, but he wouldn’t listen. Harry didn’t want to push too hard about it, either. As much as he liked Hermione (though he was still ticked about their own fight), he still felt a special loyalty to Ron for being his first ever friend, well, besides Hagrid, and he really didn’t want to alienate another friend right now.

“Knut for your thoughts?”

Harry snapped out of his musings and saw a flash of long, red hair as Ginny sat in the chair next to him. Embarrassed, he realised he must have been staring off into space for a couple of minutes.

“Oh, hi, Ginny,” he said. “I was just, er…homework.”

“That’s nice…” she replied. She tried to think of the right words to express what she wanted to say. Even after months of effort on her part, she still found it hard to talk to Harry about serious matters. “Say, Harry, have you seen Hermione lately?” she said casually. “I’m getting kind of worried about her.”

Harry suddenly looked uncomfortable, and she guessed she was right that he was thinking along the same lines. “No, not really. Why?” he said.

“Well, no one’s really seen her outside of class. She hasn’t been talking to me, and her roommates say she hasn’t come to bed since Black broke in.”

“But where else could she be?” Harry said, confused.

“I don’t know. Even Fred and George don’t know, and they always seem to know everything. I was hoping you could tell me.”

“No, sorry. I haven’t really seen her, and Ron doesn’t wanna talk to her.”

“Tsk. Ron’s being a real git.”

“Well, it was Scabbers—”

“Yes, but he’s still being a git, Harry. I mean, that’s Ron,” Ginny insisted. She hesitated again, but she plucked up her Gryffindor courage and said, “Hermione didn’t mean to upset you, you know.”

Harry just shrugged: “I guess.”

“You saw how upset she was about dementors, even before. She just overreacted. I…I don’t exactly understand what she means myself—talking about a deal with the devil and stuff. I think I get basically what it means, but it must be a muggle thing. Did it make any more sense to you?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted. “My aunt and uncle didn’t let me watch TV shows with stuff like that. I guess it means if you make a bargain with something evil it always turns out bad for you because it turns on you.”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense with the dementors,” Ginny admitted. “They’re pretty dark. But the Ministry’s kept them in line for three hundred years, so it’s probably not that bad. But you know Hermione; it’s always the principle of the thing for her.”

Harry thought about that. Hermione always had been more committed to principle than he or Ron. She’d broken the rules quite a few times, sure but it was always for a good reason, and she was always the one to tell them to back off from a bad course of action. He still did appreciate what she had said about Black, but he could see where she was coming from. “I guess it kinda makes sense,” he admitted.

“I think you should apologise to her,” Ginny blurted. Harry looked up at her questioningly. “You _did_ kinda go too far bringing her parents into it. I know we don’t really have a right to talk to you about that, but Hermione was really upset after that, and she was sorry for pushing you too hard. And don’t worry about Ron. Fred and George and I can keep him in line.”

“Hmm…I guess I could’ve been nicer to her,” he said slowly.

“I think she could use some help if we can find her,” she agreed.

“Yeah, probably…” Harry said. He paused for a long minute, wrestling with the question that was now eating at him. “Ginny?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“You don’t think I’m wrong, do you? About Black getting what he deserves?”

“Of course not, Harry. You were wronged, and you want payback. You have every right to that.”

Harry gave her a small smile that made her stomach flip. “Thanks, Ginny,” he said.

* * *

“I looked all over, George. Hermione wasn’t on the Map last night.”

“I don’t think she’d be one to leave the castle, but…” George replied.

“So, it’s gotta be the Room of Requirement,” his twin said.

“I just want to be sure, Fred. Parvati said she always disappears right after dinner, so we should be seeing right about now…”

Sure enough, within a few minutes, a dot labelled _Hermione Granger_ appeared on the seventh floor, stood before the entrance to Gryffindor Tower for a long minute, and then fled in the opposite direction, heading towards the East Wing.

“Well, that’s it,” George said as she disappeared through the wall on the Map. “She must be going there every night.”

“Anyone else going in there?” Fred asked.

George’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s fourteen.”

“It could happen.”

However, no one else went near the corridor that evening, ruling out a secret tryst. “So she’s either having a nervous breakdown or working on a secret project,” George concluded.

“I’m hoping for the second one. That’s a lot more fun.”

“I have a bad feeling it’s not, though. She’s been acting odd for two weeks, now. And we haven’t been that good to her this past week, ourselves.”

“Well, whatever she’s doing, it sounds like it’s time to crash her party,” Fred replied.

“I was thinking a Weasley wake-up call,” George agreed.

Fred grinned.

* * *

Four more times Hermione had tried to face the security trolls, and four more times, she had run away. She kept pushing herself and made it a little closer each time, but that wasn’t much progress. She would never have known if she’d never come face to face with one again, but she’d to have developed a real phobia of them. She could barely even look at the tapestry of the dancing trolls in the corridor outside the Room of Requirement. She could only hope that in a couple more weeks, her makeshift exposure therapy would let her get back into the tower. In the meantime, the isolation was wearing hard on her. She only took breakfast in the Room once more, on Wednesday after Astronomy, but even outside the Room, she barely talked to anyone more than she needed to for class.

After a week, she still found it hard to get moving in the morning and hard to get her homework done in the evening. In the back of her mind, she was starting to agree with Dobby that living alone wasn’t good for her, but there still didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. And that wasn’t just the isolation. It was the nightmares. They were slightly more dementor-oriented again, rather than troll-oriented, but the main thing was that they were incessantly keeping her up at night. She considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a Dreamless Sleep Potion, but she knew that was no better for long-term use than Pepperup.

And so, every day, looking a little wearier and more frazzled, her temper a little shorter, and her hair a little more unkempt, she dragged herself to class, drawing worried stares from students and teachers alike. Some of her friends and teachers tried to approach her to help, but she continued to refuse to answer questions or socialise in general. And while Harry had cooled off some, Ron still seemed to be just fine with that.

To add yet another insult, Draco Malfoy and his goons had started taunting her about the whole thing: “Scared of some little trolls, mudblood? Maybe you should run away someplace safer if you can’t take it with the real wizards here.” At the same time, Rebecca Gamp’s jealousy seemed to have finally got the better of her because she picked up the theme too. She was more passive-aggressive about it, confining herself to snide remarks like, “You know, Britain really _isn_ _’t_ the best place for muggle-borns. There’s a lot of pureblood prejudice here. _I_ don’t buy into that stuff, but a lot of people do. Beauxbatons is much more open to muggle-borns and students with mixed-species ancestry.” In a way, that was even worse. It put the idea back in her head, and she couldn’t get it out. With the state Hermione was in, transferring was starting to sound like a good idea again.

She could tell in a detached sort of way that she was near collapse. She didn’t think she could take much more of this before she broke down completely and failed her classes and/or landed herself in the Hospital Wing. But she still had no idea what to do about it.

What was _wrong_ with her?

She couldn’t do this anymore.

And then, on the morning after her sixth night in the Room, something happened. She was just lying in bed, not planning on doing anything until lunch. It was a Hogsmeade visit day, but she wasn’t going. It would be no fun going alone—even less so than usual because it was the weekend before Valentine’s Day, and all the couples would be out. But then, she heard the doorknob rattle, and her head snapped up just in time to see two tall redheads barge into the room.

“Wakey, wakey, Hermionekins!” they yelled.

“Ahh!” She grabbed her wand in a panic. “ _Everte—_!” She stopped when she saw who it was. “Fred? George? What’re you doing here?”

“Wondering what you’ve been up to,” George answered.

“Pyjama party, is it?” Fred added with a grin.

Hermione glared at him: “You know I still have a wand trained on you, don’t you?”

“Still as feisty as ever.”

“We like that.”

She didn’t lower her wand, but did give them one more chance: “Do you have an actual reason to be here?”

“We’ve been worried about you, Hermione,” George said. “Everybody has. Nobody’s seen you outside of classes and meals. We’re sorry we kinda ignored you last weekend. We’ve wanted to talk to you since Tuesday, but you’ve been really hard to find. We take it you’ve been…here?”

“What is this place, anyway?” asked Fred.

“It’s the closest the Room could make to my bedroom at home.”

“Ah. Nice place you got here.”

“So spill,” George ordered her. “Why’ve you been spending all your time here?”

“Why have I…” Hermione fumed. “Why? _Hello?!_ Security trolls? I can’t walk into my own tower without panicking. Do you remember that little incident I had in my first year?”

“Oh, that,” Fred said in understanding. “I guess we hadn’t really thought about it…But you can’t go hiding in here all the time.”

“It’s worked pretty well so far.”

“Oh, really?” he chided. “And I suppose rat’s nest on your head is just the latest fashioned trend.”

“I…” Her breath caught, and she self-consciously tried to smooth out her uncombed hair. That was just one symptom of her problem, but she couldn’t very well deny it.

“Exactly.”

“Come on, you need to cut loose for a while,” George said. “Aren’t you going to Hogsmeade?”

“No. No one to go with.”

“Nonsense! You’ve got loads of friends.”

She shook her head sadly. “Ron’s still mad at me—”

“Ron’s being a prat—”

“—as usual,” the Twins replied.

“He was always complaining about Scabbers.”

“How boring and useless he was.”

“We’ll knock him back into shape in a couple weeks.”

“Don’t you worry about him.”

“Yes, but Harry—”

“I think he’s more worried about you than mad, now,” Fred told her.

“Yeah, Ginny’s been working on him,” George said.

“You should really talk to them again.”

“And besides, you can always go with us.”

“I…” she tried again. It was tempting, but then she thought of what she’d have to go through to get there. “I can’t,” she whispered, looking down at her feet.

“Why not?” George asked worriedly.

“I…I can’t face the dementors again.”

“Sure you can,” Fred insisted. “You did it before.”

“But that was before I knew…Do you know what those things _do_ to people?”

“What the Dementor’s Kiss? Yeah, Ron’s been talking about it,” Fred said. “But really, it’s perfectly safe. The Aurors are keeping them in line.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” she whispered again. “I can’t do it.”

“Oh, no you don’t, Hermione,” George insisted. “What happened to not running away from your problems?”

She glared at him: “That was before they were actual phobias.”

“Hmm, are we gonna let her get away with that, Freddie?”

“No, I think not, Georgie,” Fred said. “We may be the class clowns, but we can tell you’re about to completely collapse, and we’re gonna put a stop to it. You’ve got ten minutes to get dressed and ready for Hogsmeade, or we’re dragging you down there as you are.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t!”

Both of them grinned. “Is that a challenge?” they said in unison.

“But…but…I won’t be able to do anything with my hair in that amount of time,” she said lamely.

Fred grinned even wider. He grabbed the alarm clock from the dresser, spun the hands appropriately, and set it back down: “Nine and three-quarters.”

Oh, yes, they were serious. She sprang into action, pointing her wand again: “Out! OUT!”

They just kept grinning as they walked out the door. “Nine and a half,” Fred added as a parting shot.

Nine minutes and fifteen seconds later, in what was probably a personal record, Hermione was fully dressed in her weekend clothes, with her teeth brushed and wearing her winter coat. She still wasn’t happy going out with her hair in a complete rat’s nest, but she realised at the last moment that she had a spell to deal with that fast. Quickly, she gathered her hair into three bundles, holding them apart with her left hand, then took her up her wand, hoping her hand wouldn’t shake too much, and cast, “ _Fasciculi Pilis Plectere_.” It didn’t look great, but at least she wouldn’t look like she’d just wandered in from a night in the Forbidden Forest. She got her hair braided and tied off just before the alarm sounded, and Fred and George charged back into the Room.

One twin grabbed her by each arm, and they lifted her up and carried her out of the Room, refusing to put her down until they reached the stairs, where she was afraid they’d all go tumbling down them.

“Okay, okay!” she said. “I _can_ walk.”

They laughed and set her on her feet, but didn’t let go of her arms. The three of them walked arm in arm down to the doors. Filch, who was still on something like friendly terms with her, gave her a suspicious look, as if accusing her of consorting with the enemy when he checked them off the list. She tried to shrug her shoulders to suggest that she was being dragged into this. They grabbed a carriage, and then they were off.

All was not well, though. As she had feared, the dementors affected her worse now that she knew more about them. When the icy chill descended on her, she was reminded of all of the worst moments she had experienced over the past two weeks—throwing up in Vector’s office, her fight with her friends, losing her grip in front of the trolls—and then she felt a flood of her dark thoughts obsessing over the philosophical horror of the Dementor’s Kiss replayed before her. She saw her friends’ faces fading into the darkness. She heard the high, cold laugh of Voldemort taunting her—

And then it was over. The feeling of cold faded. She realised she was crying. And she was also clinging to George for dear life. She pulled away from him, blushing furiously.

“Wow, Hermione, I didn’t know you liked me _that_ much,” George said.

“I think I might be a little jealous,” Fred quipped.

“I—I told you—dementors…” she said shakily.

“Yes, we saw,” George said with concern. “It’s got worse?”

“Uh huh…I just can’t get it out of my head. Ever since Professor Vector told me—”

“Just try not to think about it for now,” George said. “Come on, it’s a lovely day.”

“The air is clear; the birds are singing,” Fred continued.

“You’re out for a nice day on the town.”

“And you have a handsome wizard on each arm.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, and she blushed again, but she couldn’t get away. George laughed: “Yes, you’ll be the envy of every girl in school.”

“Fancy a cup of tea at Madam Puddifoot’s, my dear?” Fred continued with a high-brow accent.

Hermione didn’t like where this was going: “Um…what’s Madam Puddifoot’s?”

“Oh, that’s brilliant, Fred,” George said. “It’s this really frilly tea shop where all the girls like to go on dates. They always go all-out for Valentine’s Day—pink lace everywhere, cherubs flying around, the works.”

“And you want _me_ to go _there_?” she demanded.

“Sure, it’ll be fun.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“You gotta admit, Hermione,” Fred told her, “it’d be a great prank.” George nodded in agreement.

Slowly, a smirk crossed her face: “Oh, very well.”

Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop was even worse than the Twin had described. It was a tiny little shop with tables so cramped that the couples (and they were _all_ couples) practically _had_ to sit touching each other. It was warm and steamy, and practically everything was decorated with lace, frills, or bows. Golden cherubs were flying through the air, throwing pink confetti on the patrons. “That can’t be sanitary,” she whispered. The Twins shrugged their shoulders.

Fred walked up to the witch waiting on the door and loudly said, “Table for three, please.”

Everyone in the shop looked up and stared at them.

“No, really,” he added.

“Oookayyy…let me find an extra chair,” the witch said, and she seated them at one of the small tables. Even this early, the shop was pretty full, and with the pink frills and the soft, romantic music playing in the background, many of the couples were already kissing in one of the largest mass public displays of affection Hermione had witnessed.

Madam Puddifoot, a stout woman with a black bun, squeezed between the tables and said, “So what can I get for you, dears?” Hermione got the feeling she was trying to sound non-judgemental.

“Builder’s tea sounds good,” Fred suggested.

“Same for me,” George said.

“Erm…lavender, extra strong,” Hermione said. She could use something for her nerves.

“Coming right up, dears.”

As soon as Madam Puddifoot walked away, Hermione whispered to the Twins. “If people start to _talk_ about the three of us,” she warned, “I will hex you until they’re talking about that instead.”

The Twins looked at each other and said, “Worth it.”

“Hermione?” a female voice said in surprise. Roger Davies and Rebecca Gamp were sitting just a few feet away. “What are you doing here…with those two?”

Hermione thought fast. She smiled and glanced at Fred and George in turn. “Oh, you know,” she said, “just…talking shop.”

Fred and George both smirked, and Rebecca backed off. “Well…have fun with that,” Roger told them before turning his own attention back to his date.

A few minutes later, the tea came. One good point about the shop—the tea was very good.

“Speaking of shop talk,” Hermione added, “while I was in a haze last week, I _did_ have a chance to run those cores from the toy wands by Professor Sprout. The one from the cheapest wand was flitterbloom, just like we thought. The middle one turned out to be from a fanged geranium.”

“Oh, fanged geranium. That’s interesting,” said Fred. “What about that broken one that looked like a one-galleon wand.”

“Well, it was pretty well burnt, but Professor Sprout thought it was dittany.”

“Dittany?” They both said in surprise.

“I think we know why it costs a galleon,” George added.

“I’m more interested in the fact that they’re all plant fibres,” Hermione said. “And real wands all use animal fibres—unicorn, phoenix, and dragon.”

“Well, those are just the ones Ollivander uses,” said Fred. “I think I heard of some old bloke once who had a dittany wand—maybe in History class or something.”

“Hmm. It must be rare, though,” Hermione said. “I wonder if the distinction is important. I mean, we know the Ministry has a way of distinguishing accidental magic from magic cast with a real wand from magic cast with a toy wand. So do wands trigger the Trace differently because they use animal fibres or because they have runes carved on them?”

“Or both,” George suggested.

“Well, let’s look at what we do know,” Fred reasoned. “It looks like the toy wands all have a piece of cheap wood, split in two, a core from some kind of magical plant, and glued together in some way, sometimes with varnish.”

“And real wands have better quality wood, a core from a magical animal, and tiny runes on them,” George added.

“But those are just the differences we can see,” Hermione said. “We still can’t take apart a real wand…except—does Ron still have his old wand? The broken one?”

“Hmm…probably does, but it’ll be at home,” Fred replied. “We’ll look next summer.”

Hermione was about to take another sip when one of the cherubs threw a handful of confetti over their heads, and it fell in the tea. She glared up at the winged creature, then frowned at her cup. “Do either of you know a good purifying charm?” she asked.

“Well, _Katharizi_ is used to purify water, but I’m not sure if it’ll work right on tea,” Fred said.

“Yeah, you might wind up with just water,” George agreed. “Let’s see, removing large particles…” He drew his wand and pointed it at his own cup. “Let’s try… _Percolare_.” The confetti rose up out of the cup, accompanied by most of the dregs. “Eh, close enough,” he said, and he quickly cleaned the other two cups.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “Anyway, I wonder what would happen if you tried to make a toy wand with an animal fibre.”

“Hmm…interesting experiment,” George said. “But I doubt we’ll get unicorn hair or anything like that.”

“No, but I can probably swing some hippogriff hair from Hagrid—although we’ll probably want to try to make plant-based ones first, to make sure we can do it. It might take a magical glue or something to work.”

“Well, sounds like a plan for next weekend,” Fred said.

“I like the way you think, Hermione,” George added.

“Thanks. Oh, by the way—” She leaned in closer and whispered, “I didn’t think to ask—did you check the Map after Sirius Black broke in last weekend?”

“We did, but we didn’t see him,” Fred replied.

“Yeah, he must’ve got out bloody fast,” George added. “We looked straight to that one secret passage Filch doesn’t know about, but he wasn’t there.”

She sighed dejectedly. “Well…I know you can’t watch it all the time, but if you’re looking, and you happen to see his name—”

“We’ll have to tell a teacher. We know,” Fred agreed solemnly.

“We’ll think of a good story,” George assured her.

“Good,” Hermione said. “If someone could just _catch_ Black, it would clear a lot of things up.” A thought struck her—something that Professor Vector had said two weeks ago: _“Professor Lupin was the only werewolf to ever come as a student, at least in my lifetime.”_ That and the names of the Marauders: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. True, Moony wouldn’t _have_ to be a nickname for a werewolf. It could be Lily Moon’s father, for example. Or it could be some troublemaker who had mooned Snape and lived to tell of it. Or it might not mean anything. But still, there were four of them, and she knew Lupin was one of a group of four friends and was probably smart enough to make something like the Map. It was a chance well worth taking to catch Black, in her opinion.

“Guys, will you trust me on something?” she whispered.

They glanced at each other. “Probably, yes—”

“—what is it?” they said.

“If you happen to see Black, I think you can confide to Professor Lupin about the Map.”

The Twins’ eyes went saucer-sized and they leaned back from her. “That’s a lot of trust you’re asking for, Hermione,” said Fred.

“Yeah, telling the secret of our success to a teacher…” George added.

“I know. I wouldn’t ask if weren’t potentially life-or-death. But I’ve been talking to Professor Lupin—I didn’t tell him about the Map, but from some of the things he said…I think he might…have known Mr. Moony when he was a student. I have have a feeling he’ll recognise the Map if he sees it.”

The Twins were silent for a moment, taking a deep breath as they digested that. “If we catch Black, it’ll be for a good cause, Fred,” George whispered slowly.

“We should be so lucky,” Fred whispered back. “But that’s a high price.”

“To catch Black, though. We’ve taken big risks before.”

“Not like this. We don’t know if she’s right about the Map—”

“C’mon, this is Hermione, here—”

They both glanced at her, then paused and stared at each other for a few seconds, seeming communicating with flickers of facial expressions—mostly annoyed ones. Hermione had heard of so-called “twin telepathy,” but she’d never seen anything that actually looked like it before. She knew the Twins liked to maintain a united front, although they surely disagreed at times. They weren’t entirely alike, after all. For example, George had always struck her as the more level-headed Twin, as was evident here.

“Look, boys…” Hermione spoke up. “If it’s that important to you, if Lupin _does_ confiscate it, I’ll help you make a new one. If the Marauders can do it, so can we.”

Fred put his hand over his heart in mock outrage. “Blasphemy!” he gasped. “Burn the blasphemer!” But he smiled at her.

“Now, _that_ _’s_ the Hermione we know,” George said, tapping her on the nose. “If you’re willing to do that for us, I think we can take a chance for you. Right, Freddie?”

“For replicating the Map? _That_ we can do,” his twin agreed.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “That means a lot to me.”

* * *

The rest of the trip was surprisingly enjoyable. They spent a lot of time in Zonko’s and Honeydukes, and Hermione finally got a chance to see the Shrieking Shack that she kept missing on her other visits.

“Nasty place that,” Fred told her.

“Yeah, Nearly Headless Nick says even the Bloody Baron steers clear of it,” said George.

“We tried to get in, of course.”

“But so far, it’s proved to be beyond us, sad to say.”

They ran into Harry and Ron after that and had a very awkward conversation. Well, Harry wasn’t so bad. He’d mellowed out over the past week.

“Listen, Hermione,” he said hesitantly. “I, uh, I’m sorry for yelling at you. I guess I get why you have such a problem with dementors. I just think Black deserves what he’s gonna get.”

Hermione stared at him for a minute, unsure what to say. She really wanted her friends back, and Harry did seem sincere—he usually did. That was the kind of person he was. “Thank you…for apologising, Harry,” she eventually said. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you, too. I’ve seen how upset the whole Black thing makes you. I think we can agree to disagree on this.”

Harry nodded, but still stood awkwardly at arm’s length from her. “Are you okay?” He asked. “No one’s really seen you…”

She took a deep breath and answered, “Yeah, I…had a rough week, but I’m feeling better.”

“That’s good.”

Both of them glanced at Ron, who was standing off to the side and pointedly ignoring her. He didn’t acknowledge her and even looked impatiently at Harry. Fred and George cleared their throats. He only gave them a glance and muttered “C’mon, Harry,” before turning and heading back to the castle.

“He’s still pretty mad,” Harry said obviously before following him.

Fred and George escorted Hermione, and they hurried to catch up. “Ronniekins,” Fred called, “when people are apologising, it’s polite to join in.”

“I’m not the one who needs to apologise,” he called back.

“Oh? Are _you_ the one who’s been ignored all week?” George said.

“Whose friends abandoned you?” Fred added.

“Who can’t get into her own tower?”

“Can you hear someone talking, Harry?” Ron said.

Hermione sighed in frustration. That stupid pride of his—it was still mostly his fault, no matter what he said. What really surprised her is that he was keeping up the silent treatment for so long. Granted, with the week she’d had, she hadn’t made much effort to talk to him, either, but still. If he’d just be reasonable about it, she’d be willing to apologise for her part in it, but she wasn’t going to grovel to Ron Weasley. She was past that.

“Can’t we give her a break?” Harry said just loudly enough for her to hear.

“No. She’s still acting like Scabbers went on holiday or something.”

That was too much for her. She strode forward, grabbed Ron by the shoulder, and spun him around to face her. “Ronald,” she said sharply. She raised her head and turned up her nose a tiny bit. “I’m sorry Scabbers got eaten, okay?” she said. “I’m sure you cared about him just as much as I do for Crookshanks. But you should remember, I give Crookshanks the same freedom any other cat gets in the tower, while in the muggle world, pet rodents are not let out unprotected without supervision. I informed you multiple times that you weren’t taking appropriate precautions. I’m sorry for not keeping Crookshanks reigned in better, but you need to learn to take responsibility, too.”

“Yeah, well, Scabbers never had any trouble before you got that cat,” Ron shot back.

Hermione just harrumphed and moved on. She’d tried. That was the best she could do while he was still acting like that. The Twins glared at Ron. Oh, she was sure they could get him to come around after a while, but he really needed to grow up.

The five of them piled into a single carriage and bumped along up the path. As soon as they felt the dementors’ chill at the gates, the Twins grabbed her in one of their trademark four-armed hugs. It helped a little—it wasn’t as bad as when they’d come out, but she still found herself whining in fear and clutching at her head.

When her vision cleared, Harry was too preoccupied with resisting the dementors himself to notice much, but Ron eyed her with confusion.

“Dementors,” the Twins said in unison.

“She’s been in a funk for two weeks—

“—because of those things.”

Ron looked uncomfortable, but he crossed his arms and looked away. Meanwhile, the effect of the dementors combined with their argument seemed to have wiped out all of the happiness she had gained over the course of the day. Hermione suddenly felt like she was in just as much of a “funk” as she was that morning.

Things only got worse after dinner, as Fred and George refused to let her slip away back to the Room of Requirement. Instead, they took her by the arms again and pulled her along up to Gryffindor Tower.

“Guys, I don’t think I can do this,” she said fearfully.

“It’s time to stop running from your fears, Hermione,” George insisted as she struggled.

“What’s the big deal?” Ron said as he walked alongside the group.

“ _Trolls_ , Ronald,” she snapped. “Have one swing a club at your head, and you start to see them differently.”

“Yeah, well I bet Scabbers started to see cats differently after—”

“Ron, if you value your sanity, you won’t finish that sentence,” George growled at him, drawing his wand. “Open your eyes for once, and look at what it’s doing to her.” Indeed, Hermione was white as a sheet as they approached the corridor into the tower and had begun sweating and breathing heavily.

“Honestly, Ronniekins, you’re the one who always complained how useless Scabbers was,” Fred scolded.

“And Hermione’s been falling apart this week, if you’d care to notice,” George told him.

But before Ron could give an answer, Hermione let out a yelp. She was facing the trolls.

“Alright, let’s do this,” Fred said.

“No, I really don’t want to,” she said.

They picked her up by the arms again.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll do it!” She kicked with her feet until they set her down. If she was doing this, it would be on her own feet. They kept their arms linked with hers, though, for which she was secretly very grateful. She walked forward slowly. Her heart started pounding again, and she tried not to shake too much. One of the trolls grunted menacingly at the girl who was acting funny, and Hermione lost it and screamed.

Trolls don’t like loud noises.

The four trolls all growled and roared. They didn’t use their clubs, but they started swatting at the group, which only caused more shouting. Finally, Fred clapped his hand over Hermione’s mouth, and the trolls gave them enough space to pass. The Twins pushed her forward until they were through to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“Well, I say!” the painting said imperiously.

“Not now. Flibbertigibbet. Flibbertigibbet!” Fred said.

The Fat Lady swung aside, and they piled into the Common Room. Fred and George let go, and Hermione immediately collapsed face-down on the carpet, still shaking, with tears streaming down her face.

Ron did not sound happy: “Hermione, why did you do that—ouch!” Fred elbowed him hard.

“She didn’t do it on purpose,” she heard someone mutter amidst some jostling sounds.

“We shoulda helped her out last week.”

“Hasn’t she caused enough—ow!” There was a sound of someone being smacked in the back of the head.

“Quit being a prat, Ron.”

Hermione turned red as she picked herself off the rug. She must look really pathetic like this, though at least she was finally past the troll. She wiped her eyes and set herself on her feet the best she could. When she turned around, she found that the other boys had manoeuvred so that Ron was standing before her. She braced herself for his next insult, but apparently, the sight of a girl crying _did_ get through to him. _Oh, Merlin, and I told myself I wouldn_ _’t grovel_ , she thought. She defiantly held her head high to try to make up for it.

“Hermione, I, uh…” Ron started. His eyes flicked towards Fred. “I’m sorry for being a prat. You look like you’re really cracking up, and, uh…I shouldn’ta kicked you when you were down, you know?” Surprisingly, he actually sounded sincere, despite being strong-armed into it. Of course, seeing the state she was in was probably enough to make him come to his senses. He could just be so frustrating sometimes. She still thought he had some real potential if he would just use it properly, but it looked like that was going to be a long road.

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “Thank you, Ron,” she said, a little standoffishly. “And I meant what I said. I’m sorry about Scabbers.”

“Well…he was pretty useless,” Ron said reluctantly. “It’s just that he was all I could get…”

There was an awkward silence, which was broken by Fred: “Great. So can we all go back to being friends, now?”

“Yeah, friends,” Harry agreed firmly.

“…Yeah, friends,” Ron said. They looked to Hermione.

She looked between the boys and made her decision: “Yes…friends.”

This was followed by another awkward silence before they each went separate ways. Even if they were officially friends again, it would be a while before she was as close to Ron as she was before. She had no illusions about _that_ , and with some luck, Ron wouldn’t either.

“Hermione! You’re back!” Parvati cried when she climbed back up to her bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Lavender asked. “Hardly anyone’s seen you all week. We told you Professor Trelawney said—”

“It had nothing to do with Professor Trelawney,” Hermione said, as Crookshanks jumped up on her lap. He looked just as happy to see her as her roommates. He could hunt for himself, as she knew too well, she felt bad for leaving him alone for so long. “I found out I have a phobia of trolls from first year. I couldn’t get into the Tower until Fred and George made me.”

“But where did you sleep?” Parvati said worriedly. “How did you not get caught?”

“That’s…that’s my secret Parvati,” Hermione said. “Anyway, I should be back here full time now, so it’s fine.”

“Well, we’re glad you’re better, anyway.”

Hermione cuddled with Crookshanks a lot that evening. It was nice to have someone who seemed to understand her, even if he was a cat, but even that and reconciling with her friends still wasn’t enough to stave off another crash later that night: after facing the dementors twice and the trolls once that day, her nightmares were worse than ever. In the Room of Requirement, she at least wouldn’t have bothered anyone else, but now, she woke her roommates with her screaming multiple times. They tried to be supportive, but by the third interruption of their own sleep, their patience was wearing thin.

“Honestly, Hermione what’s the matter?” Lavender griped. “What’s got you so scared all of a sudden?”

“Dementors,” she groaned. “You wouldn’t understand.” She’d given up trying to explain it.

She spent about half her time that night lying awake, her roommates’ remarks becoming increasingly harsh. And she’d been doing so well that day, too. By the fifth time she woke up, it was early morning, and far too late to go back to sleep. Lavender and Parvati, unused to going without their beauty sleep, stumbled around blearily later that morning, acting very grumpy.

“Look, I don’t know what your problem is, Hermione, but you _need_ to find a way to deal with it. We are _not_ gonna go without sleep all week and wind up screwed up like you,” the blond said.

“I’m _trying_ to get by, here, Lavender. I don’t know why nobody else has it this hard, but I’m doing the best I can.”

“Well, you need to do something “cause _no one_ in this dorm is gonna have much fun until you get it together.”

At that, Hermione flopped back down onto her bed, crying again. She really was falling apart. If she couldn’t sleep, she certainly wouldn’t get any better, and at the moment, it seemed like she’d reconciled with one group of friends only to alienate another.

She didn’t know what she was going to do. She almost felt like she’d fallen into a Lovecraft story and learnt Things Man Was Not Meant To Know, for all the trouble it was causing her. Why couldn’t she find a way to stave off the nightmares of dementors? Even Harry had got over it, and his memories were way worse—

She froze. Suddenly, faster than she ever thought possible, her tears stopped. She pushed herself up and climbed out of bed with a feeling she hadn’t felt in weeks: determination. _Harry learnt how to repel dementors_ , she thought. _I can do it, too. I_ will _do it, too._ It was amazing how much such a simple thought changed her perspective. Just a slight change in her point of view made the insurmountable seem easy—or at least achievable. In retrospect, it should have been obvious, but for some reason, it had taken her completely breaking down to make the connection. Well, no more. She was taking back control of her life. Just the idea—the knowledge of having a plan she was sure would work—made her feel better than she had since before Professor Vector first told her that horrible truth. She actually felt…empowered.

Unlike the past week, she found it easy to get moving. She dressed quickly, feeling positively eager to start her day, despite her sleep-deprived state. As she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and took a good look at her reflection, another thought occurred to her that hadn’t before: _Maybe I_ should _do something about my hair_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Katharizi: based on the Greek for “to clean” or “to purge.”  
> Percolare: based on the Latin for “to filter” or “to pass through a sieve.”


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer test number 55: British? No. Female? No. Insanely wealthy? No. Probability of being JK Rowling: 0% (within experimental uncertainty).
> 
> Well, last chapter was a bit of a rocky start for Hermione, I admit, but taking control of your life can be a difficult process, with bumps and false starts along the way.
> 
> Certain reviewers still objected to my characterisation of Hermione in the previous chapter, and to this I say: go back and reread the last two paragraphs! I am not trying to make Hermione weak, but she is a fourteen-year-old girl who has been through three near-death experiences and is being forced to share the school with things that want to eat her. I know from personal experience that it’s possible to get stuck in a rut for a very long time when things pile on like that. I’m sorry if I don’t have a good handle on how often girls cry, but I feel like I wouldn’t have had to be much less inhibited to wind up like her at certain points in my life. Also, remember that like any story, I only have space to show the highlights (good and bad) of Hermione’s life. She’s still going to class day after day in a relatively stable state. My portrayal of Hermione may come across a bit skewed from what I intended, but I certainly didn’t do it thoughtlessly.
> 
> I also know from personal experience how a small shift in perspective can make a huge difference to you when you’re in a state like that. That’s why those last two paragraphs are so important. That moment is where Hermione really gets her act together (although socialising with the Twins and forcing herself to walk past the trolls were small steps forward). She will grow up fast and grow stronger fast from here on out, and I hope this chapter shows a good, clear start to that. And she doesn’t cry in it once. Or the next chapter. I checked.
> 
> As for Harry and Ron, well, they’re thirteen-year-old boys. They’re growing up, too, as Harry is already starting to, but it takes time. I wouldn’t have written a story that’s over 300,000 words and counting if I was going to have a quick fix.
> 
> So that’s my piece. If you don’t like it, go back to the end of Chapter 52 and write your own version. In fact, I’d consider it an honour to have inspired a spin-off fic, and I’d be happy to read it.
> 
> On an unrelated note, if you have doubts about how troublesome wavy hair is, let me say that as someone who has to live with it, even as a guy, it can be very frustrating. Also, a lot of barbers don’t know how to cut it properly.

Hermione’s life soon got back to some semblance of normal. She soon found that despite Fred’s and George’s forceful and somewhat ill-advised method of getting her past the trolls, it went a long way towards dispelling her phobia. She could walk past them on her own now without panicking, at least. Ginny had set Harry’s priorities in order (not the easiest feat, she thought, given his upbringing), and Ron was being nice to her again. In fact, Ron was trying to be unusually nice to her, which was a little strange, coming from him. It was clear the healing process would take time, but he was being polite and had stopped complaining about Crookshanks, so it was a good start. Maybe it would build up a habit. Hermione was finally starting to get more sleep, too, although _that_ healing process would more direct intervention.

While she waited, Hermione was now very glad that she’d brought one of her parents’ human anatomy textbooks to school with her, “just for reference.” She hadn’t expected to need it, but its description of the cellular and molecular structure of hair was invaluable for her latest spell. It was probably because of their limited knowledge of molecular chemistry that wizards had few spells able modify the texture of hair—potions, yes, but not spells. Simply put, hair curled because of the disulfide bonds and weaker hydrogen bonds that formed between the keratin protein strands of the fibres, causing them to stick in a curved position. A straightening iron worked by breaking the hydrogen bonds and reforming them in a straighter position, but moisture would disrupt this and cause them to snap back. A perm used chemicals to also rearrange the disulfide bonds, but this was more likely to damage the hair. Therefore, Hermione decided to stick with just spelling the hydrogen bonds in place for now.

Of course, Hermione’s problem wasn’t actually that her hair was curly. If it were curly, she could do something fashionable with it. But it wasn’t curly; it was _wavy_ —stubbornly, stiffly wavy, with waves that frayed and didn’t want to line up with each other so that it just turned bushy. She suspected Harry would have the same problem if he grew his hair out. That was why she couldn’t do anything more with it than putting it in a rough braid in it natural state. Fortunately, a Hair-Straightening Charm _should_ solve that problem just as well.

The individual elements of the spell were simple. She took some of the weaving elements from her Hair-Plaiting Charm and shifted the scale factors way down so that they would act on the individual protein strands. A new set of terms would straighten and align the strands. Then, a brief pulse of heat would break and reform the hydrogen bonds. It was tricky, but straightforward. She probably could have done it on the molecular level, but working out the spells to manipulate the chemistry would have been a major project.

After double-checking the spell and testing it on some wigs in the Room of Requirement, by Thursday morning, she was ready to try it on her own hair. Looking in the mirror, she waved her wand at her bushy tresses and cast, “ _Micronima Isiazolio_.”

To her delight, her hair straightened itself, and those stubborn waves worked their way out of it. Unfortunately, as straight as it was, it somehow looked even more like a lion’s mane than usual. “Ugh. Frizz city,” she groaned. “But it’s progress. Go back to the drawing board; create another spell to cut down on frizz. Right.” In the absence of other options, she quickly plaited her hair with her other spell and went down to breakfast.

* * *

Professor Lupin was not expecting anyone to come into his office at eight o’clock on Thursday evening. He had pronounced Harry fully qualified with the Patronus Charm two weeks ago—as qualified as he was likely to get at his age anyway—and he had used the spell to great effect against the bullies at the Quidditch match. So he was most surprised when Harry returned to his office at his weekly lesson time and still more surprised that he had brought a friend along with him.

“Hello, Harry, Hermione,” he said. “Can I help you?”

It was Hermione who stepped forward. He had noticed her not looking well the past several weeks. She seemed to be doing better now, but she still looked troubled. “Professor Lupin…I was wondering if you could teach me the Patronus Charm,” she said.

Lupin’s eyebrows shot up. As studious as Hermione was, he hadn’t been expecting that. And Harry hadn’t mentioned any of his friends needing or wanting to learn. “Well, that’s a little complicated, Hermione,” he replied. “May I ask why you want to learn it?”

“Because I won’t be able to sleep at night until I learn it,” she said in a strained voice. “I hate the fact that soul-eating monsters exist. I’ve been a wreck for the past three weeks because of it. I still see those hoods when I close my eyes. I’d rather just see them destroyed, but that doesn’t look likely to happen anytime soon, so I at least want to be able to defend myself against them.”

“Ahhh…” Lupin said. “So I take it your boggart will now take the form of a dementor?”

“I’m sure it will, sir. Merlin, I was so _stupid_ ,” she said angrily. “My worst fear was my parents pulling me out of school? There’s so many worse things—”

“Hermione, it’s perfectly alright,” he assured her. “You were afraid of losing something very important to you, and you didn’t know the truth about dementors at the time. That you recognise the horror now, as unfortunate as it is for you, shows great wisdom. Now, since your boggart will be a dementor, that will simplify things. If you had only wanted to learn it out of academic interest, it would have been more difficult. Unfortunately, I already banished the boggart I was using with Harry, but I can probably find another around here somewhere in a couple of weeks.”

Hermione frowned: “I was hoping we could at least start the theory tonight, sir.”

“Hmm, I suppose we can…Harry you haven’t said anything. What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering that myself, Professor. Hermione wouldn’t tell me. I just kinda figured I owed her one after last week.”

She coloured a bit: “Sorry, Harry. I got overexcited. I was hoping you could help teach me.”

“What?”

“Well, you already learnt it—and not many wizards can. You might have some good insights on it.”

“I, er, I don’t know—”

“I daresay you might, Harry,” Lupin said with a chuckle. “Another point of view, one from someone her own age, may be just what your friend needs.”

“Um, okay. I guess I can.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione said.

“Okay, let’s get started. The spell, as you probably know by now, is the Patronus Charm. The Patronus is a guardian—a projection of the positive emotions dementors feed upon—purified and amplified, until it is so powerful that it overwhelms them and drives them back. And while the dementors are focused on the Patronus, they can’t feed on you directly. It’s a very difficult charm, but if you’re as good as you seem to be, Hermione, I think you can do it. Harry, why don’t you demonstrate the spell for her?”

Harry looked a little nervous being put on the spot like that. But he nodded his head and drew his wand. Steeling himself, he waved it in a complex motion and said, “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A silver light emanated from the end of his wand—a light that seemed to radiate positive emotions. The sight alone had a calming effect on Hermione. The light formed into a mist, which took on a vague, cloudy shape, larger than a man, but with no definite form. After trying to make it take a solid shape for a minute, Harry cut off the spell. He looked out of breath.

“It had a form at the Quidditch Match, but I didn’t get a good look at it,” he said, disappointed.

“That was still really nice,” Hermione assured him.

“Yes,” Lupin said, though he looked a bit disappointed as well. “It can be difficult to do consistently, but that is still phenomenal for a third year. So, we might as well get to it. The wand movements are a bit finicky…”

Finicky was right. The Patronus Charm was a difficult spell with a difficult wand movement that nonetheless would have to be cast very fast in a dangerous situation. It took both Lupin and Harry walking her through it to get it right. Harry seemed to teach by example more than Lupin, but he was surprisingly good at going through it step by step. Before the end of the lesson, Lupin pronounced her wand movement good.

“You’ll want to keep practising it over the next week, but that’s good wand handling. Now, the most difficult part of the spell is that it only works if you concentrate with all your might on a single, powerful, happy memory. Finding the right memory can be difficult and focusing clearly on it can be very challenging, so it’s good to practise the spell with some different ones so that you have one that you know works well.”

“Yeah, that was the hardest part for me,” Harry said. He didn’t elaborate, but Hermione knew well enough why. Curse his relatives.

She wondered which of her own memories would be good for casting the Patronus Charm. Love for family and friends seemed the obvious answer, but she couldn’t think of many specific memories for that that stood out above the rest. After considering a few other possibilities that were more wide-ranging, she finally settled on the first time she saw Hogwarts Castle in her first year. “I think I’m ready to try it, Professor,” she said.

“Alright, then,” he replied. “Concentrate on that happy memory, and cast the spell.”

Hermione focused as hard as she could and waved her wand. “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” she said. “ _Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum_.”

A wisp of silver mist shot from the end of her wand, and she squeaked in surprise. She felt a trifle dizzy from the effort, but it soon passed. Presumably, that would improve with practice.

“Brilliant, Hermione,” Lupin said.

“It didn’t do much,” she said, disappointed.

“That’s as good as my first try was,” Harry said. “I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“Yes, that was very good for a first try, especially at your age,” Lupin agreed.

That was a little more encouraging. “Let me try that again,” she said. “I think maybe I need a stronger memory. Harry, if—you’re comfortable saying, what memory did you use?”

Harry gritted his teeth uncomfortably, but he took a deep breath and said, “I went through a bunch of them. At first, I thought of the first time I rode a broom, but that didn’t work very well…Then I tried when I found out I’d be able to leave the Dursleys, and that worked better, but…I wish I had some good memories of my parents, but I don’t. So…eventually, I thought of something else…” He glanced at Lupin nervously.

“What was it?” she asked.

“Actually, it was that first Halloween, after the troll—when we spent all night just talking.”

“It was?”

“Yeah, I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it was the first time I ever did anything like that. Ron was already my good mate, but that was the first time I realised I had friends like that I could just talk to for a while like that—like normal.”

“Wow…” Hermione felt humbled. “Well…I’m glad I could help, then.” Harry’s advice was surprisingly good—maybe better than he realised. She tried to think of more mundane memories that still contained the joy of spending time with people she cared about. She thought of the sunlit days she’d spent with her parents in France last summer and tried the spell again: “ _Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum. Expecto Patronum_!”

She felt the power of the spell much more strongly this time. Instead of a mere wisp, her wand produced a sizable orb of silver light—not as strong as Harry’s, but still respectable, and though it was draining, she still felt happier in its glow.

“Excellent! Really excellent, Hermione,” Lupin said. “I daresay you’re off to as good a start as Harry was.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione smiled.

“I’m pleased to find two students so skilled in my class,” he said. “It reminds me of the good old days. Now, I think that’s about as far as you’ll get tonight. It’s possible to get there without a boggart, but it’ll go faster if you have one to push yourself with. I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet next week—” Next Thursday was the night before the full moon. “—so let’s meet again in two weeks’ time. You’re welcome to practice in the meantime, Hermione.”

“Yes, Professor.” She was about to go, but something stopped her. “Professor, there was something…” she said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I hadn’t thought it much, but at the first Quidditch match, when the dementors came on the field, and Harry fell off his broom—something happened. When I saw him fall, I suddenly started seeing the situation in terms of maths—acceleration due to gravity and so forth, and suddenly, the effect of the dementors got better. I could think more clearly, and I figured out how to save him. It was like…the maths was enough of a happy memory for me to do something.”

“Hmm…interesting,” Lupin said thoughtfully. “I don’t think you could really call that a “happy memory.” Of course, maths _is_ very important to you. Even I’ve seen how your eyes light up when you talk about arithmancy. It’s possible that you happen to have a strong, happy memory that is associated with maths and arithmancy, it might be worth a shot.”

“Really? Maybe I should try…” She raised her wand again, but she stopped. “Doesn’t that make me kind of a lousy person though? I mean if I care about numbers so much compared with my friends and family?”

Harry smiled reassuringly: “Then you’re a lousy person who’s saved my life eight times.”

“Eight?!” Lupin yelped in surprise, but he collected himself: “Excuse me. Harry _is_ right, Hermione. It’s not about caring about numbers more. Maybe that’s what arithmancy was for you at first, but it goes much deeper than that, now. Professor Vector’s told me a lot about you, so I think I know how you think. For you, arithmancy is your way of feeling empowered. It’s how you can take control of your life, and can overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles. And the fact that when you called up your maths skills, you instantly jumped to that solution to save your friend’s life shows your good heart and your dedication to your friends. Arithmancy is a powerful tool, and one you very much enjoy, but it’s that caring and dedication that makes it work against dementors for you.”

“Ahhh.Thank you, Professor,” she said, much relieved. She took a deep breath and said, “I think I’d like to try it one more time.”

“Be my guest.”

She raised her wand again, trying to concentrate on happy memories connected with her arithmancy and spellcrafting studies. The first ones that came to mind were the crisis moments—solving Professor Vector’s code puzzle, inventing a spell to block the basilisk’s gaze—but that wasn’t quite right. They weren’t actually happy memories. She thought harder, to when she had actually used her skills to help people—she had helped her parents learn to brew potions and helped Filch do the same. She had saved Hagrid’s first Magical Creatures lesson. She had helped Luna get to the Halloween Feast—small things, but they felt right. She focused on those things and cast the spell: “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

Her Patronus was similar to her last try, a glowing orb hovering in front of her—not really stronger, but not weaker either.

“Very good again. I’m sure you’ll improve with practice,” Lupin told her.

“Yes, Professor. I’ll have to experiment to find the best memory to use. Thank you again.”

“You’re quite welcome. Good night.”

Hermione was smiling as she and Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower. It was an amazing feeling to know she wasn’t helpless against dementors anymore, and to be in control of her life again. “Thank you, too, Harry,” she said. “You’re a good teacher, you know.”

“Er, thanks. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“You are. You taught Ginny Quidditch really well, and you definitely helped me tonight.”

Harry shrugged and nodded noncommittally.

Hermione decided to try the Patronus Charm one more time before she went to bed. It again wasn’t much different from before, but it really impressed her roommates, who thought it was really beautiful, even though it didn’t take a shape.

Hermione slept better that night than she had in a very long time.

* * *

“Luna, hi! How are you?” Hermione said, running up to her Ravenclaw friend.

Luna turned around and smiled broadly. “Hello, Hermione, I’m very well, and I see that you are, too. Your wrackspurts are clearing up nicely.”

“Um…I don’t know what that means, Luna, but I wanted to apologise for being so distant to you. I was having panic attacks over dementors, and then I developed a phobia of security trolls, and I slept in a secret room for a week, and then I had tea for three at Madam Puddifoot’s, and finally, I decided to take control of my life, so I learnt the Patronus Charm, and—Well, I just want you to know it’s wasn’t anything you did. I just went off the deep end this past month.”

Luna listened to her rambling patiently, tilting her head as she often did, but she frowned at one point. “That’s silly, Hermione,” she said sharply. “Even I know no one gets tea for three at Madam Puddifoot’s, and I haven’t even been to Hogsmeade.”

 _Luna Lovegood just called me silly_ , Hermione thought. _That probably isn_ _’t a good sign._ “It’s true, Luna. I wasn’t trying to trick you. Fred and George Weasley were involved.”

“Oh, that explains it then,” she said, smiling again. “You really learnt the Patronus Charm?”

“Uh huh—or started to. I’ll need a lot more practice to do it well.”

“That’s very impressive. Not many people can do that.”

“Well, I kind of had to. It’s the only thing that stopped the panic attacks.”

“I’m sorry you’re having a hard time, Hermione,” Luna said, “but I’m glad you’re getting better. I was getting lonely when you were away all the time.”

“Well, I’m back, Luna,” she smiled. “And thank you. I’m glad I’m getting better, too.”

* * *

“Okay, toy wand test number one,” Hermione said, carefully writing down the experimental procedures. “Pine twig stripped of bark, flitterbloom tendril core, non-magical glue, no varnish. Glasses on.”

Hermione, Fred, and George each slipped on a pair of safety glasses furnished by the Room of Requirement.

“Go ahead, Fred,” she said.

Fred flicked the experimental wand once and said “ _Lumos_.”

_CRACK!_

Hermione squeaked in surprise as the wand exploded with a light like a camera flash, sending splinters flying across the room.

“Whoa!” the Twins said.

“Obviously needs some work,” George quipped.

“Definitely. Where’d the other half go?” Fred replied as he held half a twig in his hand.

The looked around the Room. “Here it is,” Hermione said, picking up the other half from where it had fallen, clear across the workshop.

They examined the two main pieces. The wand had split lengthwise along the seam, the exposed surface blackened. Using a pair of forceps, they peeled the charred remains of the flitterbloom tendril off of one of the halves.

“Hmm…the main difference from the store-bought toys is the glue,” Fred observed.

“Looks like it couldn’t take it,” George agreed. “It’s all burnt up.”

Hermione thought about that: “The entire surface is burnt. At first thought, I’d say the glue superheated and boiled, splitting the wood, and it burned on exposure to the air.”

“Could be. Anyway, it looks like the magical glue is probably important, then,” George said.

“Have you had any luck analysing what’s in the store-bought toys?” she asked.

“Still working on it.”

“It’s hard to analyse a potion when you have so little of it—and dried out,” Fred told her. “Once we have that figured out, we should be able to at least replicate the cheap ones.”

“Well, I guess we’re adjourned until we have that potion,” Hermione said.

* * *

After all her problems in February, Hermione was very relieved to find things lightening up as the weeks passed. She was still frightfully busy with all of her classes, not to mention that she had to start thinking about her upcoming Arithmancy O.W.L., but she was soon on top of things again. She continued to practice the Patronus Charm every night before she went to bed, trying it with a different memory each time, and she made steady progress. She nearly broke down again the first time she faced the boggart-dementor, but she picked herself up and kept trying. She was nothing if not determined. She still couldn’t stand the idea of the dementors lurking about and still thought the Ministry was making a mistake by appeasing them in general, but at least they weren’t giving her nightmares anymore—much.

Draco Malfoy seemed very miffed that his efforts to scare her suddenly stopped working. In fact, none of his campaigns were really panning out this year. Harry was cleaning up at Quidditch again; Hermione was no longer terrified of dementors; Hagrid hadn’t got in any serious trouble all year, and his classes were actually fun. Naturally, this put him in an increasingly bad mood.

Hermione, meanwhile, was busy working on a new spell—the one to complete her hair-styling hat-trick. It took a lot of reading, but she thought she had it, and just in time for the Quidditch final—if that could be considered a social event.

Frizzy hair, she learnt, was caused by the outer, scale-like cuticle of the hair peeling up at the cellular level, often because of mechanical stress, allowing the hair to absorb excess moisture. After digging through the chemistry for a while and coming up with some interesting ideas that she would need to get back to later, she decided to try something a little more metaphorically low-tech. After extensive reading in the library, she managed to find a roofing spell that was designed to repair loose shingles. From there, it was fairly simple: she just reduced the scale factors and modified a few terms to account for the different material, and she hoped she would have a spell that would repair the damaged cuticles and make her hair smooth and well-behaved.

This was a little trickier to test than her other spells, since she couldn’t replicate the exact conditions of her hair with the wigs, but once she got the spell to the point where nothing bad happened when she tried it on them, she cut off a small lock of her own hair to test it on. After a couple more attempts, it seemed to work on that, and she was ready to try it on herself.

Dry hair was a major cause of frizz, so she applied the spell right after a shower to try to lock in a healthy level of moisture, first lightly towelling her hair, then brushing it, then waving her wand with the words, “ _Aplana Tejascabello_.”

That didn’t appear to do much while her hair was still damp, but once it fully dried, it did seem to have a softer, smoother wave than usual. This was the moment of truth. She waved her wand again and cast, “ _Micronima Isiazolio_.”

“YES!”

“Hermione? What happened?” Lavender called.

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, and Lavender’s and Parvati’s jaws dropped.

“I finally got my new spell working.”

“Sweet Merlin! Who are you and what have you done with Hermione?” Parvati said. “The real Hermione never tries to fix her hair.”

Hermione giggled and flipped her hair, revelling in how much more manageable it was. “I just thought it was time for a change,” she said.

“Wow, that really looks nice, Hermione. I’m impressed,” Lavender agreed. “Will you let us do your makeup, now?”

“Let’s not get carried away.”

Her roommates laughed, but she was still off to a great start. But the real test was when she went down to breakfast, and she succeeded in turning a few heads there. Mostly for the novelty, but still. Naturally, the boys were mostly interested in the Quidditch match.

“Ahem. Morning,” she said as she reached her friends at the table.

Ron, Ginny, and Harry all did a double take when they saw her.

“Hermione? Is that you?” Ron blurted.

“In the flesh,” she said.

“But…but your hair, it’s—”

“Straight?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Not to mention smooth and shiny,” Ginny added. “How did you do it?”

“Magic,” she said.

“Magic?”

“All my own spells and not an ounce of product,” Hermione said smugly. “Take _that_ , genetics.”

“Wow…uh, it looks good,” Ron said.

“Why thank you, Ron,” she said primly. She smiled as she sat beside him. “Harry, are you ready for the match?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“I hope so. I don’t think Cho is going to make it easy for you.”

Harry turned slightly pink, but he said, “I can handle it.”

When the game began, Cho used the same strategy on Harry that she had used on Cedric, marking him closely and following until he spotted the Snitch, and then zooming ahead of him. That was a risky play considering Harry was on a much faster broom than Cedric, but it nearly worked because Harry wasn’t keen to play too aggressively against her. Wood put a stop to that, though: “QUIT BEING SUCH A GENTLEMAN! KNOCK HER OFF HER BROOM IF YOU HAVE TO!”

Unfortunately, Harry took that a bit too literally and went too far the other way. He spotted the Snitch again and zoomed after it, and Cho did the only thing she could against such a fast broom: she tried to cut him off again. And then Harry did the only thing _he_ could do to get the Snitch: he flew right into her…knocking her off her broom.

Hermione screamed, as did a lot of other people, but Harry apparently knew what he was doing, and he was on a _very_ fast broom. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the Snitch out of the air, flipped over, and dove fast, snatching Cho by the hand and slowing to a stop just off the ground.

The screams in the stands turned to cheers, both for Harry winning the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor and for that stunning bit of flying. Both Harry and Cho were still staring at each other, blushing slightly, when the fans stormed the pitch.

“Uh, thanks, Harry…I think,” Cho said.

“No problem,” he replied.

“Harry Potter!” Hermione yelled when she reached him. “You could’ve killed her doing that!” she scolded. “Did you plan that move to catch her from the start?”

“Er, not exactly, but I could tell it was the only thing that would work against her,” he said.

“Oh, Harry,” she groaned.

* * *

“Toy wand test number seven. Machined pine dowel, flitterbloom tendril core, magical glue based on the one-sickle store-bought wands, no varnish.” Hermione had written to her bemused parents to send her some proper dowels for their experiments. They weren’t sure whether a machined dowel or a natural twig would work better, but the dowels were at least more uniform. “Glasses on. Go ahead, George.”

“Lumos.”

The wand lit up with a harsh, white, flickering light, like a fluorescent bulb on the blink. It wasn’t much, but it was almost exactly the same flicker as they got from the store-bought wands.

“Awesome!” Fred exclaimed.

“Yes! Test successful,” Hermione said.

“Good to know we can replicate the cheap ones, then,” George said.

“Yeah. Our family isn’t gonna know what hit ‘em this summer,” Fred grinned.

“Oh, no,” Hermione said, “I’ve created a pair of monsters.”

* * *

Things continued to go surprisingly well for the next month. Hermione’s Patronus still didn’t quite get to the corporeal level, but Professor Lupin still said she was in good shape and “passed” her in her lessons. She definitely felt a lot more confident, anyway. The only thing that really got her frazzled now was her impending Arithmancy O.W.L., for which she was revising feverishly. Malfoy had quite bugging her. Her Quidditch World Cup predictions continued to be very good. And best of all, neither hide nor hair of Sirius Black had been seen since February.

She should have known trouble was on the horizon. Things always seemed to happen in October and May at Hogwarts.

It was nearly dinnertime, and Hermione was just putting the finishing touches on her latest spellcrafting project. She was really excited about this one. It was something completely new to the magical world, and the potential applications were endless. Better yet, the incantation was only four syllables. That was professional-level spellcrafting. When she explained it to Professor Vector, she said it might even be worth a paper in _Annals of Arithmancy_ , even though it wasn’t along the lines of their studies in non-Euclidean geometry. (It instead required some tricky differential equations to make the waveforms line up.) She grinned as she watched Crookshanks and Wendelin chase each other around the Common Room. The two cats would be an important part of this test, at least according to some comments from her parents in response to her recent letters. She checked over her maths one more time, and she was ready to go.

Just then, Lavender and Parvati burst into the Common Room.

“Hey, girls,” she said brightly. “Come look at this.”

“Hermione!” they yelled frantically.

“We have to tell you—” Lavender said.

“Somethings gonna happen—” Parvati said.

“Just a minute,” Hermione said. “I’m about to make history here.”

“You are?” Parvati squeaked.

“Have you bound a dark servant with spells unknown?”

“Um…no? But I _do_ have a new spell—”

“What is it?” Lavender said. “This is important. Trelawney said you’re going to bind a dark servant.”

“Well…this spell won’t bind anyone, but it _is_ really neat.”

“But Trelawney—”

“No, really, just look at this,” Hermione insisted, too excited to back down. She waved her wand at the floor and spoke her newest incantation: “ _Lux Cohaerens_.”

A dot of red light appeared on the floor.

“Uh, what is it?” Lavender said.

Just then, there was a yowl, and two cats pounced on the red dot. Lavender and Parvati jumped, but Hermione just laughed and shifted her wand. The dot moved across the floor, and Crookshanks and Wendelin chased after it. In moments, she had them running around and around in circles, over and under the furniture, and even trying to run up the walls. A small crowd of her friends started to gather.

“They’ve gone mad! How’re you doing that?” said Ginny, coming to see the commotion.

“It’s an Imperius Curse for cats!” Parvati exclaimed.

“Bloody hell, are you going dark, Hermione?” Ron said half-seriously.

Hermione kept laughing at the felines’ and her friends’ antics. “No, no, no, it’s a laser pointer!” she said. “It makes a narrow beam of red light that you can only see when it hits something. They’re all over the place in the muggle world. Cats like to chase them.” She cut off the spell with a simple “ _Nox_ ” (that was still the degenerate form for lights-out) before the cats could cause too much damage.

“Oh. Well, that’s nice,” said Parvati.

“‘ _Nice_?” That’s it?” she said indignantly. “I just invented a magical laser! The first person to do this in the muggle world won the Nobel Prize!” _Well, it was a maser, but close enough._ “The applications are endless. It can do more stuff than even I can imagine.” Lavender and Parvati still looked unimpressed. “Fine, then. _What_ is so important?”

“Trelawney made a prophecy!” Lavender and Parvati yelled in unison.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes: “Fine, if you want to believe that—”

“No, Hermione, we’re serious,” Lavender said. “It wasn’t a prediction. It was a _prophecy!_ She went all stiff like this, _and started talking like this_.” She rolled her eyes back in her head, held her arms out like a zombie, and started speaking in a spooky, harsh, rasping voice. “ _And then she didn_ _’t remember it afterwards_.”

Hermione edged back a little and glanced at Harry, Ron, and Ginny, sharing a sceptical look. “Really?” she said.

“We’re not kidding, Hermione,” Parvati said. “Those are the signs of a true prophecy, and even people who don’t believe in regular divination believe in those.”

Hermione was still unconvinced, but Harry spoke up. “What did the prophecy say?” he said.

Lavender and Parvati looked at each other and then produced a parchment and started reading it together in unison in rather creepy fashion:

 

_“Two servants, unalike in dignity,_

_For twelve years hidden, now will be revealed._

_One will escape and go to victory;_

_One bound by spells unknown, his fate is sealed._

_The Dark Lord waits, alone, without a friend_

_For one who power will restore to him._

_Tonight before the clock strikes twelve, the end;_

_His servant will return with purpose grim._

_More dreadful than before, the war shall come,_

_And many will to Magic Dark succumb._ _”_

 

An ominous silence fell over the Common Room as the poem ended. Even Hermione felt a kind of weight in the words, even if she tried to convince herself otherwise. “‘ _Two servants, unalike in dignity_ ’?” she said, snatching the parchment from their hands. “She ripped that off Shakespeare.”

“This isn’t a joke!” said Lavender. “Something bad’s gonna happen. Did you see how she said “grim’? The Grim is a big, black dog, and it’s an omen of death!”

“She said ‘grim’ because it rhymes with ‘him,’” Hermione insisted, but then she heard Harry’s breath hitch and saw him turn pale. “Harry, what is it?”

“I saw it,” he said. “The Grim.”

“You did? When?” Parvati squeaked in horror.

“All over. Back at Privett Drive, at the first Quidditch game, wandering the grounds a few weeks ago—”

“But it doesn’t matter,” Hermione interrupted. “Even if this prophecy’s real, it’s not the same ‘grim’ as in the poem.”

“But what if it is?” Ginny said. “A real prophecy, I mean.” She shuddered slightly. “Maybe we should try and figure out what it means.”

“It probably doesn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t know, Hermione.” Ron said. “I reckon even if it’s a fake, the old bat _meant_ it to mean something.”

“Hey!” Lavender and Parvati said.

“Okay, whatever,” Hermione said, looking over the parchment. “Well, obviously, the Dark Lord is Voldemort—” The other girls gasped in horror. “Really?”

“So…You-Know-Who has two servants,” Ginny reasoned, “and one’s going to escape and get back to him, and the other one’s gonna be caught.”

“Someone’s gonna get caught? Sirius Black?” Harry said hopefully.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Hermione said. “Sirius Black and who else, then?”

“Malfoy’s Dad, maybe?” suggested Ron. “We know he worked for You-Know-Who. He was behind the—the diary.” He glanced at Ginny.

“But Mr. Malfoy isn’t really hidden, though,” Hermione countered. “Come to think of it, neither was Black. He was just captured. Although I guess you could interpret being in Azkaban as…well, you see? This is why Divination is so unhelpful. It can mean anything you want it to.”

“It can’t mean just _anything_ ,” Parvati huffed. “It obviously means Black’s either gonna get caught or escape tonight.”

“He’d better get caught,” Harry growled.

“Harry, we don’t have any reason to think this is for real,” Hermione insisted.

“Well, maybe not, but I sure don’t want him getting away.”

“Neither do I, Harry, but even if it _is_ for real, it’s more complicated than just Black.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Ginny said worriedly. “I don’t like the sound of that more dreadful war and succumbing to Dark Magic.”

“Blimey,” Ron muttered, “if You-Know-Who _does_ come back somehow, we’re in _big_ trouble.”

“I still think it’s much ado about nothing,” Hermione insisted.

“But it all makes sense,” Parvati said. “Look at this, Hermione: “Bound by spells unknown.” That could be referring to you.”

She gave her roommate another sceptical look: “Me? Really?”

“Yes, you’re always making new spells. They’re unknown.”

“Parv, I’m only an O.W.L. student. I’m only the one who does the most spellcrafting amongst your friends, not the whole school, and most of what we do is reinventing spells, anyway.”

“I dunno, Hermione,” Ginny countered, “you’re the only one around here who publishes papers, and didn’t you say that red light spell was completely new?”

“Well…there is that…”

“And there’s something else that’s different about you from the other Arithmancy students,” she added.

“What’s that?”

“You’re friends with Harry. If You-Know-Who’s involved…Harry might be, too,” she whispered.

“Ginny, calm down. We don’t know if anything’s going to happen.”

“You shouldn’t dismiss a prophecy, Hermione,” Lavender said. “A lot of divination is just for fun, but prophecies are serious business.”

“Lav, Parv, if you’re so worried about it, just go and tell Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione said in exasperation. “I’m sure if there’s anything to be done, he’ll take care of it.”

“Oh course! Dumbledore!” Parvati said. “He’ll know what to do.”

“Yeah, I bet he knows all about prophecies,” Lavender agreed. “C’mon, Parv, let’s go.” The two girls ran from the Common Room.

Hermione sighed as they left. “Alright, come on,” she told her friends. “Let’s go get dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Micronima Isiazolio: stylised from the Greek for “tiny threads, unbend, unbind.” Credit to MMternit, syed, drovitch77, and Tanzanite Queen for this idea.
> 
> Aplana Tejascabello: stylised from the Spanish for “flatten shingles of hair.” Credit to Drovitch77 for this idea.
> 
> Lux Cohaerens: Latin for “coherent light.”


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, in accordance with the prophecy.
> 
> Thanks for all the positive reviews. It’s good to see I haven’t lost your interest. I admit I may have gone too far in third year, but as I said, Hermione is definitely getting stronger fast, as you will see in this chapter.

“Hermione?” Harry said.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Don’t you think we should do more?”

“What, about the prophecy?” she said. “We already sent Lav and Parv to Dumbledore. What else do we need?”

Ginny spoke up: “I’m kinda worried, too, Hermione. What if they’re right, and something really is gonna happen? Should we tell the other teachers or something?”

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will if it’s important,” Hermione assured them. And yet, even as she said it, there was something nagging at the back of her mind: Sirius Black was still out there, and he was running out of time to get Harry this school year. As they walked down to dinner, Hermione spotted two other people who might potentially be useful in the outside chance that something _did_ happen. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to hedge her bets, would it? “Just a moment,” she told her friends and rushed over to the pair. “Fred, George,” she said quietly.

“Hello, Hermione,” Fred said cheerfully.

“And what can we do for you this fine evening?” asked George.

“Do you remember what we discussed in February?”

“Um, I think we discussed a lot of things in February. Can you be more specific?” asked Fred.

“I’ve got…a feeling about tonight. I think you should keep an especially close eye out for Sirius Black tonight,” Hermione replied.

They became concerned at once. “Why? Did something happen?” George said urgently.

“Not that I know of. It’s a long story—and it’s probably nothing—but a few people think something might happen tonight.”

“Okay, we’ll keep an eye out for you,” Fred agreed.

“Yeah, nothing escapes the eye of the Map,” said George.

“Well, except you, but there’s no way Black’s as smart as you,” Fred said.

Hermione remembered her suspicions about who created the Marauder’s Map. But even if she was right about that, she had still found places that the Map didn’t cover. Actually, come to think of it…“Er, by the way, Professor Lupin shows up on the Map, right?” she asked.

“Yes. Why?” the Twins said in unison.

“No reason.”

But even with that extra layer of insurance, Harry still didn’t seem fully assuaged. He was preoccupied at dinner, frequently glancing around as if Sirius Black would show up in the Great Hall out of the blue at any moment. Hermione was getting worried about her friend. This year was wearing on him in a way the previous two had not. The revelations about his family had understandably hit hard and had left him in a vulnerable state of mind.

“Harry, if it makes you feel better, we can go down to the kitchens and ask the elves to keep an eye out, too,” she told him.

Harry blinked at her and quickly nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,” he replied.

They went downstairs right after dinner, since Dobby’s and Sonya’s shift had just started. They passed Crookshanks prowling in the Entrance Hall, but fortunately, Ron didn’t say anything about him.

The kitchens were always abuzz with activity right after dinner. The elves were running around everywhere, washing dishes and putting them away, scrubbing stovetopes, wiping down the long tables, and picking up any loose articles that students left behind and sending them back up to the Great Hall. After all, the easiest way to clean the long tables up there was to bring all the mess on them down here.

As soon as the foursome entered the kitchens, a group of excited elves rushed up to them, calling their names. “Is Masters and Misses wanting after-dinner snacks?” one asked.

“Sure,” Ron said.

“ _Ron_ ,” Hermione chided. “No thank you. We just want to talk to Dobby and Sonya.”

“Nellie will gets them, miss.”

A moment later, two elves came up to them, seemingly in the middle of an argument.

“You shoulds keep to your own place, Dobby,” said a small elf with scraggly blond hair and cobalt blue eyes. “You is a former family elf, but that does not mean Flory has qualified you for cooking at Hogwarts.”

“Dobby has a right to speak to the cooking elves, _Sonnitt_.” He glared at Sonya with his tennis-ball green eyes and crossed his arms.

“Do not be calling me Sonnitt!” It was almost comical to see the smaller elf looking so cross.

“Miss Hermione’s family is knowing a lot about how humans should eat to be healthy,” Dobby continued without missing a beat. “Dobby is trying to help the students.”

“And Sonya is trying to help Dobby, but you is not listening. You is not earning elves’ respect when you tells them how to do their jobs.”

“Ahem,” Hermione coughed.

Both elves’ heads snapped in her direction. “Oh, hello, Miss Hermione,” they said in unison.

Hermione sniggered behind her hand. Elves never ceased to amaze her. “Hello, Dobby. Hello, Sonya,” she said.

“Can we be helping you and your friends, Miss Hermione?” Dobby asked.

“Well, yes. You see, my roommates have got it into their heads that Professor Trelawney made a prophecy.”

Dobby gasped.

“What is it?”

“Oh, prophecies is very serious business, Miss Hermione,” Dobby said worriedly.

“Maybe, but it’s Professor Trelawney. She—”

“Miss Hermione and her friends shoulds be very careful,” Dobby interrupted. “When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fell, there was whispers of a prophecy. It was being very secret, miss. Even Dobby’s old masters did not know much. But Dobby heard that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named offered a very great reward for anyone who could capture Headmaster Dumbledore’s Professor Trelawney alive.”

“Ha, fat chance of that with Dumbledore guarding her,” Ron said.

“No, Ron Weasley, sir,” Dobby agreed. “No Death Eater ever got close, but if Miss Hermione’s friends are thinking Professor Trelawney made a prophecy, they might be right.”

“Oh, no,” Ginny said.

“What was the prophecy saying, Miss Hermione Granger?” Sonya asked.

“Well, it didn’t make much sense. It said something about there being two servants of the Dark Lord, and one would escape tonight, and the other would be captured, but the only servant of the Dark Lord who could be around here is Sirius Black.”

Sonya and Dobby looked as confused as she was, but as worried as Ginny. They both opened their mouths to respond, but then, there was a commotion in one of the side rooms to the kitchens and the air was filled with shouting and clanging.

“ _Rat! Is being a rat in the pantry_!”

All of the elves sprang into action as a very thin, bedraggled rat ran out of the pantry at breakneck speed. They chased it around the kitchen, swinging at it with pots and pans. Even at that speed, Hermione could tell it looked pretty sick for having been living in a pantry. It was scrawny, and its fur was falling out. And somehow—she had no idea how—Ron recognised it.

“Merlin’s beard! It’s _Scabbers_!”

Ron gave chase, and his friends followed. “Scabbers, come here! It’s me Ron! Don’t hurt him! That’s _my_ rat!” he yelled as the elves kept going after Scabbers with pots and pans.

“ _Rat must get out of the kitchens_!” the elves yelled. “ _No rats is allowed with the food_!”

“Don’t hurt him!” Hermione cried. “We’ll get him out!”

“Hey back off!” Ron shouted at the elves. “Scabbers, come _on_!”

Scabbers made it to the door and bolted from the kitchens with Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny following close behind. “Catch him!” Ron yelled. The rat made for the stairs at a startling speed, considering how ill he looked. Even more surprising was that he seemed to have no trouble tackling the stairs. He was clear up to the Entrance Hall by the time Ron caught up with him, and at that moment, an orange streak came at him.

“Crookshanks, no!” Hermione yelled.

The chase was on again.

“Hermione! Call off your stupid cat!” Ron bellowed. He and Harry continue continued to follow Scabbers while Hermione and Ginny tried to cut off Crookshanks.

“Crookshanks, stop! Don’t hurt him!” Hermione yelled, to no effect. Scabbers must have made a narrow escape back in February. It was the only explanation she could think of. But she wasn’t going to let Ron down again. She dove at her cat, and between the four of them, they managed to keep the animals away from each other, but they still couldn’t actually catch them.

“ _Lux Cohaerens_!” Hermione cast, trying to distract Crookshanks. She was sure he shot her an offended look before he ignored the red dot and kept right on going. It was sheer luck that the split second distraction let Ginny get close to him. In an instant, the hunter was successfully hunted as Ginny pounced on Crookshanks and held him down.

Crookshanks hissed and spat as Hermione caught up and tried to pick him up. “Crookshanks, calm down!” she scolded. “Ron’s been distraught over his rat for months. Go chase some mice or something.” Unfortunately, being a cat, he wasn’t keen to listen to her and continued to squirm in her arms.

“GOTCHA!” she heard Ron shout in triumph. He’d finally caught Scabbers, but no sooner than he’d picked the rat up, he yelped, “Oi, Scabbers, stop it!” Scabbers was squeaking like mad and doing everything he could to try to wriggle out of his grip. “Hey, it’s me, you idiot! It’s Ron! Come on, I’m putting him in my room before something else happens. Hermione, keep your cat away from him.”

“Crookshanks, chill,” Hermione said. “I don’t need you committing the murder you were accused of.”

“What’s wrong with Scabbers?” Ginny asked.

“Probably scared from being lost for so long,” Ron reasoned. “He looks awful, too. He hasn’t been getting his rat tonic.”

It was a struggle, but they made it to the stairs and started climbing up to Gryffindor Tower. Both animals kept trying to escape like they’d never seen. It was only a matter of time before they got away again, and when they got to the third floor, it happened.

“OW! He _bit_ me!” Ron yelled. He dropped Scabbers, who immediately started running flat out towards the Clock Tower. The four students ran again in hot pursuit, but Scabbers made it out the door and across the covered bridge before they caught up with him again.

“Harry, you’re not supposed to be out on the grounds!” Hermione called, but Harry wasn’t listening.

Finally, Ron dove and caught his Rat again, quickly stuffing him in his pocket so he couldn’t get away. “Phew, finally got him,” he said, turning around with a smile. “I don’t know _what_ _’s_ got into him.”

Hermione didn’t respond. She was too preoccupied with what she saw _behind_ Ron. Standing in the twilight was a very big jet-black dog.

“Watch out, Ron!” Harry yelled.

“It’s the Grim!” Ginny cried.

Ron turned around in horror to see the huge dog bolt at him. Hermione, Harry, and Ginny drew their wands, but in two bounds, the dog knocked Ron to the ground, bit down on his arm, and started dragging him down the hill.

“Ron!” they all screamed. Hermione dropped Crookshanks as they ran again, but the dog was easily faster. Ron was dragged hard and fast across the grounds until the dog came to a large tree with waving, club-like branches. Hermione stopped short when she saw it, but the dog kept going, dragging Ron through a gap in the gnarled roots of the tree and vanishing out of sight.

“The secret passage,” she gasped. The one that came out outside the castle _was_ usable. “Harry, Ginny, stay back!” she cried.

“It’s got Ron!” Harry yelled insistently. He and Ginny ran forward.

“Do you know what tree that is?”

“Wha’d’you mean, what tree—AHHH!”

Harry and Ginny both screamed as a heavy branch slammed into their chests and knocked them both back to fall by where Hermione was standing.

“It’s called a Whomping Willow,” she said. The branches whipped around in front of them, just out of reach.

“Bloody hell,” Harry groaned in pain. “How do we get through?”

“I don’t know. We need help,” Hermione said.

But then, something happened that she never expected to see. Crookshanks ran towards the tree, nimbly dodging all the branches until he reached the trunk, where he pounced on a prominent knot. The tree froze in place, and the cat dove into the tunnel.

“Crookshanks?” she said in surprise. “How did you know to do that?”

“He’s friends with the dog,” Harry said. “I’ve seen them on the grounds together. Where’d Ron go?”

“There’s a secret passage there,” Hermione said. “Fred and George told me about it.”

“Where does it go?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know. Somewhere in Hogsmeade.”

“We’ve gotta follow him. Let’s go,” Ginny said. She made for the tree.

“Ginny! We need to get help!”

“There’s no time!” Harry said. “That thing could eat Ron. We have to follow him. C’mon, Ginny, wands out.”

Ginny squared her shoulders and followed Harry to the entrance of the secret passage. Hermione hesitated only a second before she followed them, brandishing her wand in front of her. “The things I do for my friends,” she muttered to herself. “Why can’t I just have a normal year?”

* * *

“You know, it’d be nice if the house elves showed up on this thing,” George said. “I _assume_ they’re still talking to them down there.”

“Sounds like a project for next year,” Fred replied. “Anyway, I wonder what the big deal is. Hermione didn’t seem to think anything was going on, but she still asked us to watch for Black.”

“Dunno, but if she thinks it’s worth looking for, I’m looking.”

They flipped through the pages of the Map to check all seven secret passages, just in case, before turning back to the kitchens to see what their siblings and honorary siblings were up to, but now, another name was visible on the map and running across the kitchens.

“What the heck?”

“Isn’t he dead?”

They stared at each other.

“Well, it’s not Black, but I think that qualifies as something happening,” George said.

They leapt up and ran to Professor Lupin’s office.

“PROFESSOR LUPIN!”

Remus Lupin was busy locking down his office for the night. He wasn’t expecting anyone to show up tonight except for Snape with his final dose of Wolfsbane Potion. So the sound of two boys banging on his door and screaming his name was highly unwelcome.

“PROFESSOR LUPIN!” the shouting repeated.

Lupin growled to himself and stalking over to the door. Opening it just enough to stick his head out, he came face to faces with the two biggest troublemakers in the school today. “Boys, this _really_ isn’t a good time,” he said. “If this is urgent, make it quick.”

Fred and George Weasley both opened their mouths to speak, but hesitated and looked at each other nervously. Then Fred—he was pretty sure it was Fred—said, “Professor, do the names Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs mean anything to you?”

The grumpy look on Lupin’s face vanished and was replaced with surprise, and he started to turn pale as the implications set in. “Inside, quickly, quickly,” he said. He motioned the Twins inside and shut the door. “So how did you figure out I was Moony?” he asked.

The Twins’ jaws dropped. “ _You_ _’re_ Moony?” they gasped.

“Um, _yes_ ,” Lupin said. “Which one did you think I was?”

“Hermione only said you might have known Moony,” Fred told him.

He slapped his forehead lightly. “Hermione, of course,” she said. “Nothing gets by that one. She was probably trying to protect my privacy. Anyway, I take it you have the Marauder’s Map?”

“Right!” George said. “She said we should keep an eye out, tonight. We were looking for Sirius Black, but we found someone else.”

“Someone _else_?” Lupin said worriedly.

“Yeah, now where did he go…?” He took out the map and flipped through the pages. Lupin stared in awe at the Map. He didn’t think he would ever see it again, but it was more than fitting that these two got a hold of it. “There!” George held out the front page showing the ground and pointed to a name that seemed to be moving at a run and was being followed by four students.

“That’s impossible!” Lupin gasped. “He’s dead!”

“That’s what we thought,” said George.

“Is the Map ever wrong?” added Fred.

“Never. But…if he’s alive…” The colour drained from Lupin’s face as the pieces fell into place, far better than they ever had in 1981. The Twins looked very worried at his reaction. “Merlin’s beard, she knew. She caught it in all of two weeks. Oh my God, _he_ _’s_ the killer!”

“Oh, crap!” the Twins exclaimed.

“What?” Lupin looked back at them. _They_ couldn’t possibly know what was going on. But they were pointing back at the Map. A sixth name had appeared, and he knew at once why it was there. “Oh, that’s bad,” he said frantically. “I have to stop them!” He folded up the Map and ran out of the room with only a quick check of the clock. He should easily have enough time to get to the Shrieking Shack and back before moonrise.

Fred and George watched the professor go with their most prized possession, off to a confrontation with a murderer that four of the people closest to them were walking into blind.

“Now what?” they asked each other. For once, they had no answer.

* * *

“Professor McGonagall! Professor McGonagall!” Two third year girls ran up to their head of house right after dinner.

“Miss Brown, Miss Patil, what is it?” McGonagall asked.

“We have to see Professor Dumbledore right away,” Parvati Patil said.

“Yeah,” Lavender Brown added, “Professor Trelawney made a prophecy, and it’s gonna happen tonight.”

McGonagall gave the girls a sceptical look: “Did she, now?”

“We’re not kidding, ma’am, she went into a trance and everything,” Lavender said.

The professor’s eyes widened. That didn’t sound like Sibyll’s usual m.o. “Truly?” she said, giving them a warning look.

“Yes, ma’am,” they both said.

She nodded. “Very well, follow me.”

Five minutes later, Lavender and Parvati repeated their story in more detail to Professor Dumbledore in the Headmaster’s office. They glanced around nervously as they spoke. It was a place that radiated power, much like Dumbledore himself.

“Miss Brown, Miss Patil, how much do you remember of the _exact_ words of this prophecy?” the old wizard said.

“We wrote them down, sir,” Parvati said, handing over the parchment. “Here they are.”

Dumbledore and McGonagall read the words silently. McGonagall turned pale, and even Dumbledore looked worried. That was definitely a bad sign.

“Albus, does this mean what I think it means,” McGonagall breathed.

“It means, Minerva, that the clock is now ticking— _two_ clocks, rather—one tonight and one in the longer term. We must act at once.” He turned his attention back to the girls: “Have you told anyone else about this?”

The girls quailed under his gaze. “Er, we told Hermione and Harry and Ron and Ginny, sir,” Lavender said timidly. “Was that bad?”

He gave them a stern look, but he hesitated a long moment and eventually answered, “You should not worry yourselves. However, should the situation arise in the future, you should exercise great caution with prophecies. Return to your dorms. Tell no one else about this, and tell your friends to do the same.”

“Yes, sir,” the girls said, and they made tracks quickly from the office.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore made an emergency Floo call to the Ministry: “Cornelius, put the Aurors on high alert. I have reason to believe Sirius Black will make a move tonight. And he may have an ally.”

* * *

“There’s something not right about this place,” Harry said. “Ghosts don’t rip stuff up.”

The secret passage had come out in a run-down, multi-storey structure that looked an awful lot like the Shrieking Shack, but it didn’t look haunted—not in the usual way, anyway. Hermione, Harry, and Ginny reached the one room that had a light and barrelled in, wands drawn.

Hermione immediately took stock of the situation: Crookshanks lying on the bed, purring, Ron lying on the bed with an obviously broken leg, Ron staring in horror at something out of their view…

“No! It’s a trap!” Ron yelped as they rushed to his side. “ _He_ _’s the dog…He’s an animagus…”_

Hermione turned just in time to see a ragged man close the door on them. He was tall and gaunt, almost emaciated. His hair was filthy and hung past his shoulders. His teeth would give her parents nightmares, and he had a wild look in his dark grey eyes. She knew that face. “Sirius Black,” she whispered. Hermione acted on instinct.

“Dobby!”

_Pop!_

“Restrain him!”

“Eek! Sirius Black!” Dobby squeaked. He snapped his fingers, and in an instant, Black was pinned spread eagled to the wall.

If Black was surprised by an elf wearing clothes, he didn’t show it. His reaction was immediate. He had Ron’s wand in his hand. It was pinned against the wall, but that was enough.

“ _Defodio_!” he croaked. A cloud of splinters exploded out of the wall, enough to knock his hand loose. He flicked the wand at Dobby without speaking aloud, and Dobby was lifted up in the air by his ankle. Distracted, he lost his hold on Black, who deftly dodged his elf-jinxes.

“ _Chiroptera—_!” Ginny started.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Ginny’s wand flew out of her hand.

“ _Petrificus—_!”

“ _Locomotor—_!”

“ _Relashio_!”

“ _Spongenu_!”

“ _Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus_!”

Hermione and Harry were both casting hexes at the murderer and dodging his return fire, but he was faster and stronger than they, and they were both quickly disarmed. Although even as they dodged, Hermione noticed Black wasn’t using particularly dangerous spells.

Then, Dobby managed to free himself from the spell and landed on his feet. He waved his hands, and a coil of rope on the wall sprang to life and tied Black up tight.

Black didn’t seem phased. He smirked and said, “Family elf, eh? Know the old tricks…? Kreacher was tougher.” Then, to the Hermione’s horror, he transformed back into the huge, black dog and tore the rope to bits with his teeth and claws. He _was_ an animagus—and an unregistered one at that.

“Crookshanks, _do_ something!” Hermione tried desperately, not really sure why she thought it would help. Her cat was still lying on the bed, _purring_ as if it were a great show.

In a single bound, Black had Dobby pinned to the ground by his arms and growled in his face.

“ _Dobby, no_!” she cried.

The dog hesitated. Then, to general astonishment, he changed back to human form and said hoarsely, “Call him off. I don’t wanna hurt him, but I will if I have to.”

Hermione had to work her mouth a few times to get any sound to come out. “Dobby, stop,” she said sadly.

“But Miss Hermione—”

“I said stop…We’ve lost this one.”

Dobby went limp with a defeated look on his face, and Black cautiously backed off of him. He flicked Ron’s wand again, and Dobby was pinned to the wall. That was it, then, Hermione thought. The best the wizarding world had to offer couldn’t stop a mass murderer from getting into Hogwarts. Black knew how to get past Aurors and dementors, presumably with his animagus form, and he even knew—somehow—how to fight house elves. And yet, she noticed something again: Sirius Black had just refrained from killing someone—and not just anyone, but a lowly house elf—just because she had begged him not to. Why?

“I thought you’d come to help your friend, Harry,” Black said, staring fixedly at Harry’s enraged face. “Your father would’ve done the same for me. So much the better you didn’t find a teacher. That’ll make this easier.”

On instinct, Hermione rushed to Harry’s side to grab his arm and stop him from attacking Black. That was a good way to get himself killed even faster. But before she could reach him, Harry practically ran over Ginny, who had jumped in front of him.

“If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us, too!” she cried.

Black grinned: “No, there’ll be only one murder here tonight.”

 _Why again?_ Hermione thought. _He killed twelve bystanders to get Pettigrew._

“Then it’ll be you!” Harry roared. In a moment, there was a flurry of screams as he pushed past Ginny to charge Black, Ginny tried to hold him back, Hermione reached out to grab him, Ron lunged forward on the bed and snagged his robes, and all five of them went tumbling to the ground, Ron shouting in pain when his broken leg hit the floor.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded from downstairs.

“HELP! IT’S SIRIUS BLACK! UP HERE! QUICK!” Hermione screamed.

In seconds, the footsteps thundered up the stairs, and Professor Lupin burst into the room with what seemed to be a pained look on his face. The Twins must have shown him the Map. He pointed his wand at Black, who still held four wands in his own hands…And hesitated.

Black raised a wand—not Ron’s this time, but Harry’s, they noted—and pointed it at Lupin. There was a tense standoff, and then Lupin said, “You switched, didn’t you, Sirius?”

Astonishingly, Black lowered his wand. “Twelve years, and you finally figured it out?” he rasped.

“I had a little help,” Lupin said. He smirked, and Hermione saw his eyes flick towards her. Then, he lowered his wand, too, and, to the students’ horror, he embraced Black like a brother.

“YOU WERE WORKING TOGETHER?!” Harry roared.

“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Hermione screamed. “PROFESSOR, I TRUSTED YOU! I TOLD FRED AND GEORGE TO TRUST YOU!”

Everyone stared at her. “And you were right to, Hermione,” Lupin said, holding up a hand. “You made the right call when you told them to give me the Marauder’s Map.”

“You have the Marauder’s Map?” Black said in surprise.

“By a happy chance, they gave it to me tonight,” Lupin replied. “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked at it and saw Peter was alive.”

“Oi, Scabbers, not now!” Ron interrupted. Scabbers had jumped from his pocket and was again thrashing desperately. Ron had to wrap his bald tail around his fingers to hold him.

“Remus that’s him,” Black said gleefully.

“I know, Sirius,” Lupin said.

“What? Who? Me?” Ron said in confusion. He tried to back away on the bed.

“Not you, boy, the rat!” Black said triumphantly. “He’s not a rat at all. He’s an animagus…by the name of Peter Pettigrew!”

There was silence in the Shrieking Shack except for Scabbers’s frantic squeaking. As the absurdity of that statement sank in, Ron and Ginny both spoke in unison: “You’re both mental.”

“Pettigrew’s dead!” Harry said. “ _You_ killed him!” He pointed to Black in a rage.

“No.” All eyes turned to Hermione. “No, he _didn_ _’t_ ,” she whispered.

“What!” Harry, Ron, and Ginny all yelled at once.

Hermione’s mind, which had been spinning its wheels for a while, finally found traction. “I _knew_ it!” she cried. “I _knew_ there was something not right about that explosion! Oh my God, it all makes sense now.”

“Hermione, what’re you talking about?” Ron demanded. “Did they Confund you when we weren’t looking?”

“No, Ron, I’m finally seeing things clearly! I’m talking about how an explosion doesn’t leave behind an intact set of robes and one finger. Peter Pettigrew faked his own death and framed Black for it.” She got up and started pacing. “But why did he disappear like that? Black would’ve gone to Azkaban anyway if he’d killed those muggles. So that means Pettigrew did that too! _He_ caused the explosion, and then he cut off his own finger to plant as evidence and disappeared by turning into Scabbers. Merlin, how many unregistered animagi are there—? _Ron_ , Scabbers is the real murderer!”

“She’s gone mad!” Ron said in horror. “Ginny, do something!”

“Oh no, she’s not mad, Ronald,” Lupin said with a grin as Ginny tried to make Hermione sit down and shut up. “She may well be the sanest witch I’ve ever met. I never would’ve figured it out myself if she hadn’t got me thinking about that explosion.”

“ _You_?” Black asked Hermione in surprise. “You are _brilliant_. Twelve years, and you’re the only one who noticed.”

Hermione shrugged: “Actually, I’m highly logical, which allows me to look past extraneous details and perceive clearly that which others overlook…Also, I’m the only muggle-born in this room. I thought about it in those terms. No one seemed to notice that the evidence didn’t look right when Pettigrew supposedly died. No one thought anything was amiss when Scabbers lived four times as long as a normal rat. Professor Snape’s right about one thing: too many wizards don’t have an ounce of logic.”

“Hermione, Scabbers isn’t Pettigrew!” Ron said. “He’s just a normal rat.”

“Ronald, he’s twelve years old, _and he_ _’s missing a toe._ All they found of Pettigrew was a finger, remember?”

“Hermione, listen to yourself!” Harry shouted over her. “Black was my parents’ Secret-Keeper, not Pettigrew. _He_ betrayed them!”

“No, Harry!” Black said. Tears began to form in his eyes. “No…I as good as killed them, Harry, but _he_ did the deed. James and Lily wanted me to be the Secret-Keeper, but I thought it would be too obvious. I said it would be better if we switched and didn’t tell anyone—not even Dumbledore. I said Peter should do it because he was the last person anyone would expect…I’m so sorry, Harry…I didn’t realise what an awful mistake I’d made until…until it was too late.”

“So it _was_ Pettigrew,” Hermione said. “It was Pettigrew the whole time—all of it.”

“Yes,” Lupin replied. “I figured it out as soon as I saw he was alive on the Marauder’s Map.”

“ _What_ is the Marauder’s Map?” Harry demanded impatiently.

“This is the Marauder’s Map, Harry.” He removed the parchment booklet from his pocket and showed it to him. “It shows where everyone is in the castle in real time. The Twins have been using it to plan their pranks, but _we_ made it—your father and the three of us.”

“Moony,” Hermione said. Lupin nodded. The pattern was obvious now that she saw it. “Padfoot.” She pointed at Sirius. “Wormtail.” She pointed back at Scabbers. And could it be? “What was James?” she asked.

“A stag,” Sirius said wistfully. “Prongs—antlers. You father was an animagus, too, Harry, just like me and, unfortunately, Peter.”

“I’m telling you, he’s just Scabbers,” Ron said.

“Augh! Ronald…” Hermione scoffed. “Can you make him change back to human form, Professor?” she asked Lupin.

Now Lupin grinned. “We can,” he said. “We just need to make sure he doesn’t get away.”

“Could you unbind Dobby? And give me my wand back, please?”

Black gave Lupin a questioning look, and Lupin studied her face carefully. “I think we can trust her, now, Sirius. She’s on our side.”

“I’m on the side of justice, Professor,” she corrected at once.

“Well, since I’m innocent, that’s good enough for me.” Black handed Hermione’s wand back to her, much to her friends’ astonishment, and he flicked another wand and let Dobby slump to the floor.

“Oh, _that_ _’s_ nice,” Ginny said. “What about us?”

“Just give it a minute, Ginny,” Hermione said. “We’ll try to solve this quickly. Dobby, are you okay?”

“Yes, Miss Hermione. But is the rat really being a wizard?”

“We’re gonna find out. Just make sure he doesn’t get away.”

“Yes, miss.”

“Give me the rat, Ron,” Lupin said. “If we’re wrong, this won’t hurt him.”

At that, Ron hesitatingly held out the the thrashing, biting rat in his hands.

Lupin took him up tightly in one hand: “Ready, Sirius?”

“Together?” Black said softly.

“I think so. On three: one…two…three!”

There was a flash of blue-white light, and Scabbers fell to the floor, but began rapidly growing. It was as Hermione expected. Scabbers’s round rat body sprouted up with his head growing and limbs stretching. In seconds, instead of Scabbers, there was another man standing in the Shrieking Shack. He was a short, balding man with small, darting eyes and a distinctly rat-like face. He was very thin and dirty, but his jowls hung off his face as if he had been much fatter and lost a lot of weight.

“Hello, Peter,” Lupin said with a wicked grin. “Long time no see.”

“S-Sirius…R-Remus…m-my old friends…” Pettigrew said. Even his voice was quick and squeaky.

But before his “old friends’ could answer, he was hit by a streak of red. Ginny was in motion, a look of rage on her face. She kicked Pettigrew hard between the legs and squealed, “You pervert! I saw you watching me dress last summer!” Pettigrew crumpled to the ground, whining.

Most of the room’s mouths dropped open. “Oh, Merlin! My baby sister? That’s sick!” Ron said. “And… _and I let you sleep in my bed, too!_ If I had two good legs…”

“Nice one, Ginny,” Black said. “You see now? It was him the whole time. He betrayed James and Lily. He killed all those people.”

“No! No!” Pettigrew squeaked. “You can’t believe him!” He pointed at Black. “He’s lying—lying and crazy. He tried to kill me.”

“Shut up,” Ginny spat. “How did you know who he was, though?” she asked Black. “How’d you even know he was here?”

“He’s come to kill me again,” Pettigrew pleaded. “You have to stop him!”

“I wouldn’t have known he was on the loose at all except by an amazing stroke of luck,” Black replied. “The last time the Minister visited, I asked him for a newspaper—told him I wanted to do the crossword. He actually believed me. Ha! I was looking for news about Harry, but imagine my surprise when I saw this instead.” He drew a carefully folded newspaper cutout from his tattered clothes and showed it to them. The students gasped. It was the picture of the Weasleys in Egypt, and in Ron’s hands, his missing toe clearly visible, was Scabbers. “I’d know that rat anywhere,” Black said.

“That’s why you said “He’s at Hogwarts’ in your sleep,” Lupin said in understanding. “You meant Peter, not Harry.”

“It’s a lie,” Pettigrew continued. “He was the Secret-Keeper, not me. He killed James and Lily, and he broke out to kill both of us.”

Black wheeled on Pettigrew, wand raised. “How dare you defile their memory?!” he roared. “You were the Secret-Keeper, and we both know it! You don’t have a right to speak their names!”

“Harry…Harry, please…I’m telling the truth! He’s crazy! You can’t believe anything he says.”

“You haven’t been hiding from me all these,” Black said dismissively. “You’ve been hiding out from all of Voldemort’s supporters who think you betrayed _him_ , getting him killed. And you got fat off the Weasleys’ unwitting kindness in confidence they all thought you were dead.”

“You see? That doesn’t even make sense!” Pettigrew said. “I’d never work for You-Know-Who. He’s completely mad! Remus, _he_ was the spy. Don’t you see it? Who else could’ve passed that kind of information on to him?”

“Oh, I don’t know, _you_? Thinking I’m the spy—who risked his neck more than me, besides James and Lily?”

“Harry—Harry, please believe me. I lived with you for three years—in your dorm. I never hurt you there.”

Harry’s head was bobbing back and forth between the two men as if he wasn’t sure who to believe.

“Don’t listen to him, Harry,” Black cut him off. “He had a good life there, and he never did anything unless there was something in it for him.”

“I ran with you, didn’t I? I did that for you!”

“You did it for the popularity. You were nothing without us.”

“You never would’ve got out of all those scrapes without me.”

“We built you up, and then you sold us out.”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!”

The Shack fell silent, and all eyes turned to Hermione. Sirius Black stared at her as if he’d never seen anything quite like her. She was well aware that she had just shouted down a mass murderer, whichever one of them it was. But she wasn’t dead yet, so she squared her shoulders and kept going: “This isn’t about your schoolboy rivalry. Honestly, one of you is a murderer, and you’re arguing about who was more popular in school…You know, there’s a simple solution to this.”

“There is?” the three adults said.

“There is?” her three friends repeated.

“Yes, there is.” Hermione reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out the jam jar that she always carried with her. From inside the jar, wrapped in a swatch of cotton wool, she withdrew a small phial filled with a clear liquid. “Veritaserum,” she said with a smile.

Grins spread across her friends faces, and shock on the adults.” “You have Veritaserum?” Black said in amazement.

“Bloody brilliant! You still have that stuff?” Ron said.

“Of course. I’ve never used it. How much call is there for it?”

“Hermione,” Lupin said. “Do I even want to know why _or_ how you have Veritaserum?”

“Probably not,” she said with a grin.

Pettigrew now looked very, very nervous. “That…th-that’s not reliable,” he stammered. “Black knows Occlumency. You can’t trust what he says under it.”

“I wasn’t going to give it to him,” Hermione replied.

Pettigrew’s small eyes grew wide, and he started to back away. “No, no, no,” he muttered.

“Dobby!”

Dobby snapped his fingers, and Pettigrew was bound in another coil of ropes.

“Stun him if he transforms,” she told Lupin. _We really need a way to bind him so he can_ _’t get away._

“Y-you c-can’t do that,” Pettigrew pleaded. “It’s not legal.”

“Actually, it’s just not admissible,” Lupin corrected smugly, “but we’ve got more than enough evidence to have you arrested and formally questioned. If we’re right, I highly doubt any of us will get more than a slap on the wrist.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Hermione said. She walked up to Pettigrew and tried to force his mouth open. He fought the effort, but she pinched his nose, forcing him to open his lips enough for her to drip three drops of the potion between his teeth. Suddenly, Pettigrew went limp, and his eyes glazed over.

“I think it’s working,” she said. “What is your name?”

“Peter Pettigrew,” he said in a monotone.

“Well, I don’t know how you did it, but you did it,” Lupin said. “Alright Peter, did you betray James and Lily to Voldemort?”

“Nnnnn- _yes_ ,” he spat, trying to resist the effects. Harry’s eyes widened in horror.

“I told you,” Black said.

“Hang on, Sirius,” Lupin held him back. “Were you the Secret-Keeper?”

“Yes.”

“Were you the spy in the Order?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry, Remus,” Black muttered. “I thought it was you—”

“Don’t worry about it, Padfoot. Peter, did you fake your own death and frame Sirius for it, and did you kill twelve muggles in the process?”

“Nnnnn-yes, and yes,” Pettigrew said.

“Why did you do it?” Black demanded.

“I…was…scared,” he replied. Suddenly, his normal personality reemerged: “The Dark Lord was winning. What was there to gain from refusing? He would’ve killed me.”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” Black lunged for him, but Lupin held him back. “YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED FOR YOUR FRIENDS LIKE ANY OF US WOULD’VE DONE FOR YOU!”

“What choice was there? We all would’ve died anyway!”

“But we didn’t! We didn’t because Harry stopped him. There’s always a choice, Peter, and you chose wrong! C’mon, Moony, let’s kill him already.”

“Um, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Hermione said nervously.

“He deserves it,” Black growled. He started to move towards him.

“Hold it!” Hermione interrupted.

“What?” Black said impatiently.

“I’ve got questions I want answered, too,” she said, “and I’m going to get those answers. Pettigrew, _how_ did you kill those twelve muggles?”

“Hermione!” Lupin said.

But Pettigrew, though he tried to stop himself, snapped into a monotone again and answered: “I used a powerful blasting curse based on the Reductor Curse. It targets a smaller area, but it shatters the target into fragments that it blasts out at high speed.”

“Like shrapnel—of course, like a fragmentation grenade,” Hermione said, relieved that she finally understood it. “ _That_ _’s_ how you killed so many people. A curse like that could kill at a greater range with less blast damage. Mr. Black, you were lucky you weren’t killed, yourself.”

Black was speechless, mostly that a fourteen-year-old girl could deduce so much about dark curses, but Lupin still had his wits together: “You’re not smart enough to invent a spell like that on your own. Did Voldemort give it to you?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“Rrrrr-Rookwood. He invented it.”

“Rookwood?” Hermione asked.

“Augustus Rookwood,” Lupin explained. “He worked in the Department of Mysteries—the research division of the Ministry. He was passing information to Voldemort—he’s in Azkaban, now.”

“One more question: did you ever watch _me_ dress when I stayed at the Burrow?” Hermione said.

“Nnnn-ye—OW!” Hermione kneed him in the groin before he could finish the syllable.

“Creep,” she said. “Why did the Sorting Hat ever put _you_ in Gryffindor?”

She’d meant it rhetorically, but Pettigrew answered: “B-b-because it s-said I had a spark of b-bravery that needed to be cultivated.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, and she drew back in horror.

“What is it?” Lupin asked.

“It told me the same thing,” she whispered. She turned and looked at her friends worriedly. Would they look at her differently now? Would they start trusting her less?

But then, Ron opened his mouth and taunted Pettigrew: “That shows she’s better than you, then! Hermione’s so brave she hexed You-Know-Who in the face _twice_ , and you’re still a bloody coward!”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, though she rolled her eyes at Ron: “I’m also brave enough to say his name, Ron—but thank you.”

“Hexed him in the—? Never mind,” Black said. “Now that we’ve established Peter’s a son of a bitch all around, let’s kill him.”

“I really don’t think—” Hermione started.

“Yes, let’s,” Lupin agreed. Both he and Black raised their wands to the man.

Harry looked between the three men and then got a determined look. “NO!” he said. He jumped in front of Pettigrew, to everyone’s shock.

“Harry, what’re you doing?” Ginny gasped.

“They shouldn’t kill him,” he said. Pettigrew was still writhing in pain on the ground behind him.

“Harry, this piece of filth sold your whole family to save his own skin,” Black spat.

“I know,” he answered, “but I don’t reckon my dad would’ve wanted you to become killers just for him…he’s not worth it.”

Black hesitated, but didn’t lower his wand. “I’m glad to see you think so highly of James, Harry,” he said, “but there are times when any man hits his breaking point…”

“He’s right, Mr. Black,” Hermione jumped in. His and Lupin’s heads snapped towards her. “Professor Lupin, I don’t know about Harry’s dad, but…if his mum and I are as alike as you say, _she_ definitely wouldn’t have wanted it. You’re too good a man for that, sir.” Lupin gasped softly and lowered his wand. His hand was shaking. “And more importantly, Mr. Black,” she added, “if we take him up to the castle alive, you’ll never have to go back to Azkaban. You’re Harry’s godfather. I don’t know what you know about his relatives, but Harry needs his godfather.”

“Hermione—” Harry started.

“Don’t deny it, Harry. You deserve better than a family that just barely tolerates you.”

At that, Black also lowered his wand. “Harry…” he said slowly, “you’re the only one who has the right to decide. What do you want to do with him?”

Harry turned and stared at Pettigrew a long moment. Then he stared at Black, then Lupin, and then Hermione, Ron, and Ginny in turn. Hermione pleaded with him silently, and she could see that Ginny, though she probably hated Pettigrew as much as he did, also agreed with her idea. “We’ll take him to the castle,” Harry said. “Alive. And we’ll get you freed…Sirius.”

The tension seemed to lift. Black actually smiled at being called by his first name. “Alright Harry…and…thank you for thinking of me—and you, too, Hermione. I think you both may be wiser than I am.”

The moment was broken by a strange tinkling sound: _tink tink tink tink tink tink tink_ _…_ Hermione turned chalk white, her eyes widening in horror as she realised it was coming from her wrist.

“What’s that?” Ron asked.

“It’s my watch,” she said, drawing her sleeve back.

“What’s it mean?”

Oh, she knew what it meant. She’d set the alarm earlier that day: “It means moonrise is in ten minutes!”


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling left-handed may not be readable, but still owns Harry Potter.
> 
> A lot of people suggested Dobby should just pop everyone back into the castle. I’ve always thought house elves were too powerful as typically portrayed. It breaks the story. So I’ve cut their power back about as far as I can whilst remaining consistent with canon. Basically, Dobby can’t move that many people singly or in groups without suffering magical exhaustion. He also doesn’t know where Lupin’s Wolfsbane Potion is since there’s no guarantee Snape left it in his office.
> 
> Thanks to Endgames for advice on this chapter.

“It means moonrise is in ten minutes!” Hermione said frantically.

Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew all looked horrified, but Harry, Ron, and Ginny all gave her blank looks. “So?” Ron asked.

“ _So?!_ Sorry, Professor. Lupin’s a werewolf!”

“What?!” Ron and Ginny said.

But Harry still had a blank look on his face: “So?”

“Harry! Werewolves are dangerous dark creatures!” Ron said.

“Hermione, you knew?” Ginny asked.

“I’m highly logical, remember?” she said. “Honestly, I figured it out in September. Did _none_ of you notice he was always sick the day after the full moon? For heaven’s sake, Snape assigned us an essay on werewolves the first time it happened.”

“Okay, but what’s the matter with werewolves?” Harry insisted.

“They’re horrible creatures that want to eat us!” Ron said.

“Ronald, that’s not fair,” Hermione chided. “They’re perfectly normal wizards except during the full moon—which, unfortunately, this is. We’ve got nine and a half minutes before there’s an angry werewolf in this room!”

“Remus, have you taken your potion?” Black asked.

“No, I haven’t,” Lupin said sadly.

“What potion?” Harry asked.

“The Wolfsbane Potion. It allows me to keep my human mind when I transform. It was only invented a few years ago. But I missed my last dose; it’s useless. I don’t understand. I checked the clock. Full-moonrise isn’t this early this time of year. I was sure I had another half hour to get back.”

“This time of year?” Hermione said, wide-eyed. “Oh, Professor, time at Hogwarts fluctuates half an hour from day to day relative to the sun and moon. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, Merlin!” Lupin said. “How could I forget?”

“There’s no time, Moony,” Black said. “Nine minutes! We’ve got to get the kids out of here.”

“Padfoot, that’s not enough time! They’ll never get back to Hogwarts that fast.”

“They don’t need to. They just need to get out of the Shack.”

“No! The charms on the Shack have worn off by now. Dumbledore told me at the start of the year. Moony will be able to follow their scent trail!”

Black paled. “Oh no…” he said. “Okay, we can do this. I’ll stay behind and hold him off in dog form. You can come get us in the morning.”

“Can we get Pettigrew back to the castle on our own?” Ginny said. “What if he tries to escape?”

“Yeah, we might need you, Sirius,” Harry pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Harry, we can’t risk Moony coming after us in the tunnel. We could stun him.”

“That would slow them down, even with magic,” Lupin warned. “They’ll already have to carry Ron.”

“What if we bar the door?” Ron suggested.

“No, that’ll never hold up against Moony,” Lupin dismissed him.

“Even with magic?”

“Not for long enough. We’d need runes.”

“I can carve runes! Can you fix my leg?”

“ _Ferula_ ,” Lupin said. Ron’s leg was bandaged in a splint. “That’s the best I can do, but we don’t have time to carve runes.”

But Ron got up, hobbled to the door, and drew his small rune-carving knife from his pocket. “I’ve got an idea, though. It doesn’t have to be fancy,” he said.

“No, Ron, he’s right,” Hermione said. “We don’t have time. Eight minutes!”

“No, really, I’ve got this,” Ron said as he carved. “Just some basic fortification runes.”

“And where are you gonna get the power. It’ll take too long to carve the sequences to tap the ley lines, and we haven’t even covered them in class.”

“We don’t need the ley lines. We’ll do like our little wooden blocks—just dump a bunch of spells into them.”

She looked at what he was carving and quickly did the maths: the amount of force a werewolf could likely exert on the door, the power that went into a fortification spell like _Duro_ , how many spells they could throw at the door in about a minute, the quality of the runes…it was no good: “Ron, it’s not gonna work, with the power we have and the way you’re carving, it’s only gonna hold for half an hour or so.”

“ _Hello,_ Hermione, we only _need_ it to hold for half an hour or so.”

“But—”

“Hermione, not everything needs to be a perfect O!” Ron spoke over her. “All we need is something that’ll hold him long enough to get away. That’s it. We don’t need to get a perfect score on the homework. Now are you gonna stand there complaining, or are you gonna do something useful?”

Hermione stared at Ron, speechless. Maybe it didn’t happen often, but Ron could really impress her sometimes. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it again, and finally said, “Okay, six and a half minutes. I’ve got an idea, too. I need twine—something strong, but flexible and preferably not transfigured.”

“There’s probably some around here,” Black said. “ _Accio_ twine.” A few seconds later, a spool of twine flew into his hands, and he tossed it to her. She inspected it and found it to be in good condition.

“Done!” Ron said. “Start casting. _Duro_!”

Lupin, Black, and even Harry and Ginny started casting spells at the door to fortify it, but Hermione was busy finishing up her own idea. “Dobby, make sure those ropes stay on him,” she said, pointing at Pettigrew. Then, she wrapped the twine once around her left wrist, pointed her wand at it, and cast, “ _Lapsu Nodum Strictus_.” The twine tied itself into a simple slip knot and pulled itself tight, but the real trick to the spell came when she twisted her wand, and the tension increased. She tightened the knot until it started to become uncomfortable, and when she broke off the spell, she found that when she tried to loosen it, it immediately tightened itself back to the same tension.

“Yes, got it in one,” she said. She immediately proceeded to tie the twine around each of Pettigrew’s wrists, pinning them behind his back and tying him to her. “ _Lapsu Nodum Strictus. Lapsu Nodum Strictus_.”

“Okay, that should hold long enough,” Black said from across the room, and they stopped casting at the door. “What was that you did, Hermione?”

“It’s a self-tightening slip knot,” she said. “Now, if he transforms, the twine will keep him tied up—and probably dislocate his arms.” Pettigrew winced.

Black’s eyebrows rose. “Where’d you learn that spell?”

“I made it up just now.”

The man’s eyebrows rose much higher, and he looked to Lupin for confirmation.

“She’s easily Lily’s equal, Sirius,” Lupin said. “And in Arithmancy, the best even Septima Vector has ever seen. She’s taking her O.W.L. next month—Also, five minutes! You need to go. Take my wand, give Harry and Ginny theirs, and shut the door behind you.”

“Got it. Let’s go! Hurry!” Black said. The four students and Dobby followed. Hermione pulled Pettigrew by her makeshift leash while Harry supported Ron so they could make good time on three legs between them. They shut the reinforced door and scrambled down the stairs.

“Dobby,” Hermione said, “go to Professor Dumbledore. Tell him that Peter Pettigrew is alive, Sirius Black is innocent, and we’re bringing them both to the castle. And he’s got…twenty-seven to forty-two minutes before Lupin breaks out of the Shrieking Shack.”

“Is you sure you is safe here, Miss Hermione?” Dobby said worriedly.

“About as safe as we can be in this situation. We need Dumbledore’s help.”

“Yes, miss.” The elf popped away.

“Hermione, tie me to Pettigrew, too,” Ginny said as they hit the tunnel.

“What? Are you sure?” she replied.

“I don’t want him to get away. “Scabbers’ chewed on everything, but he can’t chew through two strings at once.”

“Okay,” Hermione cast her charm again to tie the three of them together as they ran. “Ron, what are you doing? We have to go!”

“Just a sec!” Ron had staggered behind the group, bent down, and written a jagged line in the dirt. Then, he rolled up his sleeve and wrote the same jagged line with dirt on his arm. He waved his wand: “ _Bliviklet._ Okay, go!” They ran again, and he explained, “Entangled pair of runes, remember? They’re good for monitoring. When it breaks, we’ll know Lupin got out.”

Hermione was briefly struck speechless again. “Ron, how do you come up with this stuff?” she said.

“I’m highly logical at doing things quick and dirty with a minimum amount of effort,” he replied smugly.

Hermione was glad it was so dark because she could feel herself turning red with embarrassment. She had accused Ron of a number of things very similar to that over the past three years, usually right after he called her a know-it-all. Apparently, his slacking was actually useful once in a while—a _great_ while.

With the warning rune in place, they felt comfortable enough to slow their pace to a brisk walk so that they were less likely to trip over each other, and Ron was less likely to collapse. About a third of the way down the tunnel, they heard a loud thud far behind them. Lupin had transformed. But after several thuds, it seemed like the door would hold.

“Oh, no! Crookshanks!” Hermione gasped suddenly. “He’s still back there!”

“He’ll be fine,” Black said quickly. “Werewolves don’t attack animals. He might even slow him down a little more.”

“Oh.”

“Your cat’s been my best friend in the school,” he added. “Very smart, too. I could communicate with him some in dog form. I asked him to bring Peter to me, but he couldn’t do it.”

“What? _That_ _’s_ why he was always after him?” Ron gasped.

“Of course. Cats don’t normally get so fixated on one rat. That would just be ridiculous.”

“Merlin, he must’ve known right from the start,” Ron said. “That’s why he attacked him in the shop. Hermione, I’m really sorry about everything. Crookshanks was smarter than all of us.”

“You had no way of knowing, Ron—” she started.

“No, I mean it.” He nudged Harry so he could limp closer to her. He was getting out of breath from the effort. “I’ve been an arse to you all year, and the whole time both of you were just trying to help us. I mean, I thought I liked this creep, but you didn’t deserve it when you were freaking out, and we were all ignoring you. I mean, it took the Twins to track you down. I sure didn’t look.”

“Only the Twins _could_ track me down,” she muttered.

“Well…you were still right, anyway. I was being stupid.”

“Like usual?” Ginny said.

“Ginny, don’t ruin my moment. Look…you’ve helped us out of so much trouble before—I guess I should’ve…talked to you instead of just yelling.”

“That’s…that’s very mature of you Ron,” Hermione replied in surprise. “And…thank you.” _Better late than never, anyway. I just hope he can make it a permanent change._

“Yeah, I’m sorry, too, Hermione,” Harry said. “You’ve always been there for me when I needed help, but I wasn’t paying attention when you needed it.”

“Well, you _did_ help me with the Patronus Charm, Harry, but thank you, too.”

“Anyway…when Crookshanks couldn’t get Peter himself, he managed to get the passwords for the tower,” Black said, awkwardly picking the conversation back up. “Some boy had them on his bedside table.”

Hermione gasped again. “So Neville didn’t lose them in the laundry… _You_ _’re_ the reason he got in so much trouble!”

“Sorry,” Black said. “When I get cleared, I’ll write his Gran a letter telling her to let him off whatever horrible punishment she gave him.”

They hurried on, the thuds behind them reminding them to keep pace. Now that they felt a little safer, though, Hermione worked up the nerve to ask one of the questions she still didn’t understand. “Mr. Black?” she said.

“Please, call me Sirius,” he murmured.

“Sirius…if you don’t mind saying, how did you break out of Azkaban?”

Sirius shuddered slightly. “Azkaban is a terrible, terrible place,” he said. “It’s a dark fortress on an unplottable island in the North Sea. The Ministry likes to think it’s escape proof, but the weak point is the guards.”

“The dementors?” Hermione said incredulously.

“Yes. You wouldn’t think that, would you? But the dementors are blind. They track almost entirely by emotion, and they can’t spot animals so well. Humans hardly ever interact with the prisoners. It’s almost always dementors. It’s a horrible feeling, having so many around. Most people go mad, but I had my innocence to cling to. It wasn’t a happy thought, so they couldn’t take it from me. For twelve years, I just lay there. I…I thought I deserved it…but then I saw that photo, and I knew I had to get out. It was actually really simple—I still almost died, but it was simple. I was very thin—even thinner as Padfoot. One night I slipped past them when they delivered my dinner and managed to squeeze through the bars out the front door. Then, I just swam to shore. Frankly, I’m still surprised I made it, but here I am.”

“So why did you and my dad become animagi?” Harry asked.

“We figured out Remus’s secret in our second year. Transforming alone is harder for a werewolf. They start biting and scratching at themselves when they’re confined—well, a lot of animals do that, but it’s especially bad for them. So we became animagi to keep him company and let him roam a bit, since we’d be safe as animals. It took us three years, and it’s a miracle it didn’t go horribly wrong, but hey, we were young and reckless.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, me too, come to think of it, but you’ll have to take that up with him. I took a couple of side trips to try to get close to you, Harry, but there were always too many people around.”

“I saw you,” Harry said. “At Privett Drive, and then at the Quidditch match…You _did_ send the Firebolt, didn’t you.”

“Of course. Only the best for my godson. I’m glad McGonagall let you keep it. I wasn’t sure she would. You fly brilliantly—so do you, Ginny, for that matter.”

“Er, thanks,” Ginny said, blushing.

“So what about you, Hermione?” he continued. “Impossibly good at arithmancy is one thing, but how does a muggle-born get an old family house elf? And why was he wearing clothes?”

“Oh, that was Dobby. Harry and I tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing him last year, and I hired him for pay.”

Sirius’s jaw dropped, and then he broke into a broad grin: “Hermione, I think I’m in love.”

“You’ll have to get in line behind Fred and George,” she deadpanned.

Sirius laughed—a weak, rasping laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. “Quick-witted, too. I think you would’ve fit in well with us when we were in school.”

“Thanks…I think…So if you knew what really happened with Pettigrew, why didn’t you tell them at your trial?”

“What trial? I never got a trial.”

“ _WHAT?_!” Hermione screamed. “You mean they can just throw people in prison without trial in this country?!”

Everyone took a nervous half step away from Hermione. “They’re not supposed to,” Sirius said. “I was probably _supposed_ to be there “pending trial,” but they were so sure I did it they never came back for me. By now, they’ve probably forgotten I was never charged. Anyway, it’s not important. We’ll get it cleared up soon enough,” he said hopefully. “In fact, Harry, I’ll understand if you still want to live with your aunt and uncle, but…legally, I’ll be able to take custody of you…if you wanted a…a different home…”

“Are you kidding?” Harry gasped excitedly. “Leave the Dursleys? Of _course_ I want to! Do you have a house? When can I move in?”

“You mean it Harry?”

“Yes, I mean it!”

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. If she ever got her hands on whoever it was who’d denied Sirius a trial…but she pushed the thought from her mind. It looked like things were finally looking up for Harry. That was the important thing.

They reached the end of the tunnel, and Sirius reached up and pressed the knot to immobilise the Whomping Willow. The climbed out, got clear of the branches, and started up the hill to the castle.

And then, Hermione’s good mood vanished, and an icy terror descended. She knew that feeling by now: “Oh, no.” They slowed and looked around, and the sight she saw felt like a spear of ice to her heart: “Oh, please God, no!”

Dozens of dementors, probably the whole contingent on the grounds, were sweeping towards them from all directions. She remembered what Professor Dumbledore had said at the start of the year: _Dementors are not creatures of nuance_. They had been ordered to Kiss Sirius Black on sight, and nothing would deter them from their prey—certainly not words; not the fact that he was innocent, if they were even capable of understanding it; probably not even having to Kiss anyone else who got in their way.

“RUN!” she screamed.

“WHERE?” Ron yelled back.

He was right. They were surrounded. Sirius clutched at his head and stumbled to his knees. Pettigrew could do nothing. Ginny looked faint, and Ron could barely stand. The dementors were closing in fast. “Harry, you have to cast your Patronus!” She raised her own wand and focused with all her might. It was so much harder with real dementors bearing down on her, sucking away all her happy memories—harder than anything a Boggart could throw at her. “ _Expecto Patronum_!” she cried. A white mist emerged from her wand, but no more.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Harry yelled. His attempt was no better.

“Harry, please!” she said. “You’re going to free your godfather. You’re never going to have to see the Dursleys again. You have to cast your Patronus!”

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Harry yelled. A white glow emanated from his wand and coalesced into a shield.

 _Come on, Hermione,_ she told herself. _Holiday with Mum and Dad, sitting around talking with my friends. Come on, you_ _’ve done it before; cast the spell!_ “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

The white light shot out from Hermione’s wand. She focused on it, clinging to the light like a lifeline with everything in her, desperately trying to force more power through her wand. With a tremendous effort, the light grew brighter, coalesced, solidified, and suddenly, for the first time, it took form.

Before her was a glowing, silver otter.

“Wow,” she whispered.

Her Patronus gambolled, swerved, and zoomed in circles around her through the air, ready to chase away dementors in any direction. Looking back at Harry, she was amazed at the sight. Before him stood a proud, majestic, silver stag.

“Prongs,” Sirius breathed. “I don’t believe it.”

“Thank Moony,” Harry said, gritting his teeth from the effort.

“Uh, guys?” Ron pointed out of the circle. The dementors were still advancing. The Patronuses wavered as their drain on Harry’s and Hermione’s energy grew. There were just too many of them.

“Stay together!” Harry yelled. The group huddled together so that the Patronuses could circle around all of them. Ginny sat on Pettigrew, and Hermione was forced to drop to the ground and practically lie on top of her. Harry pulled Ron and Sirius close to him, barely standing his ground.

“Help!” Ginny screamed. “Anybody! Help! Dementors!”

“Dobby!” Hermione cried.

 _Pop!_ “Miss Hermi—AHHH!”

“Dobby, no!” _Stupid! His abuse is coming back to haunt him._ “Dobby, no! Get out! Get Dumbledore!” But Dobby wavered on his feet for a moment and fainted beside her. Then, the light of the Patronuses dimmed, and the icy tendrils crept closer again. The dementors were standing over her, pressing their way inward. Hermione shifted her position, shielding Ginny and Dobby with her body and pressing her left arm over her own mouth. The silver otter grew pale and transparent and was forced to hover over them. She could just barely see Harry’s stag flicker as it tried to protect him, Ron, and Sirius. _Not my friends!_ she pleaded silently. _Not Ginny! Not Ron! Not Harry! Not Sirius! Harry_ _’s finally found a family; you can’t take that away now! Come on, come on, come on—holiday with Mum and Dad, time talking with friends, helping people with arithmancy, showing up Malfoy…_ She kept her Patronus, going, but barely. The otter sat on her chest, hissing madly, nearly fading away.

The nearest dementor leaned down and, to her horror, pulled back its hood. It had a ruin of a face: no eyes or nose, only mottled, grey, scabbed skin. The only feature was a mouth, but even that wasn’t a mouth, only a shapeless, gaping hole. The demon’s breath sounded like a smoker dying of emphysema; it smelled like a rotting corpse; it felt like an icy wind.

 _NO! Not my friends! I can_ _’t lose them!_ She kept fighting back, and somehow, the otter retained its shape, but the monster leaned closer and lay one frozen hand on Hermione’s wand arm. Pain shot through her body. Her hand felt like it had been plunged into ice water, and worse. It _burned_ with cold, and she knew she couldn’t hold out for long. She squealed in agony while managing to keep her teeth clenched, and in her ears, she heard Tom Riddle laughing at her. She knew her Patronus must fail any second, and she’d be done for. And then…

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM_!”

There was a brief whooshing sound, and then, _WHAM!_ The dementor was blasted away from her by a blinding white streak. There was a sound of screaming, but not of human screaming. The dementors scattered in the presence of an impossibly bright light—a light that radiated warmth and safety and drove the icy grip on the world away.

Hermione sat up with some effort and looked around. Through the stars in her eyes, she saw blurry shapes picking themselves off the ground, and—yes, three of them—Harry, Ron, and Sirius. “Ginny?” she asked worriedly.

“Still here,” the younger girl moaned.

“Dobby?”

“Dobby will be feeling this is the morning,” the elf squeaked feebly.

“Sorry, Dobby. Pettigrew?”

The two girls turned over and inspected the traitor. As their vision cleared, they say Pettigrew lying motionless on the ground, staring off into space.

“Is he faking?” Ginny said.

“I don’t know…” Hermione was afraid. She didn’t know what would happen if Pettigrew had been Kissed. “Kick him in the bits again.”

Pettigrew was a good actor, but at that threat, he flinched a bit.

“Phew. Still alive and still has what passes for his soul,” she muttered. She looked down at her hand and felt faint. Her whole hand had a bluish cast and was still in a lot of pain. The dementor’s touch had seemingly given her frostbite. She couldn’t even unclench it to put away her wand. The only good thing was that the pain meant it was still alive.

Blinking again to dispel the afterimage of the Patronus, she looked up to she Professor Dumbledore running towards them across the grounds. He looked furious, which was as terrifying a sight as it was at the Quidditch match. “Cornelius, I told you to call the dementors off!” he roared. A man behind him in a lime green bowler flinched.

“Oh, Professor, thank God!” Hermione called, and then, the scene descended into a cacophony of noise.

Ginny screamed. Pettigrew had rolled over her and grabbed her wand in his still-tied hands. Hermione saw in a blink that he had his back to the group, and he had the wand pointed at the ground, and several thoughts flashed through her mind too fast to consciously articulate.

Dumbledore was seconds away from catching Pettigrew, leaving him only one chance to try to get away.

Pettigrew knew she had sent Dobby to tell Dumbledore the truth.

Pettigrew had already escaped certain capture once twelve years ago—very violently.

The world started again as Sirius screamed something unintelligible. Then, Pettigrew shouted, “ _Fracassa Veloci!_ _”_

Hermione acted: “ _Spongify! AHHH_!”

BOOOOM! SPLAT!

There was a sound like a canon blast, and everyone was knocked off their feet from Pettigrew all the way back to the Minister for Magic. Hermione felt like she’d been hit with a firehouse, and her frostbitten hand was screaming in pain at the effort of casting a simple first-year charm. She’d known she only had a split second before they were all killed by that fragmentation grenade curse. Presumably, Pettigrew thought he could escape if the people binding him were dead, and if he took out Dumbledore, too, so much the better. But she knew what that spell did, and she had done the only thing she could think of: cast a Softening Charm at the ground. Then, instead of being shot through with shrapnel, the fragments disintegrated, and they were effectively sandblasted, but still alive.

Pettigrew rolled over, still bound in both twine and ropes, seemingly dazed and confused that the curse hadn’t killed them. His eyes flashed, and he looked ready to cast something even worse, but Hermione was already on the move. She ripped her wand from her frozen hand, brandished it left-handed, not thinking of the consequences, pointed it at Pettigrew’s face, and screamed out, “ _CHIROPTERA MUCOSA_!”

In retrospect, an _Expelliarmus_ would have been a better choice, but it was effective. Maybe a little _too_ effective. Even Hermione looked down at her wand in horror when a black bat failed to crawl out of Pettigrew’s nose. Instead, he fell on his side, coughing and retching, and dozens of huge black beetles crawled out of his mouth. Apparently, casting left-handed didn’t work so well.

“ _Stupefy! Stupefy_!” Dumbledore was on his feet again, and bolts of red light struck both Sirius and Pettigrew, causing them to fall unconscious. Beetles were still crawling lazily out of Pettigrew’s mouth, causing him to make disturbing snoring noises.

“NO!” Harry yelled. “HE’S INNOCENT!”

“It’s true Professor!”

“We heard it all!”

“I promise we will question them thoroughly,” Dumbledore cut them off. “Is Professor Lupin still in the Shrieking Shack?”

Ron pulled back his sleeve and checked the marking on his arm. It was still legible. “Uh, yeah, for now,” he said. “I set a warning rune.”

“Excellent thinking, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said. He pulled four bars of chocolate from his robes and handed them to the four children. “Are all of you alright?”

Hermione held up her frozen hand. Ron pointed to his broken leg. Harry had an icy patch on his sleeve, but his hand didn’t look frostbitten.

“Madam Pomfrey will see to that,” Dumbledore told her. “Eat, quickly.”

Hermione put her chocolate bar between her teeth for leverage and broke off the far corner with her good hand. She handed that corner to Dobby, who was shivering by her feet before taking a large bite herself. It was surprising how much chocolate helped. She wouldn’t have thought plain endorphins would be that strong.

“Professor, you have to listen to us!” Harry pleaded. “Sirius Black is innocent. Peter Pettigrew—”

“I know, Harry. Dobby told me everything,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I will ensure this is sorted out. However, the Minister—”

“Albus, what the blazes was that—?” Cornelius Fudge said as he reached them. He stopped cold when he saw the two unconscious men. “Merlin’s beard! It _is_ Pettigrew.”

“It’s true, Minister,” Ron said. “He’s an animagus. He’s been hiding as Scabbers for twelve years.”

“He was the Secret-Keeper, too,” Hermione added. “They didn’t tell anyone they’d switched.”

“Pettigrew used that spell—” Harry started.

“GAH! NO!” Ron interrupted. He held out his arm. The warning rune turned into a smear of mud.

“What is it, Mr. Weasley?” Dumbledore said.

“Lupin just broke out!”

“What?” Fudge said. “What are you talking about?”

“A werewolf will be here in several minutes, Cornelius. Do not fear; I will stop him. All of you need to get back to the castle immediately. Go to the infirmary.  Dobby, get another elf to help to levitate these two—”

“I’ve got it, Professor,” Hermione said. “Sonya!”

 _Pop!_ Since they were back on the grounds and her shift was over by now, Hermione knew she could call her other close elf friend. “Miss Hermione—Eek! Sirius Black!” she cried.

“No, it’s okay, Sonya. I’ll explain later. Help Dobby with these two. We have to get up to the castle!”

The two elves levitated the two unconscious wizards, and the all of them ran up the hill. The elves weren’t as fast on their short legs, though, so Hermione picked Dobby up and let him climb on her back with his arms around her neck. “Ginny, get Sonya,” she said. They must have looked a strange sight: four kids, with two elves riding on their shoulders, the Minister for Magic, and two unconscious criminals racing up the hill to the castle. Harry and Ron were now the slowest of the bunch, especially on the rough ground. Ginny shifted Sonya around so she could support her brother’s other arm. Meanwhile, Dobby was talking at a mile a minute, trying to explain to Sonya what was going on.

When they reached the Clock Tower Courtyard, they suddenly heard a loud howl from down the hill followed by a series of yelps accompanied by flashes of red light, and then all was silent.

They stopped to take a breather. They seemed to be safe for now.

The Minister was staring at the two prisoners in awe: “You caught him? You actually caught Sirius Black?”

Hermione spun around to face the man. He looked the same as he had in the Three Broomsticks that day: a short, portly man with a lime green bowler and the air of a politician. And then, as the heat of battle dissipated, Hermione’s anger found an outlet.

“YOU!” she screamed hysterically, running up to him and getting uncomfortably close to his face. Fudge took a nervous step back. “WHAT THE BUGGERING HELL WERE YOU THINKING PUTTING DEMENTORS AROUND A SCHOOL?! THEY DIDN’T MAKE US SAFER! THEY WOULD’VE KISSED ALL FOUR OF US JUST FOR BEING WITH BLACK IF DUMBLEDORE HADN’T SHOWN UP! WHAT IF WE’D BEEN HOSTAGES, HUH?! I NEARLY GOT MY BLOODY _SOUL_ SUCKED OUT BECAUSE OF YOUR BUMBLING! _HARRY POTTER_ NEARLY GOT HIS SOUL SUCKED OUT! WAKE UP, FUDGE! YOU DON’T USE DEMONS FROM THE PIT OF HELL AS GUARDS WHEN THEY CAN’T EVEN TELL THE INNOCENT FROM THE GUILTY!”

“MISS GRANGER!”

She stopped and spun around once again. Dumbledore was back.

“Dumbledore, control your student!” Fudge shouted. “She’s gone mad!”

“Miss Granger, please calm yourself.” Dumbledore said. “You need to rest until you are more collected.”

Hermione jumped back, horrified at what she’d just done, even if it was deserved. “I’m sorry, Professor,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I don’t know what came over me. After everything that’s happened tonight…I just lost it.”

“I understand, Miss Granger. You’ve just been through a traumatic experience. I would deduct points for shouting at the Minister, but I would have to give them back again for your exemplary show of magic. And Cornelius, while I can’t condone Miss Granger’s method, she does have a point. I warned you of the dangers of posting the dementors here.”

“And I told you it was the best way to find Black,” Fudge said imperiously. “And it worked, didn’t it? We’ve found Black.”

“And the dementors also attempted to Kiss four innocent children,” he said. “You saw it. If Miss Granger and Mr. Potter had not performed an extraordinary feat for third years by casting Patronus Charms, as you also saw, the Boy-Who-Lived would be short of a soul right now.”

Fudge paled. “Well, that is…quite a serious problem, yes,” he said nervously. “They’ll, er, have to be dealt with accordingly. Although it can’t have been that close,” he spun it at once. “I’m not convinced I saw any Patronus out there besides yours, Albus. But—but it’s not important. Now that we have these two, we won’t need the dementors here anymore.” He pointed at Sirius and Pettigrew.

“And moreover,” Dumbledore continued over Fudge’s objection, “it was _not_ the dementors who found Black, but Miss Granger and her friends in what is sure to be a _very_ entertaining story. It seems that Sirius may not be as black as he is painted.”

Fudge didn’t laugh at the Headmaster’s joke. “The word of an elf, Albus?” Fudge said sceptically. “You must know that carries no weight in court.”

“What?” Hermione hissed in surprise. Dobby just shook his head when she looked at him.

“But you must admit, Cornelius. With Pettigrew alive, it is clear that we do not fully understand what happened on the first of November, 1981. That alone should be enough to rescind the Kiss on Sight order pending a full investigation of _both_ individuals.”

“Albus, you can’t possibly think that Black is innocent,” Fudge replied. “I saw him laughing in the middle of the street myself, and now it’s clear why. These two were working together.”

“NO!” Harry yelled. He dropped Ron, who staggered and leaned on Ginny, and ran up to Fudge. “Minister, listen! Sirius Black’s innocent! Peter Pettigrew did all of it!”

“But surely it must have been a conspiracy. You yourself said Black had an ally, Albus.”

“An ally?” Hermione said in confusion. “Oh, no, the prophecy. You think Black is the second servant? He’s not! He’s completely innocent! He never worked for Voldemort at all!”

“Ah! That’s enough, girl,” Fudge said. “I let you carry on because you’re clearly traumatised and possibly Confunded, but—”

“I AM NOT CONFUNDED!” she screamed. “SIRIUS IS INNOCENT!”

“Miss Granger, please,” Dumbledore said soothingly. “I know you heard the words of the prophecy from your friends. It spoke of two servants. How do you read it?”

Hermione took a deep breath, determined not to go off again, no matter how infuriating Fudge got. “I don’t know, sir, but…but I tied up Pettigrew with a spell I made up tonight,” she said, and things started to click into place. “That would make him the servant who was ‘bound by spells unknown.’ Professor—do you think what Professor Trelawney gave was a real prophecy?”

“I do believe so—the second of her career. Perhaps I should give her a raise. But please continue.”

“Well…the other servant was supposed to escape before midnight—Of course. You just have to hold Sirius until midnight, and that’ll prove he’s not the other servant. That should be simple enough. I don’t think one who escapes was ever here in the first place.”

Dumbledore looked grave at that news, but he said, “Very well. We will hold Black here until midnight. Cornelius, you may of course bring Aurors in to question him at your leisure.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“Minister, all you need to do is question Pettigrew under Veritaserum—” Harry said.

“Might as well question _both_ of them,” Hermione added.

Dumbledore gave the Minister a piercing gaze. His eyes weren’t twinkling at all, now. “Surely, that cannot be a problem, Cornelius,” he said. “It can only reveal the truth. You _do_ wish to be known for upholding justice, of course.”

Hermione guessed this wasn’t such a good time to bring up the fact that Sirius hadn’t got a trial in the first place, so she held her tongue.

“Oh, very well, Albus,” the Minister grumbled. “I’ll send for an interrogator at once. _And_ suspend the Kiss on Sight order, but I’m telling you you’re wasting your time…” He walked off complaining to no one in particular.

“Very good,” Dumbledore said. “Now, you really must get to the Infirmary. You have my assurances that both Black and Pettigrew will be questioned, and as Chief Warlock, I will ensure that justice is served for both of them. If you are indeed telling the truth about everything, I should be able to smooth things over with the Minister soon enough.”

Much relieved, the foursome trod up to the Hospital Wing with Dumbledore levitating Sirius and Pettigrew in tow. “Thank you, sir,” Harry said as he caught his breath.

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione added. She felt the weariness overtake her as the adrenaline wore off, and she hoped she could make it up to the Hospital Wing on her own. “Bloody dementors,” she muttered to herself. “Damn them all back to hell where they belong…Good God, the Minister could’ve _murdered_ somebody just for political points…” She trailed off, not wanting to say out loud what she was thinking: she was starting to wonder if she actually _wanted_ to stay in Britain. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t run away anymore, but between those two things, she wasn’t sure if anyone in the country was truly safe, and that wasn’t even accounting for whatever horrible thing was bound to happen _next_ year.

“My goodness,” Madam Pomfrey said as she saw the string of patients come into the Infirmary, limping, clutching arms and legs, and covered in mud. “What happened?”

“Dementors,” Ginny said.

“Tsk. Dementors again? Serious exposure, I assume?”

Hermione mumbled something.

“What was that Miss Granger?”

Hermione was just barely able to speak up enough to make herself heard: “I said close enough to see their faces.”

Madam Pomfrey turned white. “Chocolate—” The four students held up their half-eaten chocolate bars. “Good. Right.”

“Madam Pomfrey, my hand…” Hermione showed it to her, wincing. Her flagging adrenaline was also letting the pain come through again.

“Merlin’s beard, it _touched_ you?” the Mediwitch gasped. “Lie down, lie down, quickly. Mr. Weasley, I’ll get to you in a moment. Miss Weasley, if you can hold her other arm down?” She summoned a bowl to the bedside table and held her hand over it. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Granger. _Aguamenti_.”

Hermione screamed in agony. Her hand felt like it was on fire as the water poured over it. She struggled where she lay, but Madam Pomfrey and Ginny held her fast.

“What’re doing to her?!” Ron yelled. He and Harry got up and started to approach.

“Stay where you are, you two,” Pomfrey warned. “It’s okay, Miss Granger. It’s only lukewarm, but I need to get your hand warmed up quickly. Direct contact with dementors can do serious damage if it’s untreated.” She waited until Hermione stopped thrashing enough to hold her hand in the bowl of water and broke off to attend to her other patients. Harry and Ginny only needed rest, but Ron’s several dog bites and broken leg needed a bit more attention. Finally, she turned her attention to the two unconscious men, one of whom was still crawling with beetles. Hermione was a little surprised he hadn’t started choking by now, but either way, it didn’t look pleasant.

“Sirius Black!” she gasped. “You caught him, and…Merlin’s beard! Peter Pettigrew? How?”

“It’s a long story, Poppy,” Dumbledore said. “For the moment, can you reverse the hex upon him?”

Madam Pomfrey tried a couple of general counter-spells, but they wouldn’t stick. “Hmm…you could probably do that better than I could, Albus. Do you know what he was hit with?” she asked.

“It sounded like a Bat-Bogey Hex,” Ginny said.

“I doubt that, Miss Weasley. Those are neither bats nor bogeys.”

“It was,” Hermione said embarrassedly. “It was left-handed, and I think that messed it up. The throat is still a mucous membrane…I’m not sure about the beetles though.”

“Ah, actually, I believe I understand now.” Professor Dumbledore said. “In Greek, ‘bat’ is ‘ _chiroptera_ ,’ while ‘beetle’ is ‘ _coleoptera_.’ Not far off. Accounting for that, it should be simple to devise a counter-spell.” He waved his wand in a complicated motion that must have been an improvised countercurse, and Pettigrew immediately stopped coughing. Hermione’s eyes widened when she saw it. She had a long way to go before she could come up with a fix for a botched spell on the spot like that. “There, I trust you can handle the rest, Poppy?” Madam Pomfrey nodded immediately started cleaning him up.

“Good. Dobby, Sonnitt, please tell Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick to report here at once. They will be able to ensure that no animagi escape.”

“Yes, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir,” the elves said in unison and vanished.

But even before those two professors arrived, into the Hospital Wing rushed Septima Vector. “Hermione!” she gasped, making a beeline towards her favourite student. “Are you alright? Fred and George Weasley are telling all the teachers you were attacked by—” she stopped when she saw the black-haired man lying on a nearby bed. “Sirius Black! They finally caught the murderer!”

 _What? Just_ _…what?_ Hermione blinked in confusion as she realised just how far behind the curve her teacher was. “Professor Vector, I’m—” She lifted her frostbitten hand out of the water and felt slightly sick. It wasn’t blue anymore, but it was red and painfully blistered all over.

“Easy, there, Miss Granger,” Madam Pomfrey interrupted. “You’ll need to keep the skin protected while it heals.” She took her hand and, with feather touch, began spreading a salve on it, then wrapped it in bandages and finally placed it in a sling against her stomach.

“Professor, this isn’t what it looks like,” Hermione said to Vector, wincing while the Mediwitch worked. She pointed to another bed.

Vector gasped again: “Is that Peter Pettigrew?”

“Yes, ma’am. Do you remember how I said something didn’t make sense about Pettigrew’s death?”

Now Vector blinked in surprise. _What? Just_ _…what?_ “Yes?” she said. “And…I take it that was because he wasn’t dead?”

“Yes, ma’am. He faked his own death with that explosion. We barely stopped him doing the same thing tonight. Sirius Black is innocent.”

Professor Vector’s mouth just hung open.

“We…er…figured out which of them was telling the truth, and then I invented a spell to keep Pettigrew tied up because he’s a rat animagus, and we came back here…But then, when we got back, the dementors…”

But that was too much. As she tried to retell the story, Hermione’s composure failed completely. She could handle most things a lot better than she could last winter, but dementors were another matter. She wrapped her good arm around her teacher and cried into her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “It was just awful. It almost makes me want to go home and not come back here.”

“Hermione—?”

“They came after all of us! The dementors. They almost got us! I would’ve been Kissed if I hadn’t managed to cast a Patronus—”

Vector was stuck between horror and amazement. “You cast a Patronus?”

“Yes, it was an otter—”

“You cast a _corporeal_ Patronus?”

“Yes, and they still nearly wore me down before Dumbledore got there. Fudge was _insane_ , putting those things around here. And the Sirius—Professor, Sirius never even got a _trial!_ I feel like I’m living in a banana republic! Am I wrong, Professor? Am I wrong for not being sure whether I want to come back here next year?”

“I…” Vector could barely understand what was going on, and she had no idea what a “banana republic” was, so she just wrapped her arms around her student to calm her, being careful of her injured hand. It took several minutes of confused explanation from Hermione’s friends and the Headmaster to make it clear what had happened, and Vector was furious by the end of it. If she were fourteen years old again, she’d have half a mind to yell at Fudge for a while herself. Not only had an apparently innocent man had spent twelve years in Azkaban without trial and the real killer spent the past seven years living in Hogwarts as a pet rat, but the dementors had tried to Kiss four children, and it was only through months of effort on Harry’s and Hermione’s parts to learn the Patronus Charm—in Hermione’s case, solely to keep the nightmares away—that they held out against them. She remembered their discussion in February—the existential horror of even the possibility of the destruction of the soul. She hadn’t given it much thought then, but now, she thought she might get sick herself.

“I don’t know, Hermione,” she said. “I know you want to stand by your friends, but I told you last fall that maybe magical Britain isn’t safe anymore, and if this kind of…” Words like “incompetence” and “corruption” barely started to cover it. “If things like this happen here three years in a row—if the best security magic can bring can’t keep one man out of this school—maybe it _is_ time you cut your losses…Honestly, I’m not even sure what to tell my grand-niece, Georgina, now.”

“I do think I’ll stay,” Hermione said. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave Harry and Ron and Ginny and my other friends, but it’s hard. It’s harder than ever…” Staying would come with another cost, too. Her parents could never know what happened. She would have to pretend everything was perfectly fine this year if she wanted to return.

Echoing across the grounds, the clock struck midnight. Dumbledore looked at the still-sleeping Sirius for a moment and then, seeing nothing interesting happen, nodded solemnly: “Well, midnight has come and gone without incident. Oh, and I think under the circumstances, the three of you can be excused from your Astronomy class. It seems that you were right, Miss Granger. Black was not the servant who escaped, nor indeed was that servant on the grounds at all.”

“Sir, that prophecy said the other servant would go back to Voldemort!” Harry said worriedly.

“What?” Vector gasped.

“It did, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

When he didn’t elaborate, Harry said, “Well…isn’t that _bad_?”

“Yes, it is very bad, but I have long suspected that Voldemort would one day return. That is no great secret. We have yet some time before he could possibly make any moves. In any case, I think the more pressing question is, since we have both Black and Pettigrew, _who_ was the servant who escaped?”

“Who was it, then, Professor?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore was silent for a long moment before he finally answered, “I wish I knew.”

* * *

Cornelius Fudge was worried. He already had one scandal on his hands and another possible one brewing. It was too late to cover up the mess with the dementors; honestly, he had never imagined they would attack children. And then there was Black. If he turned out to be innocent, it could be disastrous to him. He could pin a lot of it on Barty Crouch, of course, but he himself had testified against Black twelve years ago. He had been the prime witness, in fact. He could still remember it—Black laughing in the street. And now Dumbledore said it wasn’t the laugh of an evil maniac, but of a nervous breakdown.

Oh, how he would like to be able to sweep the whole thing under the rug, Fudge thought, but no, Dumbledore was too deep into it now. He would demand a full investigation, and he wouldn’t accept any funny business.

 _No, I need to get in front of this_ , the Minister thought, and immediately began scheming. As soon as he got the results of the investigation, he would preempt their release with a public statement apologising “on behalf of the Ministry” for any wrongdoing and spinning the whole story as much as possible in his favour. Then, if that wasn’t enough, he would lob the bit about Dumbledore hiring a werewolf to distract the public. Oh, and he would write personal letters to the families of those four children apologising for the behaviour of the dementors. The public always loved that kind of personal involvement and caring and junk like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lapsu Nodum Strictus: based on the Latin for “tight slip knot.”
> 
> Fracassa Veloci: based on the Italian for “shatter fast.”


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Tick tock goes the clock, and all the JK Rowling they fly. Tick tock, and all too soon, Harry Potter must die…or not.
> 
> Don’t panic. It’s not over for Hermione yet. There’s plenty of time for circumstances to change, and then, watch out.

_Twelve Hour Earlier_

“Mr. Crouch?” Bertha Jorkins said as she entered the old manor. “Mr. Crouch, I need your signature on the dragon transfer forms.” There was no answer. That seemed odd. Surely, old Barty would be here somewhere if the door was unlocked. “Mr. Crouch, are you at home?”

She heard a faint murmuring coming from somewhere in the house. Her curiosity peaked, she tiptoed forward to investigate. As she approached one of the bedrooms, the murmuring resolved itself into two voices, one a soft, raspy tenor, and the other the high squeak of a house elf.

“And the Quidditch World Cup is being held in Britain this year, sir,” the house-elf squeaked.

“Is it, now?” the man’s voice said. “We must’ve offered an arm and a leg to get that,” the man’s voice mumbled. He sounded dazed and dulled, despite his insight. “Britain’s not the best place to move that many people in and out.”

That wasn’t Mr. Crouch’s voice, Bertha thought, and he already knew all about the World Cup. Who was he, and why was he here?

“That’d be nice to see,” the dull voice continued. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a Quidditch match.”

“Maybe…maybe Winky can be asking your father to let you go to the final. You is being a good boy, and you cans be hidden.”

His father? Something was up. Mr. Crouch’s only son was long dead.

“I’d like that, Winky. It’s good to have a friend here.”

“Winky is glad to help, sir. I has been telling your father he shoulds be treating you better, Master Barty.”

Bertha covered her mouth with her hands to suppress a gasp. It _was_ Barty Jr, one of the most vicious Death Eaters, still alive and being kept in his own home. Mr. Crouch had broken his son out of Azkaban! She would have to do something about this.

Suddenly, there was a commotion at the door.

“What was that?” Barty Jr said in a voice that suddenly wasn’t dull and dazed at all.

Barty Crouch Sr arrived home to find the front door ajar. That alarmed him at once. Either his son had finally broken out, or this was the one time in forty years that he went out and forgot to lock the door. He ran inside and straight to his son’s room, only to run into a witch in the hall.

“Bertha?” he said in surprise.

“Mr. Crouch!”

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his eyes bulging.

“Wondering why you have a Death Eater in your house,” she said.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! _I_ have a Death Eater in my house? How dare you?” But he knew she knew. He drew his wand.

Bertha had hers out in a flash. “Don’t come any closer!” she said.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Bertha tried to block, but her boss was too quick for her. “Did you think you could stop me?” Old Barty demanded. “I was the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I led the fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Now, we can’t have you remembering any of this. Obliv—ARGH!”

Without warning, Old Barty crumpled to the ground. Bertha looked around in shock, searching for the source of the attack. Then, a thin hand reached up and pulled an invisibility cloak down, revealing a tall man will pale hair and a freckled face: Barty Junior. Bertha was grateful for approximately one second before she remembered that her saviour was a Death Eater.

“Son! No!” Barty Senior shouted from the floor. “Get back in your room! Get back in your room this instant!”

“Master Barty! Yous must hides!” the elf squeaked, running out of the bedroom.

Quick as a wink, Barty Junior snatched up his father’s wand from the floor and pointed it at the elf: “ _Imperio_!” The elf stopped and turned glassy-eyed. “Do not try to stop me.”

“Son! Stop this!”

“Not this time father. I’ve finally broken your control,” Barty Junior said, a fanatical rage in his eyes. “How about a taste of your own medicine, eh? _Imperio_!”

Bertha gasped softly again as the implications hit her. Old Barty had been using the Imperius Curse on his own son. The older man now twitched as he seemingly fought the control, but he stilled, his eyes glazing over. “Continue to go to work and live your life as normal,” his son ordered. “Continue to act as if I am dead. When you buy a new wand, claim your old one was broken. Do not try to find me or send Winky to do so.”

Bertha edged towards her fallen wand, but Barty Junior saw her. “Not so fast. _Imperio_!” Bertha had no chance of resisting. “Why are you here?”

“I needed your father’s signature on some forms,” she said.

“Leave them here for him to sign, and follow me.”

Obligingly, Bertha picked up her wand and followed her captor. Barty Junior led her out the door, took her by the hand, and started apparating.

Barty knew all the way points where one could Apparate internationally without arousing too much suspicion—particularly some seedy places in Jersey, Luxembourg, and Liechtenstein. He needed time to rest after Apparating that far, but he had no trouble pacing himself. While he rested, he made Bertha bring him up to date about the goings on in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. It was surprisingly interesting.

Once he got to the former Yugoslavia, things were chaotic enough that the borders weren’t patrolled very well. From there it was a straight shot to the place that he had overheard from Dolohov was his Master’s fall-back base of operations in Albania. Once he knew he was within range, he pressed his father’s wand to his left forearm. The Dark Mark was faded, but still partially functional, and at precisely one in the morning, local time—midnight back home in Britain—its homing mechanism took him straight to where he wanted to go—right to his Master’s feet.

If his Master _had_ feet, that was.

As soon as they apparated to the grove of gnarled trees, there was a loud hissing sound, and a snake struck at him, only to stop inches from his face.

In seemed that Lord Voldemort was currently possessing the body of an enormously magically engorged viper with glowing red eyes—an impressive feet of magic to make the snake strong enough to possess long-term without killing it. Barty slowly descended to his knees before it, and at a gesture from him, Bertha did the same.

“Master, I have returned to you…” he whispered.

The snake could only hiss, but Barty could hear his Master’s voice in his head: _Bartemius Crouch_ Jr _There are few things that can surprise Lord Voldemort, but you have done it. I was told you were long dead._

“My father is not the paragon he claims to be, my lord,” Barty replied. “My mother sacrificed her life to free me from Azkaban, only for him to keep me a prisoner in my own home. I came to find you the moment I was free.”

The snake seemed to laugh. Of course, Lord Voldemort knew that his servant was telling the truth. It was good to have a loyal servant finally return to him—better than he had dared hope, in fact. _It is always the most vehemently noble who fall the furthest,_ he said. _And tell me, my faithful servant, who is your companion?_

“One of my father’s employees, my lord. I know that you still seek the Potter boy, and Bertha has some interesting information about the next year at Hogwarts that may prove very useful…”

* * *

After some shuffling around, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick and a trio of Aurors led Sirius and Pettigrew out of the Infirmary to a more secure location so that they could be questioned. With the third year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws going to Astronomy Class at the same time the Aurors and interrogators were running in and out of the school, the news of what had happened was already sure to be spreading like wildfire, but for now, the four students in the hospital beds were resting in quiet. Hermione assured Professor Vector that she was alright and told her she could go back to bed, to which her teacher reluctantly agreed.

But while Hermione was already calming down, Harry, Ron, and Ginny were only starting to feel the full weight of the situation. With Harry, at least, it didn’t surprise her. He always seemed to go into shock for a little while after one of their adventures. She was starting to worry about Ginny, though. She hadn’t been involved in one of these messes of theirs before (she had been unconscious during the fight with the basilisk).

“S-s-so we did it, then?” Ginny said in a small voice. “We won?”

“I guess so,” Hermione replied. “As much as we could win, anyway, if Voldemort’s still out there.”

“Eek!”

“Sorry,” Hermione sighed, making an allowance for Ginny’s delicate emotional state

“Is th-this what your life is like all the t-time?” she asked.

“It _does_ seem to happen once or twice a year,” Ron said. He sounded like he was trying to be humorous, but even he sounded shaky.

“Merlin’s Beard! How can you do this all the time? I thought the Chamber of Secrets was bad, but…Hermione, I’m sorry. You were right about the d-dementors. I just couldn’t see it. Those th-things are the most awful creatures on earth.”

Hermione could see Ginny, who normally had an even stronger facade than herself, start to crack, so she did the only thing she could think of. With an effort, she pushed herself out of bed and sat down on the edge of Ginny’s bed and put her good arm around her to comfort the younger girl, as Professor Vector had done for her. Ron wasn’t far behind. He hobbled out of his own bed on the crutch that he had complained until Madam Pomfrey had set out for him and sat by Ginny’s other side. His hands were shaking.

“I reckon you were right, Hermione,” he said. “I thought you were just flipping out, but it’s different when you see them up close.”

“Thank you,” she said to both of them. “It’ll be okay. It’ll get better with time. That’s the most important thing I’ve learnt.”

“You saved me again, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Twice. I don’t know how you keep managing it. How did I deserve a friend like you?”

“A friend like me?” Hermione said. “That’s not very fair. It’s by hanging around with me that you got into this mess.”

“No! I don’t think that at all! I—” Ginny started, but Hermione started sniggering softly.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. I know you don’t think that, Ginny. And you never had to do anything. Friends stick up for each other like that.” She looked over to the fourth bed where her closest friend still sat, unmoving, staring into space. “Are you okay, Harry?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine…” he said, snapping out of it. “I…I’m happy. Really. It’s just that…I wanted to kill him…I wanted to kill him so much…I probably would have if I knew a good spell to do it. But I was all wrong, and you were the only one who had a clue.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Harry. You had no reason to think different.”

“I know, but…it’s just so messed up. With the Ministry, and then the dementors—I almost lost him as soon as I found him.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, though,” Ron said. “And Dumbledore said he’d clear up everything. Just think; you can get away from the Dursleys. And I bet Sirius’ll let you visit us any time you want.”

Harry smiled wistfully; there were tears in his eyes: “Yeah…you know…the one thing I always wanted growing up was for some long-lost relative to take me away from there.”

Hermione smiled: “Well, it looks like you’ve finally got your wish, Harry. And don’t ever think you don’t deserve it. It couldn’t have happened to a better person.”

* * *

By breakfast, the story was on the lips of the whole school that Sirius Black was innocent, and the real murderer had been caught by the usual Gryffindor suspects. Lavender and Parvati visited the Hospital Wing as soon as they were allowed out of the dorm in the morning, where they found Hermione being served an early breakfast that she was struggling to eat left-handed.

“You did it!” Lavender squealed happily. “You bound a servant of the Dark Lord by spells unknown! See, we told you the prophecy was about you.”

“Yes, yes, it was a real prophecy,” she admitted. “But Professor Dumbledore said Professor Trelawney has only made one other prophecy before.”

“Sure, but they were important prophecies, weren’t they?” Parvati said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. It looked like nothing would convince these girls to cast a sceptical eye on Divination Class. “I guess so,” she said. “I’d just appreciate it if the next prophecy didn’t involve me almost getting Kissed by a dementor and then almost getting blown up by a perverted madman. I could do with a quiet year for once.” The other girls paled at that.

After she finished her breakfast, Hermione turned her attention back to academics: “Madam Pomfrey, may I please get out of here? It’s only my hand that’s hurt, and I really don’t want to miss Arithmancy.”

Pomfrey rolled her eyes: “You and your Arithmancy, Miss Granger. Very well, but I don’t want you doing any writing, lifting, or spell-casting with that hand until I say so, and you’ll need to come in to have the bandages changed twice a day. I suggest you get one of your friends to take notes for you.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will,” she said. But even as she said it, she thought perhaps she could be a little more resourceful than that: “But aren’t there such things as quills that write on their own, ma’am?”

“Of course, but they’re very expensive, and you’d need to go to Hogsmeade to buy one, anyway,” Madam Pomfrey said idly as she changed Hermione’s bandages.

Hermione remembered certain of her antics over the course of the year. “That’s okay, Madam Pomfrey,” she said. “I think I know where I can get one.” She had just enough time before Arithmancy to run up to Gryffindor Tower to load her books and parchment in her shoulder bag and then rush over to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

_I need a quill that writes on its own. I need a quill that writes on its own. I need a quill that writes on its own._

The Room of Requirement furnished a writing desk and a bin full of odd quills. Many of them were broken, and she tossed them aside at once. Some of them still seemed to work, though. The ones that reliably stood on their points by themselves she tested by placing them on a piece of parchment and speaking aloud. Some of these didn’t respond to the noise, wouldn’t dip in the inkwell, wrote in an illegible scribble, or misspelled words, but she kept going as quick as she could until she found two Dictaquills that seemed to be working perfectly.

Out of curiosity, she also tried a large, acid green quill that caught her eye in the bin. She stood it on its point on the parchment and spoke, “My name is Hermione Granger.”

The quill, however, didn’t write the words she said. Instead, it wrote, _Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty muggle-born girl who has faced the wrath of dark wizards, giant monsters, and demons alike_ _…_

Hermione started laughing. She had no idea what kind of quill that was, but she decided to keep it for entertainment value.

As soon as she walked into Arithmancy, everyone turned and stared at her, which felt incredibly awkward, but she tried not to let it get to her. Hermione had meant to present her Laser Charm in class today, which she succeeded at doing left-handed, but only after three tries. For a bonus, she tried to show the Self-Tightening Slip Knot Spell she had used on Pettigrew, but she couldn’t quite twist her left hand the right way, so she just wrote out the arithmantic expansion with her Dictaquill (with attracted a fair bit of attention itself) and handed it in to Professor Vector. Even after all this time, Professor Vector was impressed that she crafted that spell that fast in her head.

She barely noticed after they were dismissed when Rebecca Gamp came into stride alongside her. “Well, Granger, it looks like you managed to survive another year,” she said. “After all, what could happen in another three weeks—we’ll besides Pettigrew breaking out and coming back for revenge, if the rumours are true.”

“I don’t think he’ll escape,” she said. “He’s under guard by people Dumbledore trusts, and they know he’s an animagus. He’s not going anywhere.” Besides that, she knew the part of the prophecy where Trelawney said Pettigrew’s “fate is sealed.”

“Well, that must’ve been scary out there with the dementors. I don’t know what I’d do if they got that close to me.”

Hermione shivered, and she felt a twinge of pain run through her hand. “Yeah, really scary,” she muttered.

“You seem to almost die an awful lot here. How many times is that now?”

“Four,” Hermione said resignedly. “Depending how you count them.”

“Wow, that is some bad luck,” Rebecca said. “This place might actually be cursed for you.”

 _For Harry, more like_ , Hermione thought. “The thought’s crossed my mind,” she said determinedly. “But I think I can take care of myself—or at least, I can learn to.”

“Well, okay, it’s your funeral.”

Hermione stopped. Something about the way the older girl said that really grated on her, and with her temper still running short from last night, she’d had enough. She spun around and said, “Okay, that’s it, Rebecca. _What_ is your problem?” she demanded. “You’ve been really…aggravating all year. Are you trying to scare me away from Hogwarts? Because it’s not working. Do you really care that much about being at the top of the class?”

“Tsk. You don’t get it, do you, Granger,” Rebecca snapped. “I’m a Gamp—of the Gamp’s Law Gamps—the greatest line of spellcrafters in Europe. _I_ was supposed to be the arithmancy prodigy. _I_ was supposed to be Professor Vector’s favourite. _I_ was supposed to be the one who got an independent study and an early mastery. And then _you_ come in, a titchy little muggle-born first-year, and you shoot right past me.”

“Well, I’m sorry if my blood is not good enough for you—” Hermione said angrily.

“Please, I’m not a Slytherin, Granger. It’s not about blood—it’s about heritage. You come in here knowing nothing about the history of spellcrafting that my family _built_ , and you expect to get by on brains alone—and it _works_. That’s just not fair.”

“I came here wanting to study arithmancy to the best of my abilities, Rebecca. That’s it. I’m not trying to show up anyone—well, besides Malfoy. I’m sorry if you’re jealous, but you’re just gonna have to get used to it. I’m not going to change who I am just because you have a problem with it.”

Rebecca’s fists clenched, and for a moment, Hermione those she might hit her—or pull her wand and hex her.

Hermione took a nervous step back. “Rebecca, I don’t want to fight you,” she said. “I have enough trouble already from Harry’s enemies.”

“You…why can’t you be a normal Gryffindor, Granger?” the older girl demanded. But she didn’t wait for a response. She turned around and walked away in a huff.

The stares were even worse at lunchtime than in class. Many Gryffindors congratulated Hermione for her known and suspected heroics, but she could tell that a lot of people were still suspicious of Sirius Black as, by extension, of her. Meanwhile, she was dismayed to hear that whispers about Professor Lupin were now circling the Great Hall.

“I don’t know how you it, Harry,” she said as she sat with her year-mates. They hadn’t had a chance to talk all morning. “Any news on Sirius?”

“He’s in custody,” Harry replied. “But Dumbledore says Fudge is playing nice now, so it should be sorted by the end of term—hopefully.”

“That’s some good news for a change. You—”

“Hermione!” She was interrupted by a tall pair of exuberant redheads.

“O Great Lady Arithmancer!” said Fred, bowing at the waist before her.

“Ye who hast cleansed our house of the foul traitor,” George added, also bowing.

“I may have doubted you before, but that plan was brilliant,” said Fred.

“Yes,” said George. “Lupin, Pettigrew, Black, the Map. I don’t know how you did it, but that was almost Dumbledore-worthy.”

“It really wasn’t,” Hermione disagreed. “I made one guess about Professor Lupin. The rest was just luck.”

“But that’s the best kind of plan, though,” George said with a chuckle, “the one even _you_ didn’t see coming.”

“I just can’t believe that rat could be and even bigger rat than we thought,” his twin continued. “Anyway, it’s good to see you’re still alive and kicking.”

“And inventing spells.”

“And fighting dementors.”

“Ugh, the less said about that the better,” Hermione interrupted.

“But did you or did you not cast the Patronus Charm?” asked Fred.

“Well, yes, but only because I’ve been practising it every night before I go to bed for three months.”

The Twins laughed. “That’s our Hermione,” George said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Only you could give an answer like that.”

“And more importantly,” Fred continued seriously. “Is it true you screamed in the Minister’s face for a full minute?”

Hermione turned a vivid shade of magenta: “Um…I think it was more like half a minute.”

They laughed again. “Brilliant,” said Fred. “Dad says there’s loads of people in the Ministry who’d love to do that to Fudge if they could get away with it. And did you not also hex a Death Eater in the face?”

“Left-handed?” added George.

Hermione covered her face with her good hand: “Oh, great, now I’ve started a pattern.”

This caused still more laughter. “Branching out this year, I see. So who’s on your list for next year?” asked Fred.

She sighed heavily and glared up at them: “Whoever does the most evil and/or idiotic thing in my presence—so probably you two.”

They wisely backed off.

* * *

Hermione’s Dictaquill served her well in Ancient Runes (where Professsor Babbling gave Ron copious points for his quick thinking with the reinforcing and warning runes) and History. In fact, it worked a little too well in history: not having to take the notes herself, she actually fell asleep. However, she was still left with the problem that she wouldn’t be able to use her wand safely for about a week. Her Charms, Transfiguration, and Defence classes, not to mention revising for exams, would be a challenge.

Well, she’d just have to do something about that, wouldn’t she? After classes ended, she climbed back up to Gryffindor Tower. (To her delight, the security trolls were gone, too.) Once in the Common Room, she took a careful look around at everyone’s hands.

“Neville!” she said when she found what she was looking for.

“Yipe! Uh, hi, Hermione,” her excitable classmate said. “What’s up?”

“You’re left-handed.”

“Er, yeah. So?”

“So, I can’t use my right hand at the moment. I was wondering if you could teach me how to cast spells properly with my left hand.”

“ _T-teach_?” Neville said in surprise. “You want _me_ to teach _you_?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well…don’t you think you should ask someone with better grades and stuff?”

“You do pretty well in Charms. Your wand handling is fine. And you’d have to be pretty bad to be worse than me at left-handed casting. Didn’t you hear what I did to Pettigrew?”

Neville perked up “You mean the beetles? That’s true?”

“Unfortunately. I’m lucky it didn’t backfire completely and nail me. That’s why I need you to teach me.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I can try.”

“Great. Thanks a lot. Let’s see if we can find an empty classroom before dinner—if you don’t mind.”

Neville got up and went with her. He definitely had an extra spring in his step at being told he was better than Hermione Granger at something. “Say, Hermione, thanks for talking to McGonagall for me,” he said. “She rescinded my password ban…and my Hogsmeade ban, too. I can go on the last visit on Saturday.”

“It was the least I could do. I’m just sorry Crookshanks got you in so much trouble in the first place.”

“Hmm…I guess it was for a good cause, though.”

“Ah, here we are,” Hermione said as they found a classroom.

“Okay…how do you want to do this?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we just start with a Levitation Charm? You can demonstrate it and then work me through the wand movement.”

“Alright, I guess,” Neville said. He waved his wand and said, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.” A chair rose into the air and floated back down.

“Huh. That was a mirror image of how you cast it right-handed,” Hermione observed. “Are all spells like that?”

“No. Some wand movements are mirrored, and some aren’t. And a few are completely different. I don’t remember which, though, but it’s a lot easier with Charms than Transfiguration. _The Standard Book of Spells_ actually has a left-handed edition that I use.”

A left-handed _book?_ That was a new one on Hermione, but it made sense. She attempted to wave her wand the same way Neville had. The chair only rattled on the floor, but she kept working. It took a lot of practice to get the wand motion smooth and precise with her off hand—as if she were in first-year Charms all over again—but she finally managed it. The bad news was that that it probably wouldn’t help her in class tomorrow, but she would keep at it. It might take practising all summer (and luckily she could make her own toy wands to practice with if she bought enough flitterbloom), but she was determined not to be caught without a working wand hand again.

* * *

Things seemed to be looking up for Hermione, so she should have expected the other shoe to drop. It was Friday morning when it happened. She didn’t usually receive any post on Fridays, so she was surprised when an owl dropped a letter on her plate. She opened it and at once turned as white as a sheet.

“Oh, no,” she breathed.

“Hermione? What is it?” her friends said.

“He wrote them.”

“Huh?”

“Fudge wrote my parents…They’re pulling me out of Hogwarts.”

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_You have a lot of explaining to do, young lady. From your letters, we were under the impression that everything was fine at Hogwarts with no mortal peril this year. Imagine our surprise when we received a letter from the Minister for Magic himself that casually stated you were personally involved in the capture of a mass murderer who had been hiding out in the school the whole time. It also seems that the school was broken into twice this year, which you never mentioned to us, and the Minister had to apologise that those demon-guards you mentioned went out of control and tried to _ _“Kiss’ you. He didn’t explain what that meant, but from the capital letters, we’re guessing it’s more than an unwanted smooch._

_We want a full explanation from you about exactly what_ _’s been going on this year, and we will be writing your teachers to make sure it’s accurate. One thing we do know is that we will be sending in your application to Beauxbatons immediately. No arguments this time. We’ve given the wizards in Britain too much leeway as it is, and obviously, none of them knows how to keep a school safe. As your parents, it’s our duty to get you out of there before your luck runs out. If you behave yourself, we can let you visit your friends later this summer, but you will not be returning to Hogwarts next year._

_Love,_

_Mum and Dad_

The whispers began to spread across the Great Hall at once. Withdrawals were rare at Hogwarts. A lot of the Gryffindors looked appalled.

“They can’t do that!” Ron yelled. “They can’t pull you out of Hogwarts.”

“Yes, they can, Ron,” she said dejectedly. “They’re my parents. They can send me to any school they want. I can’t stop them.”

“You have to talk to them,” Ginny pleaded. “Tell them you don’t want to go anywhere else.”

Hermione shook her head: “I was surprised they even let me come back last fall. There’s a reason I didn’t tell them about Sirius’s break-ins. I’ll only get myself in more trouble for trying.”

“But there’s gotta be something you can do,” Parvati said from down the table. “You should talk to Professor Dumbledore. Your parents are muggles; there’s gotta be some limits on what they can do to you.”

“Parv!” Hermione recoiled in shock. “Even if Dumbledore has the power to override their choice of schools, which I doubt, I don’t think I could actually do that to my parents. That’d be almost like…like running away from home or something…I’m sorry, everybody…I don’t think I’ll be able to come back.”

All of her friends were dismayed, but she wouldn’t hear another word to stop her leaving. As much as she wanted to stand by them, she knew when she’d been beat.

“It won’t be the same without you, Hermione,” Ginny told her.

“I know. Merlin, I know. I’ll have to try to start over in France and everything. But I promise I’ll still write, and I’ll still visit during the summers. And…and actually, I’ll be of age for spring term of sixth year, so I could transfer back then if I want to,” she added hopefully. “That way we could still finish together.”

“That’d be nice,” Harry said softly.

She paused and looked at him. “Are you going to be okay, Harry?” she said. “I’m going to worry about you more than anybody else. I won’t be here to keep you from getting yourself killed anymore.”

That was a sobering thought for Harry. Hermione saved his life with alarming regularity, and he was amazed that she would stand by him with all the trouble he got into. But he put on a brave face and said, “I can get by. Ron and Ginny will still be here, and I’ll be able to write Sirius now for help. I won’t ever be able to pay you back for that.”

“I told you it’s no less than you deserve, Harry,” she replied. “Just stay alive, and that’ll be enough for me.”

It took a real effort for Hermione to get through breakfast after that news, but she managed it, and she intercepted Professor Vector at once when she left the Hall.

“Professor,” she said. “It’s my parents. They—”

“I got the gist of it from the High Table, Hermione,” Vector said solemnly. “So you’ll be leaving us next year?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Professor. I can’t stop them—”

“It’s alright,” she said comfortingly. “You can still keep in touch with us. I’ll be sorry to see you go, but I’ll at least be glad to know you’re safe, and I still want to help you with those papers anyway that I can.”

Hermione nodded sadly. “Could you do something else for me, Professor?”

“Anything, Hermione.”

“Please try to keep Harry safe. You know how much danger he seems to get into. He needs someone looking out for him.”

Vector sighed: “You’re friend, Mr. Potter, seems to be a force of nature, but I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

By mid-morning, everyone who cared knew that Hermione Granger was leaving the school at the end of the year. Many people offered their condolences. Despite the uncertainty earlier in the week, she’d become surprisingly popular after helping to catch Pettigrew and most importantly, helping to get the dementors away from the school, above and beyond being friends with Harry Potter.

“Is it true, Granger?” Rebecca Gamp caught her after Potions. “Mummy and Daddy are pulling you out of here.”

“There’s no need to gloat, Rebecca,” Hermione grumbled. “You sound like a Slytherin.”

“Ooh, that’s low, Granger,” the Ravenclaw said.

“And so is gloating! You got your wish, okay? I’ll be gone next term. You can be top of the class like you always wanted. But you know what? That’s not going to stop me from corresponding with Professor Vector. That’s not going to stop me from publishing papers. You think it’ll silence me? At best it’s only going to slow me down a little.”

That really made Rebecca turn red: “Augh! I can’t win with you, can I, Granger? Why are you doing this?”

“Why am _I_ doing this? Why are _you_ doing this? It’s not a bloody competition! Look, you probably don’t want my advice right now, but if there’s one thing I learnt this year, it’s that all the talent in the world won’t help you if you don’t get up and take control of your own life. _You_ have to do the work, not just trying to stop me. Did you at least try to study to skip a year in the class like Professor Vector said?”

The older girl shot Hermione an annoyed look: “Of _course_ I did. I _am_ a Ravenclaw, you know.”

“Well, there you go. That’s still enough to get you an independent study and an early mastery. Now just give it a rest already. Don’t you have O.W.L.s to revise for?” Hermione stormed off before Rebecca could reply. Some days, the people around here really got to her. She wondered if that’s how Ginny had got so jinx-happy.

As she hurried away, she made it to Defence class early, though Harry and Ron turned out to be close behind. They hadn’t been able to talk to Professor Lupin since the incident, and when they arrived, they were surprised to see Professor Lupin sitting wearily at a student’s desk moved to the front of the classroom, while Hagrid was sitting on top of the teacher’s desk, the only piece of furniture in the room big enough to support him.

“Hagrid? What’re you doing here?” Harry asked.

It was Lupin who answered: “Well, after the unfortunate incident the other night, the Board of Governors was not pleased that Headmaster Dumbledore hired a…well, someone like me. Several of them wanted to fire me on the spot.”

“What? That’s not fair!” Hermione said.

“You can’t leave!” Harry agreed. “You’re the best Defence teacher we’ve ever had. Who cares if you’re a werewolf?”

Lupin shook his head sadly: “I know you don’t care. Perhaps even your families won’t. But not everyone is so tolerant. I’ve already received a few Howlers from outraged parents, and so has the Headmaster.”

“It’s stupid,” Hermione complained. “You’re only dangerous one night a month, and—”

“You’re very kind, Hermione,” he said, holding up his hand, “but in a school full of children, that’s more than enough. I forgot to take my Wolfsbane Potion this week, _and_ I forgot when moonrise was. I can’t afford one blunder like that, let alone two. However, as there is only one more week before exams, Professor Dumbledore convinced the Board to let me finish the year on the condition that all of my classes be supervised by another teacher.

“I volunteered for most o’ them on account o’ I’m the biggest, an’ I can keep him in line,” Hagrid spoke up. He winked at trio. More likely, they were sure, it was really because Lupin liked to work with “interestin’ critters.”

The lesson was a good one, but sad for the Gryffindors, who had come to really like Lupin over the past year, and for the Ravenclaws because they had actually learnt something. _Well, at least_ I _can probably get some competent instruction in Defence next year,_ Hermione thought, _but it would be nice if_ they _could, too._

Of course, the Slytherins couldn’t resist coming around to mock Hermione, disrupting an otherwise-fine afternoon lounging on the grass outside with Ron, Ginny, and Harry. “Well, well, well,” Draco Malfoy drawled as he sauntered up to them with Pansy Parkinson on his arm and his two bodyguards in tow. “Are the rumours true? We’re finally shot of the mudblood? Only three more Gryffindorks to go, then.”

Ron and Ginny sprang to their feet in Hermione’s defence, drawing their wands. “You shut your mouth, Malfoy,” Ron yelled.

“Ron. Ginny,” Hermione hissed, motioning them to lower their wands. She stood and said, “Can we just skip this, Malfoy? I’m having a lousy enough day as it is. Yes, I’m leaving this fall, though not by choice. Alright?”

“Oh, don’t mind us, we’re just enjoying the moment,” Malfoy said. “Say, Potter, you thought about leaving with Granger? You almost get yourself killed even more than she does. Maybe you’d be better off somewhere else.”

“But then I wouldn’t get to beat you at Quidditch,” Harry shot back. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see if you live that long without your girlfriend to save your arse.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not his girlfriend.” Ginny said this last line and immediately ducked, red-faced, when people turned to stare at her. “Sorry,” she squeaked.

“Ha! Too bad for you I’m taken, Potter,” Parkinson said. “You seem starved for choices—a weasel and a chipmunk.”

Hermione flinched just a little. “You take that back!” Ginny said.

“You wanna make me?”

Ron, Ginny, and Harry all drew their wands, and the four Slytherins responded in kind.

“Ah ah ah,” Malfoy said. “It’s four wands to two, plus the Weaslette. Granger’s got a busted hand.”

Hermione turned determined again. _Busted hand, huh?_ she thought. “You know, Malfoy,” she said, “if you fancy yourself an arithmancer, you should at least learn to count. Ginny’s easily worth a third-year when it comes to hexes, and did you hear about that hex I used on Pettigrew? The one Madam Pomfrey didn’t know how to cancel? I can cast that left-handed just fine.” She saw Malfoy start to sweat just a little under her glare. He probably wasn’t expecting her to be so resistant to his taunts. “Come on, I have an exam to revise for,” she said.

The two groups kept their wands on each other until they separated, but the Slytherins didn’t advance. Only Malfoy shouted after them, “Next year, Potter!”

“Bring it, Malfoy!” he yelled back.

Just the same, Hermione was stewing as she walked away. She’d never liked her front teeth ever since they grew in. Her parents said they weren’t that bad, and she could easily fix them by wearing a removable brace for a year, but she knew there must be magical ways of fixing teeth. She’d been at Hogwarts three years now and never seen a witch or wizard wearing braces—that and the few people she’d mentioned them to thought they were a ridiculous idea. The spells were probably much faster and less painful fixes, too. She’d brought up the matter last summer, but she should have known better with a couple of dentists. This was something Mum and Dad were sure they knew all about, and they said that teeth and magic shouldn’t mix. Hermione was starting to wonder if they just didn’t want to be made obsolete. Maybe she should push a little harder on the matter this summer.

* * *

“Store-bought toy wands, final test,” Hermione said, and the Dictaquill wrote her words down verbatim. That would have been great to have for their scientific tests all term. “Destructive testing of the one-galleon wand. Ready, Fred?”

“Ready.” Fred pointed the wand at the target and cast, “ _Diffindo_!”

For this test, she wanted an accurate measure of the power the wand could deliver, and it seemed that it could probably withstand fairly powerful spells. So she had asked the room to conjure up a large block of wood—a thick tree trunk section, in fact—which Fred would cast Severing Charms at again and again until the wand burnt out—not particularly powerful ones, though, so they could measure accurately. It was a decent measure of strength, which yielded surprising results. The cheapest toy wands could barely withstand a Severing Charm at all. The middle-ground ones an inch or so in. But this expensive wand cut nearly a foot before it sparked and shattered violently in Fred’s hand. Of course, a real wand could cut down whole trees for years on end if its owner so desired, but it was still a surprisingly large jump.

“Eleven and a half inches,” Hermione measured.

“Wow, you could use that in a fight in a pinch—for a couple curses, anyway,” Fred observed. “No wonder it cost a galleon.”

“Yes, but let’s see how well it does against ours,” George said.

“Yes, let’s,” Hermione said eagerly. She took up their best try at making a quality wand. They were proud of this wand. It had taken a lot of work—a lot more than one galleon’s worth of work—to make it even better (they hoped) than the expensive toy. And now, in true Weasley Twin fashion, they were going to destroy it. “Toy wand test number twenty-three,” she said. “Birch twig selected for tight, straight grain, magical glue and varnish believed to be the similar to the one-galleon toys, no rune carvings, and…Hippogriff tail hair core—thank you, Buckbeak. Destructive testing, same procedure. Go ahead, George.”

George had his work cut out for him. Only a very strong wizard could cut down a tree in one stroke, and he was deliberately using weak spells. He cast _Diffindo_ at the tree trunk section again and again, cutting deeper and deeper until his arm got tired, and then he handed it over to Fred, who eventually had to hand it back to George again. Hermione would have joined in, but she didn’t want to risk using her left hand with that spell.

“Wow, this thing really takes a beating,” George said as he started his second run. “We’re nearly through the—” _CRACK! THUD!_ The noise wasn’t the wand. They’d cut clean through the thick log so the top half fell off and onto the floor.

“Yikes!” the Twins said in unison and then, after a pause, “Now what?”

“Hmm, make another cut, I guess,” Hermione said.

George obliged and slashed the wand downwards, cutting into the now-horizontal log. He got a good long way into it before he abruptly handed the wand back to Fred. “Why don’t you finish it off, brother?”

Fred took it in his hand, and his eyes widened. “Merlin, it’s hot,” he said. “That can’t be a good sign. So _that_ _’s_ why you handed it over, eh? Well, you get to do the next one, then. Alright, _Diffindo! Diffindo! Diffin_ —”

 _BANG!_ The wand exploded, sending splinters all over the room. The Twins had to pick a couple out of their faces, but Hermione was far enough back that she was spared. When her ears stopped ringing, she mumbled, “Try to find the pieces…Test results: wand failure is more violent after prolonged intense casting. Measuring depth of cut…adding the two together, five feet, two inches.”

“Five feet!” Fred exclaimed. “Bloody hell, a wand like that could last a whole week.”

“Looks like the animal fibre core definitely helps,” George said.

“Yeah, and hey, look at this.” Fred held up what was left of the wand. “The hair’s still in one piece.”

“It is? That’s interesting,” Hermione said. “That means the hippogriff hair could definitely stand up to more magic than the wood. It’s too bad we don’t know if it’ll trip the underage magic alarm…but, that’s only a problem for me, isn’t it,” she grumbled.

“Well, you know, since you’re leaving Hogwarts, you could get away with a little more than usual,” George suggested. “You could just try and use one and see if it trips the alarm.”

“What? _Deliberately_ break the Restriction on Underage Sorcery?” she gasped.

“Well, you _have_ been bending it for the past two years with those runic spells, haven’t you?” Fred said.

“Well, yes—”

“And Harry only got a warning letter for that Hover Charm Dobby did, right? And _you_ _’re_ the one who said the whole thing was unfair in the first place,” George said.

“I guess…It _would_ be nice to know how far I can push this craft,” she said. “If I could make a working wand, even one that only lasts a day, I could practice my left-handed casting a lot more.”

“That’s the spirit,” Fred replied with a chuckle. “Really, every muggle-born starts bending the rules sooner or later, and we get away with loads more than that at home when Mum isn’t looking.”

“Okay. My parents will probably go for it if I ask nicely. If they do, I’ll write you about the results.”


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with JK Rowling.
> 
> Well, it took a bit longer than I expected, but this is the end of Third Year for the Arithmancer. Fourth Year should go quicker. It definitely won’t be as long as the book, anyway. Is Hermione doomed to be stuck at Beauxbatons? You’ll find out soon.

By the time Monday came around, somehow, Hermione was back on track studying for her exams, especially her Arithmancy O.W.L. She also took a little time to work on a paper for _Annals of Arithmancy_ about her Laser Pointer Charm, which would hopefully be published around the time school started in the fall. Harry, in the meantime, checked with Professor Dumbledore for daily news on Sirius. He was informed that Sirius and Pettigrew were still being held at the Ministry pending trial, as verified by Amelia Bones and Dumbledore himself, and they were both being given long-needed Healers’ care there. The trial should be coming before the end of term, Dumbledore said, and he said not to worry because after questioning both men, Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and several key Aurors were firmly on their side. Fudge was lying low, hoping the dementor incident would blow over by then.

O.W.L. exams were held over two weeks, with the second week being when the rest of the school was taking regular finals. Written exams were held in the mornings and practicals in the afternoon. For N.E.W.T.s, this pattern was reversed, so that the Ministry examiners, who administered the practicals, could do one of each every day. The exceptions were History and Muggle Studies, which were held on the same day because they had no practical component, along with Divination, which oddly had no theory component, which was paired with Ancient Runes, for which the theory _was_ the practice.

One might have thought that Arithmancy would not have a practical exam, but simple spell detection, analysis, reversal, and modification were all part of the curriculum, and they required a practical application. (Free-form crafting was a little too advanced to test in the time available.) Hermione was very glad to have the use of her wand hand again in time to practice.

When the big day came, Hermione found the theory exam to be very easy, as usual. The maths was far beneath her, and even the magical elements she was asked to describe rarely challenged her. While she always had a little testing anxiety, she was confident that she had aced the written exam, and after pushing herself to invent new spells whilst facing certain death once or twice, she had high hopes for the practical as well.

The room for the practical exam was set up with a large standing blackboard at one end plus a number of items for testing spells: a side table with a lamp, another table with a portable stove top and some food and kitchenware, a dummy that looked rather like a life-sized rag doll, a small wardrobe filled with clothes, and a large potted plant. Enrolment in Arithmancy was small enough that three examiners were present, including Griselda Marchbanks, a tiny, white-haired witch of about a hundred and thirty who, rumour had it, had tested Dumbledore himself. The other two examiners were younger than she, but still ancient-looking, and all three looked very sceptical when Hermione entered the room. Despite the glowing reports they had heard from her professors, what they saw was a little third-year girl who had no business being in an O.W.L. Exam at all.

“Miss Granger?” Madam Marchbanks said. “Hermione Granger?”

“That’s right, ma’am,” Hermione replied, trying to mask her nervousness.

“Very good. Let’s get started. The lamp on the side table has two charms placed on it to improve its function. Please determine what they are.”

She nodded and approached the lamp, casting several analysis spells. Streaks of light occurred in various numbers, colours, and shapes that told her both qualitative and quantitative information about the magic on the lamp. She picked up a piece of chalk and noticed that a special Dictaquill sprang to life on Madam Marchbanks’s desk, presumably copying down everything she wrote. Writing down the figures, she made short work of breaking down the results of her scans, which she interpreted as a combination of functions, into their basic arithmantic components. From there, it was simple to work out the two spells. She didn’t even need to write that part out.

“There’s a charm to keep the lampshade clean and prevent it from turning opaque over time, and the second charm keeps it from getting too hot to touch,” she concluded. She noted that the man on the left raised his eyebrows in surprise. She guessed that she was writing out much less of her work on the board than most of the other students. The other two examiners, however, betrayed no emotion, and they began asking more questions in turn.

“Determine which of the items in the wardrobe are charmed.”

“The spell to automatically water the plant has been misapplied. Find the error and fix it.”

“The kitchenware is jinxed to sabotage anyone trying to cook with it. Please remove the jinxes.”

Hermione thought she was doing pretty well. She had a couple of hiccoughs, but she quickly corrected them, and more importantly, they never made whatever the problem was worse, which was a critical skill for more advanced things like cursebreaking. Both of the men openly praised her when she found and removed not two, but three jinxes from the kitchenware. Madam Marchbanks didn’t say it, but she also looked impressed.

“Final question, Miss Granger…” Madam Marchbanks said. The final and most difficult task in the exam was actual spell design. She paused and thought for a minute, as if making up a question on the spot. “Modify _Tarantallegra_ to make the target dance a waltz.”

Hermione was ready. Finally, she thought, it was time to give them a real show. She could afford to get it wrong once, but it was a simple enough jinx, and part of the standard spell analysis curriculum, so she was pretty sure she could do it in one go. She closed her eyes, and the arithmantic elements of the spell played across her mind. She broke it down into its basic elements, added and subtracted the necessary terms to adjust the spell’s effect, calculated the new wand motion and rhythm, and considered what to use for the new incantation. Then, she smirked to herself when she realised her luck: there was an English-language phrase that fit the required meter and syllable structure perfectly.

She opened her eyes and pointed her wand at the rag doll dummy. Waving it in the correct motion, she cried out, “ _Waltzing Matilda_!” Immediately, the dummy leapt to its feet and began waltzing around the room. To prove the accuracy of her spell, she took the dummy by the hand and danced with it for a few bars. She had to lead, but it kept dancing flawlessly, ending with a spin and a flourish.

All three examiners were visibly astonished. It took them a minute to respond. Finally, Madam Marchbanks said, “Miss Granger, _what_ was _that_?”

Without a word, Hermione quickly wrote out the arithmantic expansion on the board. It may have sounded like a completely different spell, but it was a straightforward modification in the maths.

The examiners looked at each other in surprise. This girl wasn’t just good; she raised spellcrafting to an art form, and did it in her head, _and_ she did it in _English_. Lucky break or not, most students would never even think to do that.

“Now that is impressive,” Madam Marchbanks said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone do something like that. Thank you. You may go, Miss Granger.”

Hermione was beaming as she left the room. From what she had heard, Griselda Marchbanks was not an easy woman to impress.

* * *

Harry was glad to be done with his own exams. He wasn’t a genius like Hermione, and he was also having to worry about the fate of his godfather the whole time, which made things difficult, but eventually, they were over. His final one, Defence, had gone pretty well. It was an obstacle course filled with many of the creatures they had studied that year. (Hermione was going on about how glad she was that she’d taken the extra chance to face a boggart earlier in the year.)

The next day, Harry was surprised when Professor Dumbledore called him up to his office, but his surprise turned to elation when he saw who else was there.

“Sirius!” he cried, running to his godfather’s arms. Sirius Black was cleaned up, now, his hair and beard were trimmed, and he was wearing not just clean clothes, but very nice ones. He was still thin, and his face bore the lines of years of hardship, but he had a smile on his face.

“It’s over then?” Harry said hopefully. “You’re free?”

“I’m a free man, Harry,” Sirius said gleefully, his dark eyes glinting in the torchlight. “We had both trials yesterday. I was cleared of all charges—well, I had to pay a fine for being an unregistered animagus—but the Rat’s being held at the Ministry until they can rig up a cell in Azkaban with no holes big enough for him to crawl out of. There was a bit of a hiccough over the whole breaking out of Azkaban thing, but Dumbledore strenuously argued that law that prescribes the Dementor’s Kiss penalty specifically says, “a criminal sentenced to Azkaban who has shown by escaping that no prison can hold him,” and I was never actually sentenced to Azkaban, and I told them how I escaped, so it could hold me, now, Merlin forbid it needed to, so that law shouldn’t apply.”

“Oookay…? And Fudge was no trouble?” Harry said.

“Well, I wouldn’t go quite that far. He’s _in_ trouble. He was there when I was sent to prison, and he’s got egg on his face for that, so he doesn’t like me. But he was trying to save face, so he didn’t _make_ trouble.”

“That’s great,” Harry said. “That’s really great.”

“Yes, I am very happy to see this family reunited, such as it is,” Professor Dumbledore said. “Now, I have called you here to enquire about your arrangements for the summer, Harry.”

“I’ll be taking him, of course,” Sirius said at once. “Honestly, you sent him to live with Lily’s sister, Albus? I know what she’s like. I can’t imagine it was very pleasant for you, Harry.”

“Well, they’re tolerable if someone checks in on them once a week, but yeah, I’d rather go just about anywhere but back there for the summer,” Harry said.

“That is perfectly understandable, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “Professor McGonagall has informed me in great detail about the conditions in your home. I do regret that it has been so difficult for you there. And Sirius, you are perfectly within your rights to take him. However, there is something that you do not yet know.”

“What?” Harry and Sirius both said, Sirius with a menacing edge in his voice.

“I’ve never told you Harry why I sent you to live with your relatives—relatives whom I knew had a strong dislike of magic. You will recall how two years ago, the magical protection of your mother’s sacrifice shielded you from Voldemort’s attack when he possessed Professor Quirrell.”

“What?!” Sirius yelped. “What was that about Voldemort?”

“Long story,” Harry said. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“You’d better.”

Dumbledore went on with that old twinkle in his eye: “There is another way in which that protection can act—a protection through a blood relative. With a—immodestly do I say—very complicated charm, powerful wards may be erected with that same protective magic in the presence of a blood relative of the victim—a blood relative of your mother, Harry. And however grudging they are to accept you, the only such relatives you have are your aunt and cousin. So long as you live in their home, no wizard wishing you harm may enter the property. This protection will last until your seventeenth birthday.”

“Blood wards, then,” Sirius said. “You have blood wards protecting his relatives’ house? And I suppose you want him to go back there because of that?”

“I don’t get it, Professor,” Harry said quickly. “You’ve let me leave Privett Drive before.”

Dumbledore smiled kindly at him. “I did, Harry,” he said, “but only after your presence there had renewed their strength. You must return there once a year for a time to maintain the wards. After that, they are merely a fall-back. In the case of an emergency—should Voldemort himself return in the flesh, for example, we could send you to your relatives’ house, and you would be protected.”

“So you only want him to go back to recharge the wards?” Sirius asked, giving the old man a warning look.

“Correct.”

“And how long will that take?”

“Two weeks. Two weeks with minimal time outside the property line, unfortunately, but I suspect that will be of little trouble for Harry.”

Sirius wasn’t happy, but he didn’t shoot the idea down outright now that he understood. Dumbledore was right that it could be useful if, Merlin forbid, Voldemort _did_ come back. “What do you think, Harry?” he asked.

“I’d still rather not. Do I really _need_ them, Professor? I mean, I’ll have Sirius with me now.”

Sirius beamed, but Dumbledore remained solemn: “As talented as Sirius is, you have seen for yourself on more than one occasion that Death Eaters are still active in this country, and in light of Professor Trelawney’s recent prophecy, I fear the danger is growing.”

That probably didn’t have the desired effect: it just got Sirius’s Gryffindor bravado going: “Danger I can handle, Albus. If Harry wants to find another way, we will.”

“Obviously, I have no power to stop you,” Dumbledore answered. “But may I ask you, where will you be staying this summer?”

“Well, I figured I’d just find a flat someplace in London. I’m sure my family home is a death trap by now.”

“And do you have a flat?” the Headmaster said evenly. “And can you furnish and stock it in the next week?”

Sirius thought a moment and hung his head. He’d only just got out of custody. He was barely thinking about those other things.

“If I may offer my advice, let Harry go to his relatives’ house, and use those two weeks to find a place and truly make it livable for your godson for the remaining eight weeks of summer.”

Sirius gave his godson an uncomfortable look. “It up to you, Harry,” he said. “You can take the hit for the two weeks, or you can come with me, and we’ll figure something out.”

Harry thought about this. The spectre of Voldemort still being out there _did_ worry him, even if he didn’t want to admit it. All things considered, it didn’t seem like that bad a deal. He desperately wanted to spend time with Sirius—one of the few links he had with his parents—but after three years, Hermione’s message was starting to come through. She’d saved his life ten times already, and she wasn’t the only one who had done so. Maybe he should start being more careful. “Well, it _is_ only two weeks,” he said. “I guess I can live with that.”

Sirius reluctantly agreed, and they exited the Headmaster’s office a few minutes later, and they were surprised to find Hermione standing there.

“So how did it go?” she asked.

“Huh? How did what go?” Harry said in confusion.

“Your meeting. What did you talk about? Do you know what you’re doing this summer?”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I’m stuck with the Dursleys for two weeks to recharge the wards or something, and then I’m going to Sirius’s flat.”

“His flat? He has a flat already?”

“Er, no,” Sirius said.

“Oh, right. Well, that’s still a lot better than last year.”

“I’ll say.”

“Well, if you need anything, Harry, please write to me. I may not be here, but I’ll do everything I can to help you if you need it, especially if you need a new spell.”

“Thanks, Hermione. I’m glad I have a friend like you. I…I don’t think I ever thanked you for saving my life so many times, so…thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Harry. Just try to stay alive from now on. Excuse me, Sirius, could I have a word with you in private, please?”

Harry and Sirius looked at each other in confusion, but they quickly said their goodbyes, and Sirius followed Hermione to the nearest empty classroom.

“So I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you know I’m old enough to be your father,” Sirius said dryly.

“What?! Augh, Marauders. You’re worse than Fred and George,” she griped. Sirius grinned. “I wanted to talk to you about Harry.”

“Oh? What about him.”

“Well, the short version is that Harry’s had a hard life. His relatives are more than just unpleasant. They kept the fact that he was a wizard from him until his eleventh birthday. That should give you a clue. They only started treating him decently because _I_ told Professor McGonagall to check up on him. He told me a little while ago that his greatest wish was for a long-lost relative to come and take him away from that place.”

“Damn,” Sirius muttered. “The sad part is I believe it. Lily told me enough about her sister that I can guess a lot of what went on there.”

“Maybe so,” Hermione said. She recited the speech she had spent some time preparing from memory. “The important thing is, what Harry needs is a family. He lost his parents; his relatives are worse than useless; he never had any friends. He never had anyone to stick up for him until he came to Hogwarts. Ron’s family has tried to step in since, and a couple of our teachers, and my parents and me. I like to think we’ve done a good job. But we can’t be what I hope you can. Harry’s turned out to be an amazingly good person after all he’s been through, and he deserves a real family of his own.”

“I could tell that that night in the Shack,” he agreed. “He’s lucky to have friends like you. And believe me, after losing the last twelve years, I’m gonna do everything in my power to be the best damn godfather anyone’s ever had.”

She stared at him, keeping up the pressure: “Those are some good words. I hope you can live up to them. Certain aspects of your life—I know you’re an innocent man, but I’ve been talking to Professor Lupin over the past year, and he did say you were known for some particular nasty pranks when you were in school. Is it true that you nearly killed someone with one of them?”

Sirius frowned and paled a bit. “Oh…that,” he said. “Well—I’d appreciate if you kept this under your hat—that was the end result of a long argument between me and Severus Snape. Dumbledore made sure I learnt my lesson quick after that. And to be honest, that was when James started growing up, too. I’m not the same person I was when I was sixteen.”

Hermione nodded: “That’s good to hear. I just want to make sure we see eye to eye. You saw how I handled Pettigrew back in the Shrieking Shack, right?”

“Yeah?” he replied, a bit confused.

“That was after just three years of Arithmancy. I intend to get a mastery before I graduate. Can you imagine what I could do after four more years of that?”

Sirius’s pulse quickened as a strange sense of dread came over him—a sense of dread that he had felt before, but usually associated with the _father_ of a fourteen-year-old girl, not the innocent-looking fourteen-year-old girl herself.

She stepped closer to him, looking him in the eye with a harsh stare. He was a head taller than she, but even looking up at him, he could see the fire in her eyes. “Harry’s the best friend I’ve ever had,” she said. “In a lot of ways, he’s like a little brother to me—most notably in how I always have to nag him to do his homework and in how he gets in an astonishing amount of trouble, and more often than not, _I_ have to be the one to bail him out. What hurts me most is that I won’t be here to help him next year. But let me tell you right now: I don’t care if I’m living in France. If you hurt Harry, even going back to Azkaban won’t save you.”

Sirius stared at her like a deer in headlamps for a minute, trying to think of a comeback. Eventually, he gave up and said, “You are one scary lady; you know that?”

She smiled sweetly: “That’s what your persona on the Marauders Map said.”

Sirius barked with laughter.

* * *

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here,” Professor Lupin said as he paced in front of three of his students.

“It did cross my mind, Professor,” Hermione said from where she stood between Fred and George. They didn’t associated _that_ much in public, and they certainly hadn’t pulled any pranks together, so it was odd that he called them together.

“Today is my last day at Hogwarts,” Lupin explained. “I resigned this morning so as not to suffer the indignity of being fired. As such, I am no longer a teacher, and so I need not feel guilty giving this back to you.” He handed over…

“The Marauder’s Map! Awesome!” Fred and George said together.

“Thank you, ex-Professor,” Fred continued.

“We were just about to recruit Hermione here to help us make a new one,” George said.

Lupin laughed: “Well, if anyone can do it, I’m sure she can.”

“Although…this _is_ technically an heirloom from Harry’s dad. Perhaps it would be more fitting to pass it on to him,” George added.

“Yes, that it might, brother,” Fred answered. “And I supposed we _have_ done well enough without it these past few weeks. We’ve memorised the castle, and we know the prefects’ and teachers’ rounds. I suppose we can do without it.”

“I think James would appreciate that,” Lupin agreed. “Now, Hermione, I asked you to come because, since I am no longer your teacher, you need not fear explaining to me how on earth you got hold of Veritaserum.”

“Oh, that? Back in second year, I thought Draco Malfoy was trying to kill me, so I brewed it in Myrtle’s bathroom so I could use it to get him to fess up. These two helped.”

Lupin stared and then laughed even harder. “And if that came from anybody but you, I’d never believe it. If magical Britain knew what she was losing…Well, I wish all three of you luck in the future,” he said. “I think you’ll go far together.”

“Good luck to you, too, sir,” she replied. Fred and George echoed her and left the room, but she paused at the door. “By the way, sir,” she said, “would you mind telling me how you actually _made_ that map?”

“Oh no, Hermione, it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get Marauder secrets just by asking. You have to figure them out on your own.”

* * *

Hermione had one other thing to do on the last day of the term after saying goodbye to the house elves and to Professor Vector. “Excuse me, Professor McGonagall?” she called.

“Yes, Miss Granger.”

Hermione had come up hurriedly to her Head of House, carrying a sizable bundle of parchment. It was lucky she packed early enough in the day, or she might have left it entirely. “I meant to give this to you before, ma’am. I was going to make a real push at it, too, but with the excitement with Sirius Black and all, I forgot. I know I’m leaving now, but I still wanted to file it so maybe something could be done for my friends.”

“But what is it?” McGonagall asked.

“Well…ma’am…” _Gryffindor courage,_ Hermione reminded herself. “I have compiled fifty-five complaints against Professor Snape from this past year.”

“Fifty-five! We get complaints against Professor Snape every year, but never so many at once!”

“I wanted to make a good case, so I started documenting everything,” she explained, opening the folder. “That’s how it’s done in the muggle world. I know it sounds like a lot, but frankly, everyone knows how poor a teacher he is.”

“Unfortunately, I’m well aware of that, Miss Granger, and I’m sure some of them are legitimate, but I doubt so many of them could be. That’s more than one per week.”

“I know, ma’am, but I tried to be objective about it. I didn’t want to include anything frivolous or spurious. I included witness statements of each individual incident. All of them either I personally witnessed, or they were well-circulated in the school and easy to back up, and all of them are clear violations of professional standards or ethics—admittedly by muggle standards.” She started leafing through the pages. “I broke them down by category and date: Neglectful teaching style, lax safety standards, lack of concern for student welfare, disproportionate awards and punishments, especially in house points, punishments for non-offences, and grossly unprofessional behaviour including insulting students and, in one case, threatening to poison a student’s pet.” She handed over the folder.

“My goodness,” McGonagall muttered as she looked it over. “This _is_ very thorough, but even I never realised the sheer number without it laid out like this…But what is that second folder, Miss Granger?” she eyed another, thinner folder in her charge’s hands.

“I wanted to be fair, Professor, so I wrote down any complaints that came up about all the other teachers, by the same standards.”

“Oh?” she replied nervously, “and what did you find?”

“Well, obviously, Professor Binns is the same every day: boring, unresponsive to students, and can’t remember our names. But I also have a few against Hagrid for lack of safety precautions with dangerous creatures, several against Professor Trelawney for spuriously predicting the death of a student, and, excuse me, ma’am, but a couple against you for disproportionately harsh punishments against Gryffindors.”

“I see.” It wasn’t as bad as it might have been, McGonagall thought to herself, which of course made it all the worse for Severus, and she had a feeling Albus would press hard to protect his top “asset.” Although if she took this directly to the Board…“I do endeavour to be fair, Miss Granger, but I admit I have made mistakes. Thank you for bringing these issues to my attention. I will take them up with both the Headmaster and the Board to ensure they are dealt with thoroughly.”

“Thank you, Professor. That’s good to hear.” Hermione didn’t mention that she had quickly duplicated the set of complaints for Professor Vector to hold in reserve, just in case. Maybe she was still paranoid from the Philosopher’s Stone debacle two years ago, but she really didn’t want to leave it solely in Professor McGonagall’s hands.

* * *

When Hermione got to King’s Cross, she had already done her crying. She’d come to terms with her fate, and now it was time to level with her parents. Her parents were acting a tad odd when she first saw them. They just looked past her on the train platform as she approached them. But then, her mother did a double-take as she caught her eye.

“Hermione?” she gasped. “Is that you?”

“Yes, mum,” Hermione said in confusion. “Who else would it be?”

“Well, no one, but…your hair.”

“My hair? Oh, right,” she said, remembering that her hair was still magically straightened and de-frizzed. “I saving that as a surprise, but I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Dad said. “We barely even recognised you.”

“Yes, Hermione, I’m not sure your hair has ever looked that good,” Mum said. “You’ve never wanted to treat it or anything. How did you do it?”

“Magic, of course. I invented some spells that take care of it. Honestly, I think it’s a little too flat, though. I might work out a spell to put a bit of curl back into it.”

“Ah, Hermione, there you are.” Professor Vector walked up to the family. Beside her was a handsome man with long, dark hair.

“Hello Professor,” Dad said. “We see Hermione’s been doing well at making spells.”

“Yes, very,” Vector confirmed. “And I’m told that she pulled off a feat on her O.W.L. exam that I’ve never seen before at that level. But anyway, I understand you would like to have another discussion regarding this past year.”

“Yes, we would,” Mum said sternly.

“Very good. I wasn’t there for the final incident myself, so I brought along someone who was. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I would like to introduce you to the recently exonerated Sirius Black.”

Mum’s and Dad’s eyes widened, and they absently shook Sirius’s hand.

“Thank you for coming, then, Mr. Black,” Mum said. “We would indeed like a thorough explanation of how our daughter managed to almost die _again_.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Well…” she said, “that kind of depends on how you define “die’…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waltzing Matilda: Australian slang for walking with one’s belongings on one’s back, but here refers to the dance.


	60. Fourth Year, Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Fifty-five complaints against JK Rowling: I could probably think of that many if I had to, but she still owns Harry Potter (and we thank her for sharing it).

“Fifty-five complaints, Severus!” Minerva McGonagall ranted in the year-end staff meeting. “Most of them from a single class, and most of them going against any reasonable standards of teaching. Honestly, threatening to poison a student’s pet?”

“I would not have done it if I thought the toad would not survive, Minerva,” Snape replied coolly. “As for the rest, the potions lab is a dangerous place. If I have to be harsh in order to maintain discipline, then so be it.”

“That’s a load of hogwash, and you know it. If your accident rates were lower than Slughorn’s, I’d believe it, but they’re higher in the first two years’ classes. You know Madam Pomfrey is required to keep a record of everyone she treats.”

“Ahem,” the Headmaster interrupted. “I believe it would be better to deal with this matter in a private consultation, Minerva.” His tone made it very clear he wasn’t going to back down. “Now, as for the rest of Miss Granger’s complaints?”

“I’ve copied them out and given them to the offending staff members,” she said. “We may want a private talk with you, Sibyll, and with you Hagrid. One thing that strikes me, though, is the complaint of disproportionate rewards and punishments. Perhaps it would be helpful to write a list of standard punishments for common offences such as tardiness.” Snape didn’t look like he liked that at all.

“An intriguing idea,” Dumbledore agreed, stroking his beard. “I will leave it to the heads of house to write a proposal.”

Once the meeting ended, the rest of the staff left, leaving only Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape in the room.

“Fifty-five, Severus,” McGonagall repeated. “That’s ten times as many as she gave any other teacher besides Binns, and don’t get me started on our tenure system.”

“Complaints from a student who is leaving the school and is clearly biased,” Snape replied. “I hardly think this is worth such trouble.”

“I have always found Miss Granger to possess the utmost integrity,” she said. “She at least attempted to evaluate the rest of us fairly, and her complaints are no different from the ones I’ve been hearing about you for the past decade, only more systematised. Can you honestly say that you’re a good teacher, Severus?”

“I do my job, Minerva. I do my duty to this school and the country.”

McGonagall was about to reply when Dumbledore interrupted her: “Minerva, you know why Severus has remained on staff here, and why he must behave in a less than ideal manner as an instructor.”

“As a spy, and to maintain his image as a friend to Slytherins and purebloods,” McGonagall recited. “And ‘less than ideal’ may be the understatement of the year from you, Albus. I’d call it grossly unprofessional. In fact, Miss Granger used those exact words.”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore replied, “but you are also aware of Sibyll’s new prophecy. We may be at great risk within this next year, and here we stand with guests and special events in the coming year, as well. It is more vital than ever that we maintain our arrangement.”

McGonagall sighed: “I accept that, Albus, reluctantly I might add, but honestly, would it hurt Severus’s position so much if you were to announce that you’re not going to give him so much leeway.”

“I would not want to be so public. However, Severus, some of these complaints are very worrying,” he added sharply. “I expect you to refrain from making overt insults or threats towards any students—or their pets. And I also reiterate that there is no need for you to be specially harsh towards Harry Potter over the other Gryffindors.”

“I understand, _sir_ ,” Snape grumbled. Whether he would act on the latter part remained to be seen.

* * *

“Alright, boy, get in the car,” Uncle Vernon said. “Don’t need you standing around here all day look abnormal.”

“Excuse me, are you the Dursleys?” another voice said from nearby. They looked around and saw a man in very nice clothes, but with long, flowing locks of black hair that Vernon and Petunia didn’t approve of in the least.

“Who wants to know?” Vernon said cagily.

Harry grinned and spoke up: “Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, Dudley, this is my godfather…Sirius Black.”

“S-S-Sirius Black!” Vernon gasped, turning all sorts of unnatural colours. “He’s…he’s that murderer the news was talking about last year!”

“Oh, yeah, that,” Harry said. “Turns out he was innocent. Who knew? Of course, spending twelve years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit’s left him a bit on edge…”

Sirius grinned evilly at the Dursleys, who took a step back.

“Wh-what do you want?” Aunt Petunia said, fear flashing across her face.

“What do I want?” Sirius said. “I’m just here to give you some good news.”

“Good news?” Uncle Vernon grumbled. “Only good news would be if the boy didn’t show up this year.”

“Well, not quiet _that_ good,” Harry quipped, “but this year, we’re only stuck with each other for two weeks.”

The Dursleys perked up at that. “Only two weeks, you say?” Vernon said.

“That’s right,” Sirius chimed in. “After that, I’ll be taking him with me.”

“Well, _that_ _’s_ something.”

“Yes it is. Just remember…” He gave Vernon another evil, slightly deranged grin. “I’ll be getting a full report from my godson when those two weeks are up.”

The Dursleys nodded nervously before whisking Harry away, and Sirius went on to his meeting with the Grangers.

* * *

“I need another drink,” said Dan Granger after Hermione and Professor Vector (though she wasn’t involved this time), _and_ , shockingly, Sirius Black met him and his wife at their third annual meeting at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Yeah, me too,” his daughter said.

“Hermione!” Emma scolded.

“What? It’s just Butterbeer.”

“So…just to review,” Dan said slowly, “ _you_ , Mr. Black, the supposed mass murderer we were so worried about, were innocent, and your supposed victim faked his own death and framed you for it, but you never got a trial. Then, the vaunted Ministry security we put our faith in not only failed to stop you from getting into the castle _twice_ —which _you_ never told us about, Hermione—but also consisted mostly of soul-sucking demons that can’t even tell the innocent from the guilty. And meanwhile, the real killer was in the castle the whole time disguised as your friend Ron’s pet rat.

“And _then_ , _you,_ Mr. Black, sneaked onto the grounds whilst disguised as a dog and kidnapped Ron in order to catch the rat, and _you_ , Hermione, followed him and found yourself cornered by a man you believed to be a mass murderer.”

“I didn’t know who the dog was,” Hermione protested. “When I saw it was Sirius Black, I did the sensible thing and called Dobby for help.”

“And he also failed to stop him.”

“That wasn’t his fault, Dad. It can’t be more than one wizard in a hundred who knows all the house elves’ tricks.”

“It’s true,” Sirius agreed. “Only someone from a rich old family who actually bothered to pay attention to their elves would’ve known how to get out of that.”

But Dan wasn’t assuaged: “You then managed to capture the real killer, but you barely escaped from your Defence teacher, who was a werewolf, because it was the full moon, only to be set upon by the soul-sucking demons, and you only survived _that_ encounter by sheer luck, getting a frostbitten hand in the process.”

“It wasn’t _all_ luck,” she said indignantly. “I worked hard to learn the Patronus Charm. I’d have been done for long before Professor Dumbledore showed up without it.”

“And finally, the real murderer used his exploding spell to try to kill all of you, and you just barely stopped it by turning the shrapnel into mud, and then you hexed him in the face. Does that about cover it?”

“Yes, Dad, that covers it. But you know what, I’m not going to try to fight you this time. I’ll go to Beauxbatons this fall. I can tell I’m not going to change your minds again. And honestly, it’s a bit of a relief after almost getting Kissed by a dementor and seeing how deep the incompetence runs in the Ministry.”

Dan fell silent, unsure of how to respond. The story was certainly horrifying enough. It had taken a painful conversation with Professor Vector, much like Hermione’s back in February, to give him and Emma a full understanding of the dementors. Sirius had shuddered at the mere description, and Hermione would have too if she hadn’t been caught by her mother in a rib-cracking hug.

“We’re, um, glad you finally see things our way, dear,” Emma said. “And it only took you four near-death experiences to figure it out.”

“Well, statistically, it was still highly improbable based on past events at Hogwarts. It’s still normally very safe. It’s just that…”

“That when something _does_ go wrong the place is a death trap?” Emma suggested. “No offence, Professor.”

Professor Vector _did_ look a little offended, but she kept her comments to herself.

“So can we at least figure out what went wrong?” she pressed.

Vector sighed and muttered, “Where to start…?”

“Well, the _first_ thing that went wrong,” Sirius interrupted, “was that Barty Crouch Sr threw me into Azkaban without a trial thirteen years ago. If he hadn’t done that, everyone would’ve known about Wormtail, and none of this would’ve happened in the first place.”

“Fair enough,” Vector nodded. “Fortunately, Barty Crouch Sr is no longer running the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was moved over to the Department of International Magical Cooperation after that debacle with his son, and he’ll have a hard time even keeping that job now. As for this year, the fault for the failure of security really lies with Mr. Lupin, I’m sorry to say. He told us after the fact that he felt guilty about betraying Professor Dumbledore’s trust and roaming the forest as a werewolf when he was a student. Because of that, he never told the Headmaster about Mr. Black’s animagus ability, and Mr. Black was able to slip past the guard.”

No one mentioned the part about Crookshanks helping him out.

“But that was a lucky break for me, so I’d say it all worked out,” Sirius said.

“It’s too bad,” Hermione said. “Professor Lupin was a really good teacher.”

“Yes, his skills were better than most of our Defence Professors,” Vector agreed. “Very unfortunate. And of course, the last problem was Fudge placing all those dementors around the school, a decision that was strenuously protested by the entire staff, I might add, but he overruled us. While I couldn’t condone it professionally—”

“I can,” Sirius quipped.

“—a lot of us wouldn’t have minded hexing _him_ in the face for that. Unfortunately, it’ll take a lot more than that to get him to lose _his_ job.”

“Hence why were glad Hermione’s leaving,” Dan said frankly. “We’re sorry to have to break you up, but—”

“No, I understand perfectly, Mr. Granger. I’ve already spoken with Dumbledore at length about the school’s security, and I’ve even asked my nephew to reconsider where to send his daughter this fall. I doubt he will, but after three years in a row of this, I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s got it in for Hogwarts. I’ll need to keep a close eye on her.”

“Hmm, I sure hope not,” Sirius said. “Harry’s still going back there.”

“Well, if I may say so, Mr. Black, maybe you should reconsider, too,” Dan said.

“It’s…er, not quite that simple for Harry,” he said softly, hoping they wouldn’t press on the details.

“And Hermione, you still haven’t answered why you didn’t tell us he broke in,” Emma said. “You knew how dangerous he was supposed to be.”

“Because I knew you’d pull me out as soon as you could,” she said. “I was hoping they’d catch him before the school year was up, and then we wouldn’t have to worry about it. And I thought I could call Dobby in an emergency, which I did.”

“And we see how _that_ turned out…We’ll discuss this further when we get home.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger, try not to go too hard on your daughter,” Sirius said. “She is one of the bravest and most brilliant witches I’ve ever met. I saw her duel a supposed murderer, solve a mystery in seconds, invent a new spell in minutes in her head, and cast a corporeal Patronus, something a lot of adult wizards can’t do. And let’s not forget she literally saved my soul. You have an extraordinary daughter.”

“Yes we do,” Dan replied, “but I think she’ll be a lot better off being extraordinary somewhere else.”

“I’m still going to visit my friends,” Hermione said defiantly.

“Yes, we know, dear,” Emma said. “You can always visit during holidays. We’re not going to stop you. We don’t want to separate you from your friends, but we do hope you’ll make some new ones at Beauxbatons, too.”

Hermione nodded.

“Well, we’d better get going,” Dan said, rising from his seat and shaking their hands. “Thank you for meeting with us _again_. Good luck with the next school year.”

“Thank you,” Vector said. “We may need it.”

Hermione stepped forward and hugged Vector: “I’m going to miss you, Professor.”

Vector smiled sadly and patted her on the back. “Hermione, you’re not my student anymore,” she said, “and honestly, you’re a lot closer to my equal than your mere educational attainment would suggest. I think it would be entirely appropriate if you would call me Septima.”

Hermione grinned: “Thank you…Septima.”

They went their separate ways, the Grangers back to the muggle world and Sirius and Vector back to the magical one.

“And Hermione?” Dan said on the way out to the car park.

“Yes, I know, I know, I’m grounded.”

“Yes, you are. And so’s Dobby. He should’ve told us what was happening. So, um, so you have to make dinner for the next two weeks, Hermione.”

Hermione looked at him in surprise. “I’ve taught you too well, haven’t I?” she said.

Her father just looked at her smugly and said, “You had to get your brains from somewhere, dear.”

“Alright,” she groaned. “I’ll make dinner, too—if you can stand my cooking.”

* * *

Hermione was grounded for two weeks, which seemed fitting because that’s how long Harry was _de facto_ grounded whilst being stuck with the Dursleys. She spent that time practising left-handed wand movements, writing a shopping list, wrapping up her non-Euclidean geometry work, and attempting to cook. She was more disappointed than ever that she couldn’t use magic at home. She couldn’t practice the Patronus Charm. (She had kept trying at school, but she still wasn’t at the point where she could consistently produce an otter.) And she couldn’t maintain the charms on her hair. Her hair snapped back from straight to stringy within two days, and it slowly started to fray after that. She couldn’t start her summer homework either because she was waiting for the mail order to arrive with her French textbooks.

Dobby was very unhappy because he wasn’t allowed to cook for two weeks to impress upon him just how serious his and Hermione’s breach of trust had been. It was harder than he expected. He could handle physical abuse from his old masters, but they would never have put in the effort to take away his work. He was also given a new set of orders: “If Hermione is in a dangerous environment, you will tell us as soon as possible so long as your presence is not needed there to protect her. If you find out that she’s in immediate danger, you will help her get out of it if you can. And if you find out she’s doing something unhealthy like shutting herself up in that hidden room again—” (For that, too, had been part of her story that she’d been forced to reveal.) “—you will ask her head of house or whatever the equivalent is at Beauxbatons to intervene.”

Harry was having an even worse time with the Dursleys, but the odd thing was that they weren’t being unbearable towards _him_. Instead, Dudley was finding for the first time in his life, aside from a brief incident involving Harry’s Hogwarts letters, that his temper tantrums had stopped working. He was going on a diet. Oh, the arguments shook the house day after day, but Aunt Petunia finally seemed to have grown a spine when it came to her son. She wouldn’t budge. Of course, she made the entire family follow the diet, too, but Harry wouldn’t starve in two weeks.

It still seemed too good to be true, though. Harry had a godfather—one who wasn’t a murderer or a fugitive. He had a family who actually cared about him and was finally going to get him out of this place. Part of him didn’t want to believe it—didn’t want to get his hopes up—and he made only a halfhearted effort to pack before Sirius arrived, but sure enough, Sirius arrived bright and early on Saturday morning—right in the middle of breakfast.

“Oh, it’s _you_ , then,” Uncle Vernon said, trying to act like he was the one in control of the situation. “We’ve got the boy right here, all in one piece, like you wanted— _Boy, get out here_!”

Harry bounded to the door, when he immediately hugged his godfather. “Sirius, it’s so good to see you,” he said.

“You too, Pup,” Sirius said, ruffling his hair. “You all set to go? I’ve got our flat in some semblance of livable—and what on Earth are you wearing?” he added when he saw Harry wearing clothes that were faded and patched and only approximately fit him, being far too long, for one.

“Oh, they’re some of Ron’s old ones,” Harry replied. “The only other ones I have are Dudley’s.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and glared at Uncle Vernon, easily putting together that story. Then he leaned over and peered past him into the kitchen, where Dudley was busy consuming both Vernon’s and Harry’s grapefruit quarters. “Is he the big one?” he asked Harry.

“Which big one?” Harry grinned in reply.

Uncle Vernon turned puce, but he was bright enough not to say anything in front of the wizards.

“Right, new plan: get your things, and I’m buying you a new wardrobe—godfather’s prerogative.”

“Can we get breakfast first?” Harry asked. “All we have here is grapefruit.”

Sirius barked with laughter: “We can get anything you want, Harry.”

Harry didn’t hear the words that were exchanged between Sirius and his relatives while he finished packing up his trunk. Perhaps no words needed to be said at all. But by the time he left, all three Dursleys were looking paler and more frightened than he had seen them since Hagrid had first barged in on them on that fateful July night.

Thanks to Harry’s mum’s influence and his own rebellious teenager phase that never really ended, Sirius knew his way around a muggle department store, and being an average male, his patience for shopping was limited, both of which made buying an entire wardrobe much more bearable for Harry. He was glad to finally have muggle clothes that fit. After a few hours of that, they took a break for lunch in the Leaky Cauldron.

The nice thing about the wizarding world being so small was that over half of the traffic came through one, single set of doors, so you were always bound to run into someone you knew. In this case, that someone was…

“Hermione!” Harry called. He rose from his seat to greet the Grangers. Hermione rushed forward and hugged him.

“Harry. Are you all right? How were the Dursleys? Have you moved out yet—”

“ _Breathe_ , Hermione,” Harry said with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” she squeaked. But even so, he noticed that Hermione was smiling—smiling very broadly and looking a little dazed. He thought she looked like he felt after he won the Quidditch Cup for the first time. She was also, puzzlingly for summer, wearing a long, patterned leather coat that nearly reached the ground.

“So the Dursleys weren’t any trouble, except Dudley’s on a diet, so _everybody_ had to be,” Harry said. “I moved out this morning, and Sirius insisted on getting me a new wardrobe, and here we are.”

“Yes, and we’ve got a busy day ahead,” Sirius added. “This Ministry still feels guilty about locking me up, so they gave me two tickets to the Opening Ceremony of the Quidditch World Cup tonight.”

“Holy cricket!” Hermione said, wide-eyed. “That’s sure to be a lot of fun. I’ve really got into Quidditch over the past year through with the stats. I gave Fred and George my bracket on the train.”

“Oh, who’s your pick to win?” Sirius asked.

“I’d put a slight edge on Ireland, but Uganda, Bulgaria, and Peru look pretty good, too.”

“Hmm. All good teams, from what I’ve read.”

“Well, have fun tonight, Harry.”

“Thanks. So what about you? I thought you were grounded.”

Somehow, Hermione’s smile split her face even wider. “I’m ungrounded,” she said. “After the mail came this morning, Mum and Dad said I could buy all the stuff on my wish list.”

“Two weeks after term ended,” Sirius said. “O.W.L.s results, I’m guessing? I’m sure you got an O.”

“Not exactly…” she replied, looking like the cat that ate the canary.

“Not exactly?” Harry frowned. “What else could you have got?”

“See for yourself.” She handed over an official-looking letter. Harry opened it and began to read:

 

_Ordinary Wizarding Level Results_

**_Pass Grades                            Fail Grades_ **

_Outstanding (O)                       Poor (P)_

_Exceeds Expectations (E)          Dreadful (D)_

_Acceptable (A)                         Troll (T)_

**_Hermione Jean Granger has achieved:_ **

_Arithmancy                             O*_

“O-star?” Sirius said. “I’ve never even heard of that. Is it new?”

But his question was answered by the letter that was attached to the grade sheet:

 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_The only reason that you received an O on your Arithmancy exam was because there was no higher grade available. An I for Incredible or a U for Unbelievable might have been more appropriate. You received the highest score on record since the current version of the exam was implemented in 1950. Only twice before in my century of examining young witches and wizards have I seen a student who excelled so greatly in any subject. The first was Albus Dumbledore, although the second is no longer well-known by name. I congratulate you for a truly extraordinary performance._

_I believe that you could, if you so choose, pass your N.E.W.T. in Arithmancy now with an A. While I am sure you will continue in your studies, you may wish to consider doing so, given your stated intention to withdraw from Hogwarts, since a further qualification may prove helpful to your efforts._

_Sincerely,_

_Griselda Marchbanks_

_Governor of the Wizarding Examinations Authority_

“The highest grade in forty years!” Sirius exclaimed. “That’s incredible _and_ unbelievable. I knew you were a smart one, but that’s off the charts.”

“That’s great news,” Harry agreed. “So are you gonna take the N.E.W.T.?

“Thank you,” Hermione said, “and no, I’ll just take the French qualification, or see if I can take the N.E.W.T. as a standalone in two years. It’s actually not as impressive as it sounds. Given the average size of an Arithmancy class, it’s barely the best of a thousand, and I was routinely testing higher than that in maths in primary school.”

“But the best of a thousand two years early,” Sirius reminded her.

“True…But that was…” She started to turn pink. “That wasn’t the only letter I got this morning.”

“It wasn’t?” Harry said. He had no idea what other kind of letter Hermione could have got. Maybe her new paper got accepted to _Annals of Arithmancy_ , but that turned out not to be the case—not today, anyway. She handed over a second letter, this one clearly more travelled, with heavy postage and parchment that was a bit faded and dirty. To his amazement, the postmark was from India. He opened it and read:

 

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_You do not know me, but I am a cursebreaker working for Gringotts in my native India, opening ancient tombs to access the treasure inside. Several months ago, I happened upon your paper in Magizoology Monthly, _ _“A Method to Block the Harmful Effects of the Gaze of a Basilisk in Direct Line of Sight.” In case you were not aware, your paper was reprinted in the cursebreakers’ circulars in December because of its relevance to our line of work. I thought that your method was very innovative, and I was surprised that you had had cause to test it._

_I don_ _’t know how much you know about cursebreaking, but it is a dangerous profession, requiring intimate knowledge not only of magic, but of other methods of defence. Tombs are often protected by guardians, be they beings, beasts, or spirits, in addition to spells._

_And now, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, because your work has saved my life, and the life of my partner. About a month ago, we were opening a tomb near Haryana, and we found some indications that a basilisk was present. This is more common in India than elsewhere and is one of the most dangerous protections found in such tombs. We normally proceed in such situations by taking a rooster into the tomb so that its crowing can kill the basilisk quickly, but I suggested that we should also apply your technique of blue glasses._

_When we entered the tomb, the basilisk was alerted to our presence by our scent, and the rooster immediately proved to be ineffective. The beast had evidently been rendered deaf. It surprised us by slithering out from its den, and we were both exposed to its gaze, but while it caused us a blinding headache, we both remained alive and conscious. The basilisk was a very large specimen, over thirty feet long, but we were eventually able to kill it using a combination of curses and conjured pikes, and its hide made an excellent addition to our commission._

_We cannot repay you enough for what your research has done for us, but we hope that you will accept, as a token of our gratitude, a fine snakeskin coat, made from the hide of the beast that attacked us. It is as tough as dragon hide and more valuable, and it may be adjusted to fit by any competent magical tailor. I wish you good luck in all of your future endeavours._

_Namaste,_

_Ashoka Narahari_

 

Harry looked up in awe at Hermione and took a closer look at her new coat. It looked much nicer than he would have expected for something made out of the ugly monster he had seen in the Chamber of Secrets. It was a stylish dark forest green with subtle brown spots that matched her hair and had apparently been cured to bring out the patterns in the scales, looking like an enormous python.

“Wow,” Harry said. “That’s amazing. And the coat looks really nice.”

“More than nice,” Sirius agreed. “I’d say _hot_ once you get that fitted properly.” Hermione blushed, and Mr. Granger gave Sirius a menacing look. “What?” he added. “I was young once. Boys like the tough woman look. Right, Harry?” he nudged Harry with his elbow.

“Please leave me out of this,” his godson said.

“Er, thank you,” Hermione said. “It’s not even about the coat so much. It’s just wonderful to see that my work is doing some real good in the world.”

“You mean besides all those times you saved me?” Harry said.

“Well, that too.”

“Say, whatever happened to the basilisk we killed?” Harry asked.

“What?!” Sirius said.

“Oh, sorry, I guess you haven’t heard the full story.”

“No, I guess not,” he growled.

“It’s a good question, though,” Hermione said. “As far as I know, it’s still down in the Chamber of Secrets. It’s probably technically school property, but it would’ve been nice to get compensation for almost being eaten by it. With as much trouble as you get in, Harry, you could use a basilisk-skin coat.”

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked a little green at their daughter’s attitude. “Anyway,” Mr. Granger said uneasily, “we’re heading over to Diagon Alley to have the coat fitted and then to do some shopping.”

“We’ll come with you,” Sirius said. “Harry needs some new robes for day wear—and maybe a dragon-hide coat, too. That’s just about as good. And on the way, you can tell me _all_ about how you killed a freaking basilisk.”

Harry cracked an uneasy half-smile, and Hermione shot him an apologetic look.

After an unsettling time recounting the highlights of their adventure at the end of second year, and finishing their shopping at Madam Malkins and then Twilfitt and Tattings for the fancier stuff, the Grangers and Sirius and Harry went their separate ways. They left Hermione’s coat to pick up in a few days, and for Hermione, the next order of business was to restock her potions kit, along with a few extra supplies for toy wands, so they made a beeline for the apothecary.

“We should get some rune blocks, too, in case we want to brew something over the summer,” she told her parents. The runic circles that she and Ron had devised in their first year, carved into blocks of wood and charged with spells from a wand, were selling well in the apothecary to muggle-born families. This was unsurprising, since they allowed wizards and muggles alike to brew simple potions without the use of a wand.

“Do you think this is enough?” she asked when they took their purchases up to the clerk.

“Well, that depends on what you want to brew, don’t it?” the clerk replied.

The question hadn’t really been meant for him, but Hermione let it slide. “I know,” she said. “Every potion’s different, but given the average spell requirements, this should be good for a few.”

“Your mum and dad ever used these runes before, kid?” the clerk asked.

“Yes. Yes they have,” Hermione said with an edge.

“Alright, then. Just wanted to be sure. We’ve been getting complaints from parents who aren’t careful and have accidents.”

“Well, we know how to use them quite well. These runes happen to be based on my paper in _The Practical Potioneer_.”

At that, the clerk suddenly paled a little. “Y-your paper?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Um, you didn’t patent that by any chance, did you?”

“Patent? Er, no, I never thought of it…I wouldn’t have thought it was patentable. It’s not very original.”

He laughed uneasily: “Well, if it were that unoriginal, we would’ve been selling them sooner, wouldn’t we? You have everything you need?”

“Yes, I think so,” Hermione said idly as she organised the runes into stacks of like spells. “Not a very efficient system,” she muttered to herself. “Or the safest. It’d be better if they came in a…” she trailed off as an idea hit her and eyed the clerk warily.

“Come again?” he said.

“Nothing, nothing.” A grin crossed her face. _I think I have a letter to write when we get home_ , she thought.

Hermione refused to tell her parents what she was thinking until they got home, only saying, “I think I found a way to make a bit of money on the side.” In the meantime, they went to Flourish and Blotts, where she bought the left-handed editions of _The Standard Book of Spells,_ Grades 1 through 4, much to the clerk’s confusion, along with a couple of books on French magic and Beauxbatons in particular. She then paid a surprisingly large amount of money in the junk shop for a single broken real wand, and then, they went to her last stop of the day, Ollivander’s.

Mr. Ollivander was the same as always: an old man with wild, white hair like Einstein’s and piercing silver eyes like Luna Lovegood’s. He had a strange and slightly creepy air about him, but no one disputed that he was good at what he did, and as a result, he sold most of the wands in Britain.

Mr. Ollivander was seated at workbench looking intently at a wand through a magnifier when the Grangers walked in, using a tool that Hermione now recognised as one to carve the tiny runes into the wood. He looked up when the bell over the door rang.

“Ah, Hermione Granger,” he said. He claimed to have a photographic memory, and Hermione believed him. “What a surprise. I’ve followed your exploits, Miss Granger. Very impressive. No trouble with your wand, I hope? Vine wood and dragon heartstring—ten and three quarter inches—a combination with a lot of potential.”

“It’s served me very well, Mr. Ollivander,” she said happily.

“Ah, excellent. I knew when that wand chose you that you were a young woman who could see the world in ways that no one else could.”

“Oh, she’s certainly that,” Emma said, “and it’s caused a lot of trouble over the past three years.”

“All the best children do, Mrs. Granger,” Mr. Ollivander said with a smile. “So how may I help you?”

“Well, Mr. Ollivander,” Hermione said, “I was hoping you could take a look at a couple of other wands for me.”

“Oh? Other wands? Well, I suppose I could. Let’s see, then.”

Hermione didn’t bother with the broken wand. That wasn’t why she was here. However, with Fred’s and George’s help, she had prepared two other wands while they were still at school that she wanted to have closely inspected now that she had the chance. She handed Mr. Ollivander the first one, the one with the plant-based core.

“Alright, this is…well, this is just a toy, Miss Granger,” he said, looking a bit offended at the trick.

“Not exactly, Mr. Ollivander. You see, I made it.”

His eyebrows disappeared into his wild hair. “You _made_ this?” he repeated.

“Yes. Well, a couple of friends and I did. We took apart a toy to see how it was made and copied it.”

“Well, in that case, this is some impressive work. It’s equal to one you could buy in a shop for a few sickles.”

“Thank you. I was hoping that. Here’s the second one.”

Ollivander took a quick look and then handled this wand much more thoughtfully. “Hmm…Mm-hmm…” he said. “Birch wood…and…hippogriff hair, I believe. Neither one I use myself…good workmanship, as far as it goes. No runes, of course, but…Miss Granger, do you have an interest in wandcraft?”

“Somewhat. I was actually mostly interested in the fact that toy wands were allowed under the Restriction on Underage Sorcery, and I was wondering if I could make something more powerful that would still be allowed. But I don’t know if that one will set off the Trace. I was hoping you could tell me?”

Ollivander stared at her disconcertingly with those strange eyes of his. He seemed to think it over for a minute, and then he answered, “I will tell you, Miss Granger, since you could easily enough work it out for yourself: the Trace, which is carved into the rune stone network of the country, can distinguish four kinds of magic: human, that is, accidental magic; non-human magic, that is, house elves, magical creatures, and the like; wanded magic; and magical artifacts. Of course, a wand _is_ an artifact—a very complex artifact with a subtle will of its own, but an artifact nonetheless. In order to solve this problem, the Ministry tunes the Trace to a very specific signature of an artifact that produced magic from a part of a magical creature. This only applies to true wands and a handful of other powerful artifacts that you must be of age to buy.”

“I see. That makes sense…Except aren’t some true wands plant-based?”

“Ah, so you’ve done your research. Very good. A few true wands _are_ plant-based, most commonly dittany. However, they require certain additional runes that mimic the magical behaviour of animal fibres in order to work properly, so they are still detected by the Trace that way. And to the point, I am afraid that your hippogriff wand _will_ set off the Trace. But it is an admirable first try,” he added. “What do you know about wandmaking, Miss Granger?”

“Not much besides what we learnt from our experiments, Mr. Ollivander. Wands have a magical core placed between two pieces of high-quality wood, sealed with a magical glue, varnished, and of course, true wands have runes carved into them.”

Ollivander nodded. “A good start,” he said. “A very good start. There are a few more steps to the process, but if you wish to improve upon your work here, you face one fundamental problem…” He held the wand out between his fingers. “This is not magical wood.”

“Not magical wood?” she said in confusion. “What does that mean?”

“ _Every_ part of a true wand must be magical, Miss Granger. And just as only a small fraction of humans are magical, so only a small fraction of trees are magical. Even if this wand were properly carved with runes, the wood could never hold up to a lifetime of use, though it is otherwise of good quality. It would crack or burn long before the core did.”

Hermione’s eyes widened: “Of course; I think I understand, now. We tested some of our wands to failure. With a good quality store-bought toy, the core burned out first, but with the ones we made, the wood shattered. That was because it wasn’t magical wood.”

“Yes, I suspect so. The better toys use wood with some degree of magic.”

“Okay, so how do you figure out which trees are magical.”

“Oh, for toys, a simple magic-detection spell is good enough, but a good wandmaker can feel much more keenly by his senses which trees are the best.”

Hermione smiled a little. “I’m sure you have a lot of tricks like that. I’m guessing you have your own recipes for the glue and varnish, and so on.”

“Naturally—and more than that. Wandmaking a very complex art. Every wandmaker worth his magic has his own recipes and can adjust them with the type of the materials, to help them bind better. A good wand requires at least four potions. I will explain the process in overview. First, a suitable wood and core must of sufficient quality must be selected—ones which will bind together well. The wood must then be treated with a potion—sometimes more than one—to preserve it and make it more resilient to magic. At the same time, the core must be treated with another potion or potions. The wood and core are bound together using a magical glue, and then runes are carved—runes that must in part be specific to the wand for best results. Finally, the wand it coated with a Self-Repairing Varnish some that small nicks and scratches can be removed with a simple polishing.”

Hermione’s head was spinning. There was so much more to wandmaking than she realised, but in a way, it made sense. One of Ollivander’s wands had to hold up to ten thousand times as much use as the best toys, or more, so it was only natural that every part of the process was optimised for the best possible quality. That she and Fred and George had managed a five-fold improvement over that was quite an achievement in itself, but only a start on a long path. The real question was how much she could improve the plant-based wands without setting off the Trace.

“Wow. Well…thank you, Mr. Ollivander. That’s a lot to think about. I think I’ll have to do some more experiments,” she said. Her parents looked at each other uneasily.

Ollivander smiled. “Do come back if you have more questions,” he said. “It’s not often I meet a talented self-study in my line of work. And I still hold to what I said three years ago: someone with your unique perspective on the world will do great things.”

* * *

“Are you sure about this, Hermione?” Emma asked as her daughter twirled a homemade plant-based toy wand in her hand. “I know the runes don’t set off the Trace, but an actual wand is different.”

“Mr. Ollivander said it should be fine,” Hermione replied. “And even if it’s not, I should only get a warning letter.” She pointed the toy at one of their potted plants and incanted, “ _Wingardium Leviosa_.”

Half an hour later, no letter had arrived from the Ministr, and it was clear that her theory was correct. They wouldn’t send one for a mere toy as long as she didn’t attract attention with it.

“Great,” she said. “Now I can show you the spells I invented. I’ve been waiting to show you this one,” she told her parents with a grin. She pointed the toy at the floor and cast, “ _Lux Cohaerens_.”

“You invented a magical laser?” Dan said in surprise as Crookshanks started chasing the red dot. “That’s amazing. I mean, if what we’ve read in your textbooks is any indication, that could be revolutionary in the magical world.”

“ _Thank you_ , Dad. I’m glad _someone_ understands that.”


	61. Chapter 61

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is patented by JK Rowling…no wait, copyrighted. Harry Potter is copyrighted by JK Rowling.
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

_Dear Fred and George,_

_Yes, I_ _’m writing to you in particular. How did your O.W.L.s go? Did you pass enough to qualify? You didn’t seem to be revising much. I hope you don’t have any trouble from that._

_I_ _’m writing to you, though, because I wanted to ask your advice. Shocking, I know. You said you wanted to open a joke shop after you graduate, and I was thinking, if you’ve started working on products, then you’ve probably patented some of them. If not, you probably should. You know that method I came up with to brew potions using runes in my second year? I just found out I could have patented it. Instead, the apothecary is selling those rune blocks on its own._

_But I had another idea. What if I could sell single use potions kits for specific potions for muggle-born families? It would have just the right amount of runes and ingredients for one batch of a potion from the first couple years_ _’ curriculum, pre-prepared as much as possible, like having the ingredients be pre-chopped and such. Muggles do things like this all the time with cooking. For example, they sell “cake mixes’ that contain all the dry ingredients to bake a cake pre-mixed, so all you have to do is add water and eggs and put it in the oven. It probably sounds completely mental to you, but muggle parents will understand it better than what we do in class._

_Ideally, what I would like to do is patent this idea and then license it to the apothecary to sell so that I could get a cut of the profits. It might make me a nice bit of spending money, but I don_ _’t really know how to go about it, which is why I was hoping to ask you for advice.  So do you have any experience with patenting, or have you not reached that stage yet?_

_Incidentally, I_ _’m still not sure I can condone a joke shop on a professional level, given the amount of rule-breaking it causes, but I think it’s good to have concrete goals. Do you have a business plan? A product line? Startup capital? I might be persuaded to give your finances a look if you can give me a hand with my paperwork._

_I hope you_ _’re summer’s going well and that you haven’t got in_ _ too _ _much trouble. I_ _’ll try to visit a couple times before the fall._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I got a chance to talk to Mr. Ollivander. He said that wands with animal fibre cores activate the Trace, but wands with plant fibre cores don_ _’t, as long as they don’t have certain runes on them. There’s a lot more to wandmaking than we thought, though. I’ll have to tell you about it when I visit. Anyway, now I can actually make my hair behave over the summer, so that’s a plus._

Hermione was really surprising herself that she would touch something like a joke shop with a ten foot wand. She guessed that brewing illicit potions in a bathroom and seeing the abuses of the magical government had given her some perspective on school rules. And anyway, it wasn’t like such shops didn’t already exist.

The really amazing thing was that she believed the Twins could do it. Coming from most people, Hermione would have regarded a dream of opening a shop of any kind at age sixteen as just that. But if anyone could pull it off, Fred and George Weasley could. They were obviously passionate about it, she had seen them pull off amazing feats of magic for their age in their pranks, and she knew they had already been testing some products last year.

Given all that, perhaps it wasn’t surprising that she liked having them around to help out with her arcane research projects. Few other wizards had that kind of curiosity or could think outside of the box like she could, and she had a feeling they’d be helpful with her own business idea.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Oh boy, that_ _’s some letter. It’s good to know some things haven’t changed._

_So, about those O.W.L.s_ _…are you sitting down? We only got three O.W.L.s each. We’ll let you rant here for a while. Yes, Mum’s pretty mad too. Are you done? Okay, so we both passed Charms and Defence, Fred passed Transfiguration, and George passed Herbology. And you know we could’ve easily pulled off Potions if we had a decent teacher, so we’ve actually got all the core magic classes covered. We never took Runes or Arithmancy (sorry), but we can work around those, and we don’t need any of the other classes to start our shop._

_And you little sneak, you didn_ _’t tell us how_ _ your _ _exam went. Come on, what new grade did they invent for you?_

_Ah, so you_ _’re getting into the business world now, too. We’re so proud of you. *Sniff* You’re telling us muggles pay people to cook_ _ half _ _a recipe for them? You_ _’re not pranking us, are you? Yes, we are definitely patenting our products. We’ve already got a few registered. The great thing is we can do it nice and discreetly, so Mum doesn’t find out. It’s pretty simple. The Ludicrous Patents Office is under the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Don’t ask why. We figure it just didn’t fit anywhere else. Just write them and ask for an application, but just a warning, it’ll go a lot smoother if you have a working prototype when you file it._

_We talked it over, and we think the potions kit idea kind of makes sense, especially if you_ _’re right (and let’s face it, when aren’t you?) about muggles understanding it. In fact, the firsties could probably even use them to pass Snape’s class. It should be a lot easier to use, except they’d have to sneak it past him, and that would be hard. Any chance you’d license your kits to us when we get our store started?_

_It_ _’s good to know we’re no longer_ _ complete _ _scoundrels in your book. Speak for yourself, George. Ha! Come on, Fred, you know girls prefer the scoundrel with a heart of gold. Anyway, we_ _’re glad you have some confidence in our career plans. Frankly, that’s more than we can say for Mum._

_Keep this under your hat for now, but we_ _’ve already got the whole thing planned out. We’re going to call our shop Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. We’re going to spend our last two years at Hogwarts perfecting our product line and saving up to buy a building. We’re going to try to ramp up to the kind of money we need by selling by mail order. Speaking of which, we’ve enclosed an order form in case you want to sample anything. We may take you up on that offer of analysing our finances._

_You know, I always thought your bushy hair looked cute—George._

_Yes, it really completed the fanatical arithmancer look—Fred._

_We look forward to your visit. See if you can get Harry to swing by, too._

_Managing mischief,_

_Gred and Forge_

* * *

_Dear Gred and Forge,_

_Thank you so much for your help. I_ _’ve already sent for a patent application, and I’ve assembled a kit for the Boil-Cure Potion, complete with instructions and safety guidelines. Of course, I’ll license my kits to you if you have a place for them. And no, I wasn’t kidding about the cake mixes. And I’m trying to help muggle parents connect with their magical children better, you gits, not help the first years cheat!_

_Only three O.W.L.s each? I_ _’ll admit I was ranting about that for a while, but I decided I’ll reserve judgement until I see how the shop does. But that’s only because I’ve seen how smart you are in person. That’s really not going to look good on a resume. That said, I’m glad to hear you have a well-thought-out long-term plan._

_As for me, the Examiners only gave me an O_ _…but it was an O with a special citation for having the highest score ever on that version of the exam._

_Oh, trust me, you_ _’re still complete scoundrels in my book—but you’re scoundrels who are improbably fun to have around. That was nice of you to say about my hair, too, but even if everyone else agreed with you about it, just try running a brush through it sometime._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_How are things living with Sirius? I do hope it_ _’s loads better than living with the Dursley’s. He’s being reasonable with you, isn’t he? Making sure you eat healthily and do your homework? You should really do it. I won’t be around to tell you not to skive off next year._

_How is Sirius faring? I know he must be having a hard time adjusting after everything that_ _’s happened. If he’s having problems, you’d tell me, right? It’s important that he gets help if he needs it._

_It sounds like things are as chaotic as ever for the Weasleys. I_ _’m actually working with Fred and George on a small project, if you can believe it. I know, I don’t know what happened to the old Hermione either. As far as I can tell, Mrs. Weasley is snooping on the Twins, trying to figure out what they’re up to. She’s cross about their O.W.L. results because they won’t be much good for a nice, respectable Ministry job, although honestly, I can’t imagine those two ever working for the Ministry. In the meantime, Percy_ _ does _ _have a nice, respectable Ministry job, now, and all his brothers and Ginny are making fun of him for it. Ron doesn_ _’t want to do his homework. Ginny’s trying to prank the Twins and get away with it. And Mr. Weasley is just trying to keep the peace. But I’m sure Ron’s told you everything—well, as much as he ever does._

_I_ _’m doing much better now that I don’t have to cook dinner anymore—I’m rubbish at it, really. I’m still teaching myself left-handed wand handling, and I bought myself a textbook on abstract algebra, which I won’t bother trying to explain in a letter. Suffice it to say, it’s involved in quantum physics. Do you have any summer projects? It might be helpful to come up with one. You could probably stand to learn to cast left-handed, too or something like that._

_Please don_ _’t hesitate to write me if you’re in trouble. I’ve only got a few more weeks when I’ll be around to make sure you stay alive. No offence, but I’m going to worry about you a lot more than my other friends. You do seem to have a knack for getting in trouble._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

Harry smiled and shook his head. _Same old Hermione_ , he thought. (Aside from her sudden interest in the Twins business interests.) He was grateful that she cared so much to look out for him like that, but she did get carried away sometimes.

Harry’s life with Sirius might not have been the healthiest by the Grangers’ standards. Certainly, Sirius wasn’t a perfect parent. He didn’t really know how to do it and was probably a little on the lax side, and sometimes he still lost his temper and started yelling, but he was always sorry about it right afterwards. And most importantly of all, he loved Harry, and Harry loved him back. He thought it was a great life. They had a little two-bedroom flat in London where they could lounge around all day if they wanted, and Remus could visit; Harry always got enough to eat, even if it wasn’t as healthy as the fare at Hogwarts; Sirius spent long hours telling him about his parents and their time in school; and, yes, he was getting his homework done. He couldn’t think of a single way in which it wasn’t miles better than living with the Dursleys.

He picked up a quill and started penning a letter back to Hermione assuring her that everything was fine.

* * *

_Dear Harry and Sirius/Weasley Family,_

_Oh my goodness! Have you seen what_ _’s happening with the comet? The pieces that have crashed into Jupiter so far have left great black clouds as big as the Earth! It’s unbelievable how much power is getting blasted around up there. We talk about power with people like Dumbledore or nuclear weapons or hurricanes, and that’s_ _ nothing _ _. Mum and Dad drove me out to an observatory where we could see Jupiter through a big telescope like in that one class. It was amazing! We could see the flash from one of the impacts, but it wasn_ _’t just a flash; it was so big it went on for minutes. The whole thing’s still going on. You should try to see it if you at all can. I don’t have to do the report Professor Sinistra assigned on it, but I’m still going to collect some documents and photos for the Astronomy Professor at Beauxbatons to see. I’ll send you copies._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Mr. Weasley: I_ _’m afraid we don’t have the resources to see things up close like you do, but what we saw of Jupiter through the children’s school telescopes was very interesting. It’s amazing to think things can happen that are so big they change the face of an entire planet. You’ll definitely have to send us a copy of those muggle documents. I’ve always wondered how they see things with their special telescopes._

_Gred and Forge—Fred and George, honestly—Mrs. W.:_

_Hey Hermione, that_ _’s pretty neat about the comet. And inspiring. We may see if we can make some fireworks based on it. By the way, the Round of 16 of the World Cup is over. You got 6 out of the 8 matches right. Care to revise your predictions for the quarter-finals?_

_Ginny: Thanks for the advice. We couldn_ _’t see as much as you, but it was pretty cool. Are you going to visit soon? It gets annoying with only boys around. Well, there’s Luna, but I can only take so much of her._

_Ron: Blimey, Hermione, you still doing extra work? No, I_ _’m kidding! I’m kidding! Really, guys! As if anything could stop you. I’m sure you could tell me all about it with fancy arithmancy talk. It still looked pretty cool, though._

_Percy: A very interesting event, Miss Granger. I must say I was pleasantly surprised._

_That_ _’s deep enthusiasm coming from Percy—R._

_Mrs. Weasley: Thank you for your letter, dear. We_ _’ll be sorry to see you leave in the fall. You know our door is always open to you._

_Sincerely,_

_The Weasleys_

* * *

_Dear Fred and George,_

_Enclosed, you will find my revised bracket for the remainder of the World Cup. My overall assessment is almost the same for the teams I picked correctly, except that I no longer think Peru has much of a chance, not with the way Transylvania played in the last round._

_It seems you_ _’ve taught me well. I’m currently in negotiations with Slug & Jiggers Apothecary to sell my Patented Wandless Potion Kits. I should be able to have at least a couple different kits on the shelves in time for the school shopping season. The Apothecary is assembling them, but I’m providing the packaging. I found a muggle printer’s shop that was willing to print it for a fraction of what it would cost in Diagon Alley. Thank you, mass production. (I told them it was for a muggle fantasy board game.)_

_I wrote your mum—not about you. I think Harry and I will be able to come over for dinner on Saturday. Hopefully we_ _’ll see each other then._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_How_ _’s your summer been? It’s going to be so much lonelier at school without you this fall. I’m sorry if you feel like I haven’t been all that close to you. Parvati is, too. But we’re really going to miss you. Do you think maybe we can meet up one last time this summer before you have to go to France? It’d be nice to see you again._

_Lots of love,_

_Lavender Brown_

* * *

_Dear Lavender/Parvati,_

_My summer is going very well. Thank you for asking. I was grounded at the start for almost dying again, but the rest of it has been excellent. My parents and I had a nice dinner with Harry and the Weasleys last weekend, and I_ _’ve been keeping up with all my usual projects. I’ve got a lot to say that I don’t have time to write here, but I think we can manage to catch each other sometime. Maybe even lunch at the Leaky Cauldron._

_By the way, when you do your shopping, take a good look in the apothecary for the new Wandless Potions Kits. I don_ _’t know if they’ll be a big seller, but honestly, I should have thought to do that last year._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Oh Merlin! You_ _’re only fourteen and you’re already in retail? Tell us everything!_

_Lots of love,_

_Lavender and Parvati_

_(and Padma, surprisingly interested)_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I was wondering if you were perhaps going to the final of the Quidditch World Cup. If you weren_ _’t planning to, you may wish to consider it. It should still be possible to get a ticket, albeit not one of the better ones. It’s rare for the World Cup to be held so close to home, so this is something of a once-in-a-lifetime experience._

_I will be attending with my nephew and his family, and I would very much like for you to meet my grand-niece, Georgina. You will be able to find our tent in Section 15F._

_I wish we had more time to discuss your latest arithmancy studies in person. I_ _’m afraid I’m getting out of my depth with your abstract algebra and group theory. Unfortunately, we will have to settle for letters, for the most part. Congratulations for the acceptance of your paper on coherent light. It was very original. I think we should be able to finish our joint paper on the systematisation of Extension Charms using non-Euclidean geometry sometime this fall. I look forward to your next correspondence on the matter._

_Best regards,_

_Septima_

* * *

_Dear Septima,_

_Thank you for your invitation. I initially wasn_ _’t planning on attending the World Cup, but I just found out I’ll be able to! Ron’s Dad got a great deal on a bunch of tickets through his Ministry connections, and he got one for me, too. Sometimes the patronage system pays. I’ll be sure to drop by while I’m there. I’d love to meet Georgina. I’ll see you on the 25th._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

There was one topic Hermione had been avoiding that summer with her parents, but with August more than half over, she didn’t think she could anymore.

“Mum, Dad, I want to get my front teeth magically reduced.”

That got a pair of disappointed looks from her parents. “Well, Hermione,” her mother said slowly, “it’s nice that you’re trying to feel more confident and take some pride in your appearance, but we don’t want you to go overboard. Honestly, your teeth aren’t that bad.”

“Maybe not by muggle standards, Mum,” she said, “but wizards have magical ways of correcting teeth, and almost everyone has it done—except for people like Marcus Flint—I think he leaves them like that on purpose. So I really stand out more than I’d like.”

“Well, okay,” her father said. “We understand if you don’t want to stand out that way, but we’ve already been over this. Your teeth are straight enough that there isn’t really anything that needs to be done, and if you really want to do something about your front teeth, wearing a simple brace for a year will—”

“Dad those things are slow and uncomfortable, and you know it,” Hermione interrupted. “Madam Pomfrey could have fixed my teeth in minutes. In fact she offered to me to do it. I held back because I thought you’d disapprove.”

“We just don’t think teeth and magic should mix,” he father said.

“Mum, Dad, I get it. You’re dentists. This is your area of expertise. You want it to still be relevant in the world I’m growing up I, but the fact is…” She trailed off and tried to think of how best to break it to them. “The fact is that they can regrow bones in the magical world, and teeth are basically the same, at least if you’re young.” She tried not to think about old, toothless Tom at the Leaky Cauldron. “In second year, Harry had to regrow all the bones in his left arm, and they came in just fine, all the ligaments and tendons attached right and everything. Shrinking teeth is a piece of cake in my world.”

“Hermione, this is still your world, too,” Mum said. “We’re still your parents, and we want to use our expertise to help you if we can.”

“I know, Mum, and I do appreciate it, but in this case, it just doesn’t work like that.”

“But why not?”

“Why? Because…because it’s pointless and overcomplicated and unnecessarily uncomfortable. Because I’m a witch, and we don’t wear braces! We have spells that do the same thing faster and better and almost painlessly. There’s just no need to bother with a brace, and most wizards would think it’s ridiculous.”

Hermione stopped and looked at her parents, worried that she had angered or hurt them with her words, but to her surprise, her mother leaned back with a sigh and said, “It’s finally happened.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve become a moody teenager.”

Hermione let out a slight squeak.

“You know, I was really hoping we’d dodged that bullet,” Mum continued. “You’re almost fifteen already, and you haven’t been too bad so far.”

“Mum, I didn’t mean—”

“No, Hermione, we understand what you’re telling us: witches and wizards don’t need dentists. And we _can_ understand your attitude. I was a fourteen-year-old girl once, too, you know. It can be hard at your age. It’s just hard for us to accept…” She sighed and said, “What do you think, Dan?”

Hermione’s dad frowned a little, but he said, “You know, from the day we sent her to Hogwarts, we knew she was going to be living in a different world. And if that world doesn’t need dentists, then maybe that’s just bad luck on our part.” Emma frowned and didn’t look like she wanted to budge. “And after everything she’s been through, maybe the best thing we can do is give her a chance to make a good first impression at her new school…Maybe we should compromise,” he suggested. “Why don’t we go to…whoever would handle teeth. The hospital, maybe? St. Mungo’s? Then we could have a discussion with whoever would actually do the procedure so we at least understand how it works before we decide if we want to go ahead with it.”

Emma bit her lip, much as her daughter sometimes did, and Hermione looked at her hopefully. “Oh, alright,” she said, sounding a tad defeated. “Maybe we _do_ need to get used to this…Just try to curb the attitude, young lady.”

Hermione smiled softly. “Thank you, Mum,” she said. “I really do think magic will work better.”

“Then we’ll make an effort to keep an open mind,” Emma replied.

* * *

“Where is Nagini?” spoke a high, cold voice like an icy wind.

The answer to the question came from a woman’s voice, but spoken in a flat monotone: “I believe she is exploring the house.”

“You will milk her before we retire, Bertha.”

No response came to this, for none was needed. There was a hissing sound.

“Ah, interesting news. Bertha, Nagini reports that there is an old muggle eavesdropping outside the door. Do kindly invite him in.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the flat voice responded.

A moment later, old Frank Bryce was met with a woman at the door. She was fairly attractive, probably in her thirties, but she had a dazed look on her face as if she were in a trance. “Please come in,” she said in her monotone voice.

“You have been listening, muggle?” the high man’s voice said.

“What’d you call me?” Frank grunted.

“I called you muggle. It means you are not a wizard.”

“I dunno what that means, but I know you’re not supposed to be here.”

“On the contrary, muggle I inherited this house from my father.”

“What kind of story is that? The Riddles were murdered fifty years ago.”

“Were they, now?” the voice hissed. “Were _all_ of them?”

Frank started to get nervous. “What’re you…what’re you talkin’ about, now? And why don’t you look at me when I’m talking to you?”

“Oh, of course,” the voice said dryly. “Where are my manners? Bertha, turn the chair around.”

The woman spun the chair so that they could come face to face. Frank Bryce screamed just long enough for the thing sitting there to hiss two words.

“AHH!”

Two hundred miles away, Harry Potter sat bolt upright in bed as a white-hot pain pierced his forehead. He looked around, unsure of where he was for a moment, and then he remembered: Sirius’s flat. He was safe and best of all, nowhere near the Dursleys.

“Harry, you alright?” The light flipped on, and he looked up to see his godfather standing in the doorway.

“Uh, yeah, “m fine,” Harry groaned, rubbing his forehead.

“Harry, is your scar hurting?” Sirius said with concern.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Didn’t you tell me in your first year, your scar only hurt when Voldemort was around?”

“Yes, but…it was just a dream. I mean, he couldn’t be… _here_ , could he?”

“No, the wards would’ve…” Sirius stopped and eye Harry curiously. “Was he in your dream?”

“Er…yeah…I think so…” he said uncomfortably.

“What happened?” Sirius asked urgently.

“What?” Harry said in confusion. Why would that matter? He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head trying to remember. “I…I don’t know. There was a woman with him.”

“A woman?” Sirius asked. Voldemort never had many women in his group.

“Yeah, she had a weird, flat voice. And _he_ …he didn’t look human. I don’t know…they didn’t really say anything, but he…he killed an old man! Sorry, that’s all I remember.”

Sirius sighed heavily. This wasn’t a good sign. “Alright, Pup, try not to worry about it—and try to go back to sleep,” he said. “I’ll write Dumbledore. He’ll want to know about this.”

“It’s not important—”

“Just in case, Harry, and that’s final.”

Harry stared as his godfather left. Sirius rarely got so, well, serious. He still didn’t think it was a big deal, even if it _had_ been over two years since his scar had twinged like that. But just as long as it didn’t interfere with the World Cup on Monday, he could let it go _._

* * *

“Alright, Hermione,” Emma said as she saw her daughter off with Mr. Weasley. “Have fun over there, and be careful.”

“Mum, it’s only three days, and I’ll be with the Weasleys the whole time,” Hermione said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Probably nothing, but we still worry about you. Aren’t you taking Dobby with you?”

“I’ll call him to the campsite once we get there. I’ll see you on Friday. I love you.”

“We love you to, sweetie. See you soon,” Mum answered.

Hermione walked off with Mr. Weasley and Flooed into the Burrow with her newly-straightened smile on her face.

“Hermione!” Ginny was the first Weasley to run forward and give her a hug. “It’s so good to see you, and—Oh, Merlin!”

Fred and George came in for a closer took, too. “Wow, Beauxbatons isn’t gonna know what hit it,” said Fred.

When Ron saw what his siblings were talking about, he blushed heavily. He approached and hugged her awkwardly. “Hey, er, you look nice, Hermione,” he said.

“Well, come on, what’s all the fuss here?” Mrs. Weasley came into the living room. Even her eyebrows were raised when she saw. “Well, who is this?” she said. “This can’t be little Hermione.”

“Hello, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for inviting me,” Hermione replied. Since her last visit, Hermione had finally got her Hair-Straightening Charm generalised to one that would curl hair at a specific radius. She set the radius about twice as large as her hair’s natural wave so it wouldn’t hang limp, but still wouldn’t go back to being tangled and unmanageable. Between that and her teeth, she finally had her appearance just about where she wanted it. She was sure she would never care about all that on the level that Lavender and Parvati did, but she was surprised how much more confident she felt when she could take care of those two things.

“Oh of course, of course, you’re quite welcome. And you look very lovely, dear. I almost didn’t recognise you. Now, I don’t believe you’ve met my oldest children, Bill and Charlie. Boys, come here and introduce yourselves.”

The oldest Weasley son, Bill, was tall and thin, like his father. He wore his hair long and in a ponytail, wore an earring with a fang on it, and was well-tanned from his time in Egypt. “Hello, Hermione,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’ve been wanting to meet you. I wanted to give you my belated thanks for helping save Ginny’s life. I read your paper in the—”

“Cursebreaking circulars, I know,” she interrupted.

“You do?” He said in surprise.

“I got a letter from a Cursebreaker in India. I’ll show you later. It’s good to meet you, Bill.”

Charlie, on the other hand was short, stocky, and weather-beaten. He had several visible scars and wore relatively heavy clothes. “It’s good to finally meet you, Hermione,” he said. “Ron and Ginny told me about your self-tightening charm. You’ll have to teach me that. It could come in handy.”

“Of course. I haven’t tried it on anything big, though.”

“Now, you’ll be staying in Ginny’s room again,” Mrs. Weasley said. “She’ll show you up. And Fred, George,” she added as the Twins moved to follow, “I’d better not hear about you pranking any of our house guests, or else.”

“Us? We would never!” Fred replied in mock indignation.

“And besides, our Hermione can probably give back better than she gets,” George added.

“Don’t listen to them,” Ginny said when the girls got to her room. “They’ll get you if you ever turn your back on them. They’re going all out this year with their Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes stuff.”

“Oh, they told you about that?” Hermione said in surprise.

“Not deliberately. Mum found a stack of order forms while she was cleaning, and—wait, they told _you_?”

“Um, yes. They mentioned it while we were experimenting with the toy wands, and we’ve been corresponding about some of our business ideas.”

“And you didn’t try to shut them down?”

“Would it have actually stopped them?”

Ginny giggled: “No, no it wouldn’t’ve done.”

“Honestly, I think it’ll be good if they can pull it off. Don’t tell them I said this, but I think they’ve got sounder career plans than the average Ravenclaw at this stage.”

“Really?”

“Ginny, how often does the average Ravenclaw think about what comes after school?”

“Hmm, good point.”

“So how have you been? I haven’t had much chance to talk to you this summer.”

“It’s been nice. Mum was freaking out at first because of the thing with Sirius. I think she wasn’t sure whether to scream at me for almost getting myself killed or praise me for standing up for my friends.”

“That’s better than I got,” Hermione said. “I was grounded for two weeks.”

“Ooh, tough. But Mum’s been focusing on Fred and George ever since the O.W.L. results came in.”

“Yeah, I still think that wasn’t the best decision for them to neglect them so much,” Hermione admitted, “but I guess that’s the Twins for you. So, are you excited to see Harry tomorrow?”

Ginny squeaked and nodded her head silently.

Hermione giggled: “Breathe, Ginny. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“I know. I know. It’s just harder when I don’t see him much.”

“You don’t need to worry. He’s your friend, remember. Honestly, you jumped in front of a supposed mass murderer for him. Harry’s not gonna forget something like that.”

“You’re right,” Ginny said, taking a deep breath. “I’m being silly. So how did you get your hair like that? It looks wicked.”

“Thanks. That was actually pretty simple. I can show you with my toy wand, but it’ll have to be in the morning so your mum doesn’t get suspicious.”

“Great, and I see you finally got your teeth fixed.”

“Yeah, it was a real job convincing my parents to let me. They really wanted to do it the muggle way, since that’s their job, but I finally convinced them that magic was better.”

“Well, you should be glad you did. I bet the French boys’ll be all over you this year.”

Hermione turned bright red while Ginny laughed at her expense. “I think I’ll go talk to Gred and Forge—or George and Fred, or—whatever.” She quickly extricated herself from the situation, then dashed up the stairs to the next landing and knocked on the Twins’ door.

“Who is it?”

Hermione got an idea. Thinking fast, she decided she probably couldn’t pull off Mrs. Weasley’s ranting, so she tried her best impression of Ginny’s voice and yelled, “You gits! What did you do to my stuff?”

She heard laughter on the other side of the door, and it opened, revealing two grinning redheads.

“Nice try, Hermione,” George said, “but you’ve got a long way to go before you can match the Prewett blood in our family.”

“Come on in,” Fred added, pulling her inside. “By the way, you don’t happen to still have that order form we sent you, do you?”

“Yes, it’s in with my books. Why?”

“Well, Mum kinda burned all of our copies.”

“What?”

“She found our order forms and went nuts,” George said. “Said we should’ve been studying for O.W.L.s when we we making them.”

“And we weren’t to make any more because they were too dangerous.”

“And we _definitely_ weren’t to sell anything at Hogwarts because it was against the rules.”

“And said we should focus on trying to get nice, respectable jobs in the Ministry, like Percy.” Both Twins gagged theatrically at this point.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, it _is_ technically against the rules to sell them _at_ Hogwarts—”

“‘S all good fun, though,” Fred protested.

“ _And_ I’d say a few of your ideas _are_ too dangerous, but honestly, most of them aren’t any worse than what Zonko’s stocks.”

“Exactly. Of course we have tricks they don’t, and luckily, she didn’t find our notes or prototypes.” Fred reached under the bed and pulled out what looked like one of the better models of toy wands.

“Oh, so you’ve still been working on these?” Hermione said. She waved it and said, “ _Lumos_.”

_SQUAWK!_

“AHH!” The wand turned into a rubber chicken, which she threw across the room in surprise.

The Twins laughed at her. “You should’ve seen your face,” George said.

“We’ve got Mum about five times with that one,” Fred grinned.

“Fake wands,” she said. “That’s nasty trick.”

“People’ll love it, though,” George said. “But anyway, we wanted to congratulate you on getting a patent of your own.”

“Yeah, we saw your kits in the apothecary last week. We never thought you’d catch up to us,” Fred added.

“Thank you, it should get me some good spending money, anyway,” Hermione replied.

George drew some parchments from his robes. “So anyway,” he asked her, “we were hoping you’d look over our finances, like you said.”

“Well, I don’t know, after that trick,” she said, turning up her nose in exaggerated fashion.

“Hey, you’re the one who said you owed us one for helping with the patents,” Fred pointed out.

“Oh dear, I suppose you’ve got me. Let’s take a look, then.” She took the parchments in hand and skimmed over them. They were surprisingly thorough. Fred and George hadn’t exactly calculated how much each product cost to make, but they had listed all of their supplies and their costs, and their products and how much they wanted to charge for them. “Hmm…It’s complicated,” she said. “You look like you’re set to make a profit right now, if your sales are good. As for down the road, you’ll save money manufacturing in bulk, but then again, you’ll also have a lot more overhead to run a shop, and I don’t know what things like rent and utilities run in the magical world. I’ll need more time to look at this in detail…but…I don’t see anything in here that would obviously derail it.”

“That’s good enough for me,” George said. “If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in the past three years, it’s that you’ve got to trust Hermione.”

Hermione blushed and smiled a little. She thought that was a little much, but it was good to know George had faith in her.

“I dunno about that, Georgie,” Fred countered. “I didn’t trust that look she was giving me a minute ago.” She glared at him. “There it is again! I think she’s out to get us. You’d better not turn your back on her.”

“What’re you telling me for?” George said. “You’re the one who pranked her with the wand.”

Fred plastered a comically fake look of horror on his face. “Oh no! I must escape!” he said melodramatically, and he bolted from the room, laughing all the way.

“Brothers,” George told her. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t send ‘em to Timbuktu in a shipping crate. I know; we tried it with Percy once.”

Hermione soon found herself laughing hysterically, even though it really shouldn’t have been funny. Fred and George tended to do that to people. She wasn’t sure she’d laughed that hard all summer. It was times like this when she really wished she could stay at Hogwarts. Being an “honorary Weasley” could be a lot of fun at times.

“Okay, okay, I’m done,” Fred said, sticking his head back through the door. “C’mon, Mum says supper time.”

Supper was a chaotic affair, like most things at the Burrow, especially when all of the Weasleys were home. There were just barely room for the ten of them to squeeze into the kitchen, with Hermione sandwiched in between Ron and Ginny. Percy appeared to only come down to dinner because he had to and went right back up to his room afterwards. He was apparently working overtime on some very boring project for his job at the Ministry—at least that was the impression she got from the others. Hermione shuddered to think how close she might have come to turning out like that if she’d never met his less uptight brothers. Ginny and the Twins always seemed to be one fumble of a spoon away from a food fight, and Bill and Charlie seemed to be encouraging them when they weren’t entertaining the table with tales of their work in Egypt and Romania.

Mr. Weasley, as usual, peppered Hermione with questions about the muggle world, taking a particular interest in the idea of a cake mix and asking why such a thing existed. She was surprised to find that she wasn’t entirely sure. True, a mix was quicker and easier than making your own batter, but not by _that_ much, not if you knew what you were doing and were reading from a recipe. The biggest advantage, she decided, was not having to worry about stocking all the ingredients.

“I’m glad you could come, this week Hermione,” Ginny said when they laid down to sleep for the night. “It’s not gonna be the same without you around.”

“Yeah, I know. It’ll be tough starting at a new school,” she replied. “I wish there was a way out of it, but it’s just not going to happen.”

“You’ll have to visit during holidays, still.”

“Of course I will, Ginny. Your family’s wonderful. I always have a lot of fun here.”

* * *

Harry and Sirius arrived the following afternoon, and Sirius had some great news: “I told Fudge that Harry’s three best friends would be up in the Top Box for the final, and it would really be great if we could put them together, and he’d already been so _generous_ giving us tickets to the opening ceremony. And wouldn’t you know it, there were exactly two seats left in the Top Box, so we’ll be there with you.”

“Oh, Harry, that’s great!” Ginny squealed. She hugged him and managed to blush only slightly. “It’s so amazing we’ll be able to see an actual World Cup final from the best seats!”

“Yeah, I know!” Harry said. “We saw a couple of the early matches. It was incredible. I’ve never seen Quidditch that fast…”

Harry and Ginny were soon excitedly comparing notes on Quidditch, with Ron and the older Weasleys sometimes chiming in. Hermione even put in her two knuts when the conversation touched on the more mathematical aspects of the sport. Sirius leaned against the wall beside Hermione, watching.

“You know, I didn’t notice before, but Harry and Ginny get along really well together,” he said.

“Uh huh,” Hermione said. “I’m really proud of Ginny. You should’ve seen her two years ago. She had such a huge crush on Harry she couldn’t even talk to him.”

Sirius let out a laugh that sounded like a bark. “I’m just glad Harry turned out better than James,” he said. “James was tripping all over himself trying to get Lily to go out with him until our sixth year.”

Hermione chuckled: “I’m glad to see him doing so well this summer. It’s been a struggle keeping him in one piece for the past three years—and not just with the Dursleys. I’m glad he’s got you to watch out for him now.”

“Yeah, me too, Hermione.”

The antics continued over the course of the evening with Bill and Charlie jousting with tables and everyone trying to annoy Percy as much as possible—which probably wasn’t the best way to get him to spend time with his family, but hey, that was the Weasleys for you. They ate dinner in the garden, which was as excellent as ever. The only trouble came when Sirius asked Percy what he was working on, and Percy obliviously answered.

“I am the new head researcher for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Barty Crouch chose me for the position himself.”

Sirius, Harry, and Hermione froze.

“Oh, boy,” Ginny muttered.

“Now, Mr. Black—” Mrs. Weasley started as a growl began to emanate from Sirius’s throat.

But Harry was the first to react: “Percy, Crouch is the guy who threw Sirius in Azkaban!”

“Well, anyone can make the occasional mistake, Harry,” he replied.

“That’s a pretty big mistake.”

“Really, now, it was thirteen years ago, and Mr. Crouch issued a public apology. And anyway, he’s switched departments since then. He’s really a different man than he was at the end of the war.”

“Yeah. I’ll believe that when I see it,” Sirius grumbled.

* * *

They turned in early that night, since they had to get up absurdly early the next morning to catch a portkey from the other side of the village at seven minutes past five. It was also much more of a hike than Hermione had expected, and mostly uphill, so she was clutching a stitch in her side by the time they got there.

“You’d think I’d be better at this with all the stairs I have to climb at Hogwarts,” she groaned. “Maybe I should take up running or something…I wonder if the Room of Requirement can turn into a running track,” she muttered to herself.

“ _Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we_ _’ve got it_!”

Two tall figures came over the hill, one of whom looked very familiar.

_“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?”_

“Hi, Hermione,” Cedric said.

She could see him in the dawn light now. Of course, he looked as fit and handsome as ever. “H-h-hi, Cedric,” she answered, hoping it was still too dark for him to see how much she was blushing. _Oh, come on, Hermione you_ _’re getting almost as bad as Ginny,_ she thought. _He_ _’s been your friend for three years. Get it together_. That thought was enough for her to collect herself for the moment as Mr. Diggory was being introduced the group.

_“All these yours, Arthur?”_

_“Oh no, only the redheads,” said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. “This is Hermione, friend of Ron’s—”_

“She’s the girl I told you about, Dad,” Cedric cut in. “Fourteen and just got the highest score ever in Arithmancy.”

Hermione grinned broadly to see Cedric had noticed her achievement.

“Oh, _that_ one,” Mr. Diggory said. “Good to meet you then. I daresay say not many people could beat Cedric here in class, right my boy?”

“Dad, please—”

“Top of his class, you know. Probably Head Boy next year,” Mr. Diggory boasted.

“Okay, Dad, they get it.”

Hermione, for one, was glad Cedric had turned out a bit more modest than his father, but they were spared further conversation when the portkey activated.

It was a disturbing sensation. Hermione felt like she’d been yanked by a hook behind her navel. She could feel herself flying and spinning through the air, and a highly distorted view of the countryside wheeled beneath her, but from the sights and sensations, she felt like they almost had to be moving through some four-dimensional space. But why didn’t it _look_ four dimensional? Of course, her eyes could only see in three dimensions. It was physiologically impossible to see more than a slice of it…probably. Still, she tried to memorise as much of the view as she could to try to understand the geometry behind it.

She hit the ground hard, and most of them landed in a heap. But she sprang back up, wild-eyed, as if she had received a revelation beyond the ken of mortal men—which was eerily close to the truth. The first words she uttered, to the confusion of the others, were, “I need a book on higher-dimensional geometry!”


	62. Chapter 62

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The mathematics suggests that I should decline to offer odds that Harry Potter is not owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Yes, I did do the maths on the betting.
> 
> Interestingly, the World Cup stadium as shown in the movie is exactly fifty stories high, by my count, and has roughly the right capacity.

The Ministry officials moved the Portkeys through quickly and directed the group to their campsite in section 11B. Hermione made note of the number. She would need it to find the Vectors. Through the morning mist, she could see hundreds of tents set up on the moor, many of them with the assorted oddities she had come to associate with the magical world.

To her surprise, the manager and possibly owner of the campground, Mr. Roberts, was a muggle, and to her much greater surprise, he was a muggle who didn’t know about the magical world, as evidenced by the fact that he didn’t know what a galleon was. This was a bad combination since Mr. Weasley, for all his love of muggles, didn’t have a clue how paper money worked. Hermione tried to help him, naturally, but the moment Mr. Roberts started acting suspicious about what was going on, a wizard appeared out of thin air, pointed his wand at him, and said, “ _Obliviate_!”

“What?” Hermione squeaked, shocked at seeing an actual successful Obliviation performed in front of her. After Lockhart, she really didn’t need to see that. But it didn’t seem to have done him any real harm. He went right back to acting like a normal oblivious muggle.

“Far too curious, that one,” the Obliviator said once they were out of earshot. “Needs ten Memory Charms a day to keep him happy.”

“WHAT?!” Hermione shouted.

Everyone turned and stared at her. “Is there a problem, Miss?” the Obliviator said.

“You can’t do that to someone’s memory! This event’s been going on for two months! He must’ve had hundreds of memory charms done on him by now!”

“Muggle-born?” he asked automatically.

“Yes, as if it should matter—”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s got to be done. Statute of Secrecy and all that. It won’t hurt him. He’ll even still remember most of the past two months.”

“It won’t hurt him intentionally, you mean,” Hermione ranted. “The more memory charms you perform on a person, the greater the risk that something will go wrong and do permanent damage. You could landed him in a mental ward doing that many on him.”

“I assure you, I and my fellow Obliviators are highly professional. We haven’t made a mistake in years. And anyway, we don’t have a choice. The existence of magic must be kept a secret—”

“Are you daft? Look around you. A blind person could walk through here and tell there was magic going on!” She waved her arms wildly at the campsite. Even with most of the wizards trying to look muggle, many of them got it wrong and added things like chimneys and bellpulls to their tents, and some of them were so ostentatious that their owners obviously weren’t trying at all. Hermione’s friends backed a step away to give her space. They’d forgotten how much she hated Memory Charms.

“Miss Granger, that’s quite enough,” Percy said pompously, but she ignored him.

“Mr. Roberts lives out here anyway, doesn’t he?” she said. “You control everything around him. Wouldn’t it be safer to let him see it and just Obliviate him once after it’s over?”

“Miss Granger,” Percy repeated.

“Or better yet, convince him to take a long holiday and hire muggles who know about magic like my parents to man the campsite. Or try to find some land remote enough that you can rent it all at once and not have any muggles overseeing it. In fact, how did you build the stadium itself if you didn’t do that?”

“Really, now!” Percy said.

The Obliviator stared at Hermione. He was not accustomed to a fourteen-year-old telling him how to do his job, muggle-born or otherwise. He was even less accustomed to the fourteen-year-old making some good points, albeit useless ones at this stage. “Those are some…interesting suggestions, Miss,” he said, partly just to get her off his back. “I’ll mention them to the Department for the _next_ massive and enormously complicated event we hold here.” The implication was clear. This was a once in a lifetime event, and her suggestions were largely moot at this point. “Now, if you don’t mind, I must be on my way.” He apparated away.

“Have I mentioned how much I despise Memory Charms?” Hermione grumbled. Only Sirius hadn’t heard it before, though.

Well, a blind person may have been able to walk through the campsite and tell there was magic going on, but Mr. Weasley still wanted to go muggle for the day. Hermione didn’t mind it so much. Her one complaint was that Dobby wouldn’t be able to show his face outside the tents during daylight hours that way. The tents were very impressive, though—bigger on the inside thanks to some obvious Extension Charms. The Weasleys’ main tent had room for eight inside and was furnished as a three room flat. On either side of it were two smaller tents. Sirius and Harry had brought one of their own for the other matches they had attended, and there was another for Hermione and Ginny.

The campground was fascinating to see as the other campers started to wake up. Tiny children were playing with toy wands and toy broomsticks. Adults were trying (and mostly failing) to cook breakfast without magic. Groups of wizards from many countries, including student groups from several schools, were all mashed up together. Hermione considered going off to try to find the Beauxbatons contingent, but she didn’t have the time with everything else.

The World Cup Final had come down to Ireland versus Bulgaria, which wasn’t too surprising by Hermione’s maths, and the rivalry was fierce. The Irish fans had their tents decorated all over with shamrocks, while the Bulgarians plastered up photos of their star Seeker, a grumpy-looking young man named Viktor Krum who was, by all accounts, the best Seeker of his generation.

They were mostly through breakfast when one of the organisers of the whole event arrived, who was also the Weasleys’ patron for tickets: Ludo Bagman.

Mr. Bagman reminded Hermione of her history teacher the one year she had spent in muggle secondary school—he had been a football player at university and was now a coach in addition to teaching. (What was it with history teachers and that career path? All of the history teachers at her secondary school had been like that.) Bagman had the same look about him—the look of a man who had been a very good athlete at twenty, and it was all downhill from there. It was true, he still had a boyish face and grin and bright yellow hair, but he was clearly trying in vain to relive the glory days, the way he was dressed in his old Quidditch uniform, which was faded and didn’t fit him anymore.

Apparently, in addition to being head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports and the organiser of the event, Mr. Bagman was also a bookie. Hermione felt like that might be some kind of conflict of interest, but she let it go because Mr. Weasley was okay with it and even put a galleon on Ireland.

“Very well, very well…any other takers?” Bagman asked.

“Hey, Hermione, this should be right up your alley.” Fred said. “Make a good bet, and we could get some extra money for our you-know-what. Wha’d’you think?”

“I think that gambling is not a good investment strategy,” she replied, giving the Twins a piercing look.

“C’mon, Hermione, this is what we do,” George urged her. “We take risks, so when it pays off, it pays off big, and when it doesn’t, we pick ourselves up and try again.”

“But we figure _you_ have been predicting the matches really well,” Fred continued.

“So you can figure out the best bet.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. There was definitely such a thing as too much risk, in her opinion, and this was one of those times. And yet…this was the biggest Quidditch game in the world, and after a year of predicting matches, mostly successfully, the idea of really playing the odds here intrigued her. And if these two clowns were so determined to take their risks, she might as well help them, though she would only countenance that because the rest of their operation looked sound enough.

“Very well,” she said. “May I see your book, Mr. Bagman?”

“Hermione, I’m not sure your parents would approve of you gambling,” Mr. Weasley said.

 _Probably not_ , she thought. “It’s okay, Mr. Weasley. I have a little extra cash I can splurge from my patents.”

Bagman chuckled at her. “There, you see, Arthur, it’s all good fun. Alright, Miss, go ahead, and take a look,” he said patronisingly.

 _Oh, that_ _’s it._ With that tone, Hermione was determined to show him up. She was all over the book at once, flipping through it, calculating payouts from the offered odds and calculating her own estimates of win probabilities from her own methods for comparison with his. “Okay, it’s pretty much undisputed that Ireland has the best Chaser squad in the Tournament,” she muttered to herself. “They’ve been cleaning up at that all the way from the beginning. Their Keeper’s a little weak, but they make up for it with overall Quaffle handling. For Seekers, Krum’s good—definitely better than Lynch, but there’s always an element of chance in where the Snitch will pop up first. On the other hand, a lot of it comes down to speed and reaction time. On brooms that fast, it’s much more about who sees the Snitch and goes for it first than it used to be, so you can’t trust traditional models of predictions for Seekers here. Now, given the Firebolt’s acceleration, the length of the pitch, and the most common Seeker patterns, the odds that the Snitch will appear far enough away to give a strong distance advantage are…”

Harry, Sirius, and all of the Weasleys gathered around to watch. Bill and Charlie, who had never seen Hermione’s feats of mental maths in person, were surprised at how deep she was getting into the statistics of the players and the mechanics of the sport itself, especially going this fast. Fred and George were shooting a wicked grin at Bagman, who wasn’t smiling quite so broadly now upon realising how savvy Hermione was.

“…with a probability of zero point zero one five six two five. How’s my Arithmancy, Harry?” she said with a smirk.

“Still way better than mine. I can barely keep up with what you’re talking about,” he said.

“Now, everyone says Bulgaria has a rock-solid defence,” she continued, “but that’s mostly based on how they played before they switched to Firebolts, which are much more of an offensive broom. Ever since they did, they’ve been letting more goals through and showing poorer Bludger handling, which means they’re relying on Krum more. Sp if we consider the rate of injuries of Seekers at the World Cup level…”

“Er…is she always like that?” Bagman asked.

“Yes,” most of the group replied.

Fred chuckled: “You’re in for it now, Mr. Bagman. You’re looking at the girl who tested the highest Arithmancy O.W.L. ever at age fourteen.”

Bagman wasn’t smiling at all, now.

“Ireland winning pays four to three, but if you add to that Troy being the top scorer…maybe…Odds on Krum getting the Snitch are obviously high, but on the details, you have to take into account what Krum’ll do if it starts turning into a rout, which skews it ever higher, if the group phase is any indication…” Suddenly, she stopped cold. Almost like an adding machine coming to an answer, she froze and looked up. “Fred, George,” she whispered. She motioned with her finger to come closer. They huddled together, and she told them, “Bagman’s odds on Ireland winning with Krum getting the Snitch are way too long. He’s offering fifteen to one, and I’d probably only pay five to one.”

“That sounds like a good idea, then,” Fred replied. “All in, George?”

“I think so, Fred,” George said.

“Wait, what?” Hermione said.

“We’ll bet thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts that Ireland wins—” Fred started.

“Wait a minute!” Hermione said, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him back. “Is that all of your savings?”

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Weasley said sternly. “Boys, your mother will have all our heads—”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur,” Bagman said, obviously enticed once again by the large bet. “Let the kids have their fun.”

“Hermione, we told you we take the risks in this family,” Fred told her.

“Yes, but even at five to one, you’ve still got an eighty percent chance of losing everything. That’s no way to start a business.” Honestly, they were about to sink the equivalent of almost two thousand quid into this mad scheme. She looked over the book again and quickly calculated some odds and payouts and formulated a plan. “Look, if you really want to do this, you should take a trixie bet with those two plus a safe bet like…like Ireland scoring first. He’s got a relatively high payout on that, too, because of the Bulgarian defence issue.” She whispered this last sentence. “If you do that, you’ll get almost two thirds of the return if you win, and if you lose, you probably won’t lose everything, and you’ll have a good chance of keeping two thirds of your original stake, so you’ll still have some seed capital to work with. That way, it’ll probably turn out better than just holding back part of your money.”

Fred and George were left with their mouths hanging open. Mr. Weasley looked amazed that Hermione had managed to give them such sensible advice—at least from a “bet all of their savings’ standpoint.

“Is she…always like that?” Bill and Charlie both asked.

“Yes,” her friends said.

“You know, she does have a point, Fred,” George said. “It takes money to make money, so we’d be better off not starting from nothing.”

Fred looked a little sour at that. “I don’t know, George. We’ve always been all in before. It seems wrong not to do it.”

“Well, we’re still putting everything on the line, aren’t we? We’re just being a little smarter about it.”

“True…And in business, you do need a hedge, I suppose. Alright, Hermione, I think we have a winner. Mr. Bagman, we’ll take a trixie bet on Ireland winning, Victor Krum getting the Snitch, and Ireland scoring first, and we’ll stake thirty-seven galleons, fifteen sickles, three knuts—oh, and we’ll throw in a fake wand.”

Bagman roared with laughter when the wand turned into a rubber chicken. “Brilliant, I’d pay five galleons for that!” he said. “But Ireland wins and Krum gets the Snitch? Not a chance, boys.” The Twins smirked at each other. “And what about you, Miss?” he chuckled at Hermione, clearly thinking her Arithmancy skills had misfired. The Twins smirked even harder.

“I’ll go easy on you, Mr. Bagman,” she replied smugly. “Put me down for one galleon, three sickles on the same bet. If I’m lucky, I’ll get some nice spending money out of it.”

“You got it. Pleasure doing business with you.”

Mr. Weasley looked very relieved. “Thank you, Hermione,” he said. “At least the boys are only doing something halfway insane, now.”

“No problem, Mr. Weasley. They’ve been a big help to me, and I thought I should return the favour,” she answered. She just hoped those two were a little more sensible when they were actually running a business, like their numbers so far indicated, or she’d have to reevaluate her assessment of their career plans.

Mr. Weasley then changed the subject and asked Bagman about Bertha Jorkins, one of Bagman’s employees who, so far as anyone could tell, had up and walked away from her job with no warning and vanished without a trace. No one had any idea where she could be, nor did Bagman have any clues.

And then, the other organiser of the event showed up, Percy’s boss, Barty Crouch. Mr. Crouch (and he seemed to be the kind of man who required a Mr) was a tall, austere man with perfectly parted hair, a toothbrush moustache, and an impeccably clean muggle suit. It was obvious why Percy liked him so much…although she would’ve thought being unable to remember Percy’s name would’ve been a turn-off.

Unsurprisingly, Sirius stood up and came nose to nose with the man, glaring. Mr. Crouch stood his ground, however. “Mr. Black,” he said evenly.

“Mr. Crouch,” Sirius replied.

“I understand why you are upset,” Mr. Crouch said.

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“I do hope you realise that what happened to you was a tragic misunderstanding. I have always striven to uphold justice and oppose the forces of darkness.”

“Oh, really? And was it justice when you sent your son to Azkaban on circumstantial evidence? I heard him crying in his cell until the day he died.”

This seemed to enrage Mr. Crouch. His eyes bulged out like a frog’s and he shouted wildly, “My so-called son was caught red-handed with _your_ cousin, Black!” He poked Sirius hard in the chest.

“Maybe he was, and maybe he was at the wrong place at the wrong time, like me, but it’s too late to ask him now.”

“Sirius,” Mr. Weasley warned him back, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“That boy was a vile, pathetic excuse for a human being! You know what he did to the Longbottoms—”

“Mr. Crouch, this is not the time or place,” Mr. Weasley pleaded with him. The taller man leaned back and seemed to collect himself because he quickly extricated himself from the group.

“Well, _he_ seems pleasant, _Weatherby_ ,” Fred mocked Percy to the older boy’s annoyance.

“Sirius, what was that about?” Harry asked softly. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were also staring aghast at the argument—something about Sirius’s cousin, Crouch’s son, and (presumably) Neville’s parents. They had no idea what it was.

“I’ll tell you later, Pup,” Sirius muttered. “It’s an ugly story.” Then, louder, “Sorry about that. I haven’t had a chance to properly punch him in the face yet, and I got carried away. Let’s just relax and enjoy the day, shall we?”

“Mr. Weasley, if you don’t mind, I’d like to try to go and find Septima,” Hermione said.

“Who?”

“Professor Vector.”

“Oh, right, right,” he said, not having heard her call her former professor by her first name before. “Of course, go ahead. Just be sure to be back before dark. I promised your parents I’d take care of you.”

Hermione went out along the lanes of tents from Section 11B until she found Section 15F. There were a couple hundred tents in the section, so it took about half an hour of searching to find the right one, but she found it eventually. Septima was there, doing an admirable job of trying to cook over an open fire, accompanied by a younger couple and a little girl.

“Hello, Septima,” she called.

The older woman looked up and smiled. “Hermione!” she called back, rising to her feet. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you could make it.”

Hermione bounded forward and hugged her favourite teacher: “Me too, Septima. I really wanted to be able to see all my friends one more time.”

“Well, I hope you’re making the most of it—and my goodness, you finally did something about those teeth.”

Hermione giggled: “That’s what everyone’s been saying.”

“You look very nice. Come here, I’ll introduce you to my family.” She motioned to the dark-haired couple that sat with her. “This is my nephew, Gaius, and his wife, Pompeia. And of course, this is little Georgina. Everyone, this is the brightest student I’ve ever had the pleasure to teach, Hermione Granger.”

Georgina Vector looked a lot like her grand-aunt: oval-shaped face, long tresses of thick, black hair, and pale blue eyes, though she had her mother’s button nose. But there was one big difference between them: Septima rarely showed the unbridled exuberance of an eleven-year-old.

“Pleased to meet you, Hermione,” Georgina said, enthusiastically shaking her hand. “Auntie Septima’s told me all about you. Is it true you can do all kinds of maths in your head?”

Hermione chuckled at the girl. “Up to and including inventing spells,” she said. “That’s probably how I pulled off that O.W.L. mark.”

“Wow! Can you make one now?”

“Georgina!” her mother scolded.

Oh no, this was going to become her new multiplying big numbers, wasn’t it? Hermione didn’t think she could make up _that_ many new simple spells. “Well, I _could_ , but we’re not really supposed to be using wands here,” she saved herself. It was a lame excuse, since hardly anyone was following that rule, but Georgina accepted it.

“Aunt Septima’s told us about your exploits, Miss Granger,” Gaius Vector said. “Is it true that you can cast a corporeal Patronus?”

“Not reliably, yet, but yes. It saved my life—or soul or whatever—last spring.”

“And you and Auntie Septima fought a giant snake with—?” Georgina said.

“With blue-tinted glasses, yes. Actually, real cursebreakers are starting to use them now.”

“Yes, her exploits have been very…unique,” Septima agreed. “In fact, Hermione has started going into business. She patented a simple potions kit targeted at muggle-borns. I don’t fully understand it myself, but apparently, they’re selling well in the apothecary.”

“Business and potions, really?” Pompeia said. “It sounds like you’re a young woman of many talents.”

“And you’re really friends with Harry Potter?” Georgina asked.

“Georgina,” her mother repeated.

“Yes, I’m friends with Harry Potter,” Hermione replied. There was really no escaping his fame.

“But we hear you’re transferring to Beauxbatons, now?” Gaius asked.

Hermione sighed: “Yes, that’s right. It was my parents’ idea, though.”

“We were really surprised when Aunt Septima suggested we consider enrolling Georgina there. Especially since she teaches at Hogwarts, and considering the…special event going on there this year.”

“What special event?” Hermione said. “The Weasleys keep talking about it, but no one will say what it is.”

The adult Vectors looked at each other nervously. Finally, Septima said, “Hermione, will you keep this a secret, including from your friends? And you too, Georgina. It’s not supposed to be publicly announced until the first day of school.”

“Okay, I guess,” Hermione said in confusion.

“Hogwarts will be hosting a revived Triwizard Tournament this year.”

“Triwizard Tournament? I think I’ve heard of that. Wasn’t it some old competition between schools? And didn’t they stop holding it two hundred years ago because it was too dangerous or something?”

“They’ve revised the safety standards, of course, but yes. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will each be sending some of their equivalent of N.E.W.T. students to Hogwarts to enter. I wouldn’t want Georgina to miss something like that, but after the things that have happened at Hogwarts over the past three years, I really thought Gaius and Pompeia should consider other options.”

“So what have you decided?” Hermione asked.

“We decided to keep her at Hogwarts,” Gaius replied. “Today’s the deadline to change her enrolment, so we’re sticking with it. May I ask why you were so concerned about it, Miss Granger?”

Hermione was uncomfortable. It wouldn’t do to scare them now that they couldn’t change it. “Well,” she said, “I don’t particularly want to leave Hogwarts myself. It’s just that my parents are making me. I, um…I think that for most of the students, Hogwarts has been alright for the past three years. The thing is, every year, at least one really bad thing has happened that almost got me and my friends killed…and all of them had to do with…with You-Know-Who.” The Vectors gasped. “Now, it’s probably not that bad. Since Georgina is—I presume—pureblood, she’ll probably be better off than I was, and even for me, a lot of my trouble’s come from being friends with Harry Potter, to be honest.”

“Merlin, Is all that true?” Gaius asked his aunt.

“I’m afraid so,” Septima said. “But it is true that very few students have got in any real trouble, and even fewer purebloods.”

“Well, I suppose that’s good to hear,” Pompeia said. “But do keep an eye on Georgina while she’s there, Septima.”

“Two eyes, Pompeia,” she assured her. “As often as I can spare them.”

* * *

Harry, having seen some of the matches already, grew more and more excited as the game approached. “I’m telling you, you’ve never seen Quidditch played like that at Hogwarts,” he said as they came upon a cart piled high with what looked like brass binoculars. “Oh, and you’ve gotta check out these things,” he added, pointing to the cart.

“What are they?” Ron asked.

“They’re called Omnioculars. They can zoom way in, record, do a slow-motion replay and even display a play-by-play breakdown,” he said excitedly.

“Yep, best in the business,” the saleswizard agreed. There a bargain at ten galleons each.

“Ten galleons!” Hermione said. “I didn’t bring that much.” _And Mum and Dad probably wouldn_ _’t approve if I did, even if they’re probably cheaper than a muggle camera that can do all that._

“I’ve got you covered,” Harry said. “Three pairs, please.”

“No—don’t bother,” Ron said, turning red.

“Yes, Harry, this is too much,” Hermione agreed.

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “I owe you three years’ worth of birthday and Christmas presents. I’ve never been able to spend much money with the Dursleys around.” He took the three pairs of Omnioculars and pressed them in Hermione’s, Ron’s, and Ginny’s hands.

Ron started grinning. Ginny was speechless. Hermione sighed and smiled at her friend. “Well, thank you Harry,” she said. _Leave it to Harry to drop fifteen hundred pounds on his friends the first chance he gets. Well, if I win my bet, I can pay him back._

The hour was growing late. By now, the lanterns were burning, and Mr. Weasley announced that it was time to walk to the stadium.

“Dobby?” Hermione called.

 _Pop!_ The elf appeared: “Yes, Miss Hermione?”

“Come along, please. It’s almost time for the match.”

Dobby’s eyes started popping out. “Miss Hermione is letting Dobby join her to see the match?”

“Of course. I’m sure they won’t mind. You don’t take up much space.”

Suddenly, Dobby was hugging her legs for all he was worth. “Oh, Miss Hermione is so good to Dobby!” he squeaked. He broke off and bounced along eagerly beside the group.

The stadium for the World Cup was enormous. With seating for a hundred thousand, it was the equal of the largest muggle stadiums in the world, but the seats were built into high, golden walls instead of sprawled out, amphitheatre-style, so that everyone could sit close to the action. The way to the top box was the farthest Hermione had ever climbed stairs in her life at a stretch: fifty flights. Why they couldn’t put a lift in, she couldn’t fathom. They’d have been better off just flying brooms to get up that high. By the end of it, even the boys were panting, and Fred and George had to support Ginny and herself, respectively. Around the tenth flight, she told Dobby to wait and pop up to her when she called him. Elves didn’t do human-sized stairs very well.

The stadium was somehow filled with a soft, golden light without the benefit of torches. A close inspection, by holding her hands up to them and shielding with her body, revealed that the walls themselves were glowing faintly. That was an interesting bit of charms work—very impressive on such a large scale. Hermione made a mental note to see if she could recreate the spell. Another interesting bit of magic was the huge enchanted blackboard that served as a “Jumbotron,” with chalk dust dancing across it in ever-changing words and images.

The group of eleven seemed to be the first to reach the top box, which contained twenty-four odd purple-and-gilt chairs, all of which were empty except for one at the very end, in which sat a tiny, bat-eared creature who seemed to be crying.

“Oh dear,” Hermione said when she saw it. Then she whispered, “Dobby.” Dobby popped in beside her, and she filed down the row to see the other elf. “Hello,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

The elf looked up in surprise. It was a female elf, with scraggly brown hair, brown eyes, and a large, red nose like a tomato. Hermione would have worried it was infected if she hadn’t seen other elves with noses like that at school. The elf spoke with a quivering squeak: “Hello? Who is you, Miss?”

“I’m Hermione, and this is Dobby.”

The elf’s eyes bulged out when she saw Dobby. “Dobby! I is knowing you! You is that strange elf who is…” She gulped and whispered, “being paid to work.”

Hermione resisted the urge to say, _Yes, and I_ _’m the strange witch who’s paying him_ , in deference to the other elf’s distress. Instead, she asked, “What’s your name?”

“I is Winky, Miss…” Suddenly, another flash of recognition hit her: “You! You is Miss Hermione Granger. All the elves talks about you. They said you is a friend to the Hogwarts elves, except…except you is the witch who got Dobby freed!” She cringed away from her.

“Winky, it’s okay. I’m not trying to free any elves who don’t want it,” she said gently. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble. Now what’s wrong? Why were you crying up here? Maybe we can help.”

“Oh, pardon Winky, Hermione Granger. I is not liking heights at all, but my Master asks me to save him a seat, miss.”

“Oh, and who’s he?”

“Master Barty Crouch, miss.”

“Oh, him,” Hermione said, trying to mask her disapproval. Privately, she thought maybe Winky _would_ be better off somewhere else, but she held her tongue. She let Dobby try to comfort Winky while she tried out her new Omnioculars. They were an amazing piece of work, with variable zoom up to 20x, and instant replay that could be slowed down by a factor of ten and still stay smooth. She wondered if she took them apart, if she could make them function as a high speed camera. How was the video stored? Could it be transferred to another medium for more convenient playback? Could they be modified to work as night-vision goggles or some such? The possibilities were endless. She could spend all year studying them, and she thought she just might.

Cornelius Fudge came into the box about half an hour later. He seemed to be prepared to meet Sirius because he looked him in the eye and shook his hand while he introduced the Bulgarian Minister to him and Harry. But then, he said, “Ah, here’s Lucius.” The group whirled around, and three blond heads with noses upturned strode into the room. They recognised the long, white-blond hair of Lucius Malfoy at once. Draco stood beside him, a carbon copy, but with shorter hair, and a tall, thin woman with golden blond hair who Hermione supposed was pretty except for the vaguely disgusted look on her face. Mr. Malfoy introduced her as his wife, Narcissa. However, the three immediately got into a staring contest—Mr. Malfoy with Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Malfoy with Sirius, and Draco with Harry.

_“Good Lord, Arthur,” Mr. Malfoy said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”_

Mr. Weasley just stared him down and didn’t give him the pleasure of a response.

“Hello, Cousin,” Sirius told Mrs. Malfoy.

What? She couldn’t be the same cousin Mr. Crouch had mentioned, could she?

Thankfully, Draco and Harry didn’t cause any trouble in front of the adults, but Mr. Malfoy and Draco both sneered at Hermione when they spotted her, and then Draco’s eyes fell on the elves.

“Dobby?” he said in disbelief.

“Dobby!” Mr. Malfoy hissed.

“Eep! Dobby’s old masters,” the elf whispered.

“What the hell are _you_ doing here?” Draco demanded. “Granger tricked Father into freeing you. You should be dead by now.”

 _Dead?_ Hermione thought. Dobby was only improved by being freed. The elf stood his ground defiantly and said, “Dobby is working for Miss Hermione, now.”

“Working for you?” Mr. Malfoy demanded. “A mud—muggle-born? So you took our servant to keep him for yourself? I don’t believe it. Even if you wanted to, how could you afford the Elf Transfer Tariff?”

“I didn’t,” she said smugly. “I’m paying him.”

There were gasps from everyone in the box who didn’t know of Hermione’s and Dobby’s arrangement. She even thought she heard Mrs. Malfoy mutter the word “perversion.”

“ _Paying him_?” Mr. Malfoy advanced towards her menacingly, his hand on his cane. “Of all the—”

“I would be careful to exercise restraint if I were you, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione said calmly, giving him a harsh stare. “There are witnesses here…and a lot more stairs.”

At that, Mr. Malfoy started to sweat a little and backed off. He clearly remembered Dobby blasting him down a flight of stairs when he’d tried to attack Hermione a year ago. “Pardon me, Minister,” he said. “A bit of private business.”

Harry and many of the Weasleys looked amazed that she had made Lucius Malfoy back down. Sirius looked like Christmas had come early. “Brilliant,” he whispered to her. “Not many people can stand up to him.”

Ludo Bagman bounded into the Top Box to start the match, beginning by introducing the team mascots. Bulgaria’s offering, Mr. Weasley said, were Veela.

“Oh, boy,” Harry said nervously. He covered his ears for some strange reason.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Hermione asked.

“I learnt my lesson at the last Bulgaria game.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, but even as she spoke, she noticed something strange going on. The Bulgarian mascots took to the pitch. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but they looked like a very large squad of cheerleaders—the traditional tall, blond, curvy, and scantily-clad types. And yet, there was something otherworldly about them—something that was making most of the boys start to drool and their eyes glaze over. Hermione looked at Ginny, who was looking around, equally bewildered, with a disdainful look on her face. As for the adults, Sirius and Bagman looked utterly captivated by the veela, while Mr. Crouch and Mr. Malfoy seemed unaffected, which put a smug grin on Mrs. Malfoy’s face.

It was hard to see what was going on at this distance, so Hermione picked up her Omnioculars and zoomed in on the veela. They definitely weren’t human—more like the nymphs or sirens of myth—inhumanly beautiful, with flawless alabaster skin that seemed to shine in the golden light of the stadium and white-gold hair that stereotypically billowed behind them even in the absence of wind. She thought she remembered reading the term veela somewhere, in some Eastern European folklore or other. She would have to look it up later.

In any case, the veela obvious had an incredibly powerful allure for men, which increased as their singing and dancing became more and more frenzied. Interestingly, Hermione felt no allure at all, nor did Ginny, only a mild annoyance, which suggested the allure worked strictly on biological gender, since you would think there would be _some_ level of hormonal response for women. She wondered if there were male veela who just weren’t in as high a demand.

Presently, there was a shimmering on the walls of the stadium. Panning her Omnioculars, Hermione was shocked when she saw the cause. A few of the men were so enticed that they were trying to dive from the stands down to the pitch to get closer to the veela, and they were thankfully being bounced back by the wards. That seemed to be the cue for them to vacate the pitch, as signalled, she noticed, by an all-female team of handlers. That was certainly an interesting performance. She looked up and saw that Ron already had a leg up trying to get over the railing. She rolled her eyes. Typical Ron. Ginny smacked him in the back of the head.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding Harry,” Hermione said.

“I know. It’s nuts whenever they come out,” he answered. “I almost went over the rail myself the first time.”

The Irish mascots were, of course, leprechauns. Hermione had read that leprechauns had some degree of human intelligence, but not enough to form any real organised society. They could certainly fly in formation, though, and as they flew over, gold coins rained down on the stands.

“Yes! Excellent!” Ron yelled, laughing like a maniac. He scooped up a handful of coins and shoved them into Harry’s hands. “Here, for the Omnioculars!” he said. “Now you owe me a Christmas present. Ha!”

“They _can_ _’t_ just be giving away this much gold,” Hermione said.

“They isn’t, Miss Hermione,” came a squeak from around her feet. Dobby and Winky had to duck and cover to protect their heads from the rain of coins.

“What is it, Dobby?”

“It is being Leprechaun Gold, Miss. It is being conjured and will vanish in a few hours.”

“What? What a rip-off!” Ron yelled.

Hermione took a closer look at one of the fake galleons and saw that instead of the usual profile bust of Merlin that normally graced wizarding money, these coins had an image of a leprechaun facing out and laughing at the holder. So Ron was definitely out of luck, so to speak.

She wasn’t sure if the match itself would live up to the impressive pregame show, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that it did. The players were lightning fast, pushing the limits of both the Firebolts and the human body, and Viktor Krum was a regular aerial acrobat, doing handstands on his broom during the opening lap. The Quaffle was constantly in motion, being passed from one player to another and occasionally intercepted. They were only a few plays in when Ireland scored the first goal.

“Yes!” Hermione cheered, as did Fred and George, not just because their preferred team had scored, but because they’d won their hedge bet. Her assessment of Bulgaria’s defence soon proved to be correct, as Ireland got three goals in before Bulgaria got their first. At that point, the veela started dancing, throwing the stadium into confusion.

Krum and Lynch, the Seekers dove at a terrifying speed. Hermione screamed in fright as Lynch crashed, just as Krum had intended. Harry said that was something called the Wronski Feint, but she just thought it looked like a good way to get oneself killed. She was worried that’s what had happened to Lynch, but to her surprise, he got up, climbed back on his broom, and kept flying. Wizards _were_ built a little tougher than muggles, she reminded herself. She herself had benefited from that resilience when she got slammed into a wall by a giant basilisk and managed to walk away.

The Bulgarians played dirtier as the game went on, but the Irish still pulled further ahead. By the time they were up a hundred and thirty to ten (which made Hermione, Fred, and George happy because it was getting close to the range to win their bet), both the teams and the mascots were practically at each other’s throats. The veela successfully distracted the referee, who tried to have them sent off the field in response. Then, when the referee kept fouling the Bulgarians, the leprechauns formed into a giant middle finger, and that really set off the veela.

They started flying.

The veela transformed into what seemed to be harpies, with huge scaly-wings bursting from their shoulders, sharp beaks growing on their heads, and shooting fireballs from their hands at the leprechauns, who scattered at once. However, the veela hit a ward that prevented them from flying more than about ten feet above the ground so they couldn’t interfere with the play and were forced to stay on the grass.

 _Note to self: never cross a veela_ , Hermione thought.

 _“And_ that _, boys, is why you should never go for looks alone!_ _”_ Mr. Weasley yelled.

The play continued even as Ministry wizards tried to corral the veela. Ireland scored four more times, putting them up a hundred and sixty points. Now, Bulgaria would have to score a goal before Krum caught the Snitch to win. Hermione and the Twins were on the edges of their seats.

“Do you think Krum’ll catch it?” Hermione yelled.

“As soon as he sees it,” Harry said with no doubt in his voice. “He knows they can’t win.”

Hermione was thinking the same thing, but then, the one thing that could have derailed it happened: Krum took a Bludger full in the face. But even then, he kept flying. Suddenly, Lynch dove, Krum followed, Lynch crashed again and was trampled by veela—that looked painful—and when the dust cleared, Krum had the Snitch—but Ireland had won the game.

The crowd roared. The pitch was in complete chaos at the upset. The Bulgarian Minister revealed he could speak English and had just been letting Fudge make a fool of himself all day. (“Brilliant! We’re totally stealing that one!” said Fred and George.) And everyone in the Top Box was briefly introduced to both teams. (Krum seemed less imposing in person—less coordinated on the ground and slumping slightly, although that could have been from getting hit in the face by a Bludger.)

Finally, the Top Box cleared out enough for Hermione and the Twins to approach Bagman for their winnings. “Well, that wasn’t quite a twist, wasn’t it?” he said hoarsely. He looked a little nervous. “I expect they’ll be talking about this for years. Oh, yes, now…how much do I owe you?”

“Hermione?” the Twins said with matching grins.

Hermione smiled sweetly and said, “You owe me twelve galleons, four sickles, and twenty-five knuts, Mr. Bagman, and you owe _them_ four hundred forty-seven galleons, sixteen sickles, and two knuts.”

“Four hundred,” Fred and George whispered to each other in awe.

“Right, of course,” Bagman said. He made a show of checking his pockets. “Well, I don’t carry that much on me, of course, but how about I pop by your tent tonight and bring it to you.”

Hermione looked to the Twins questioningly, and looked at each other.

“Alright, then,” said Fred.

“We’ll hold you to that.”


	63. Chapter 63

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: No loopholes have been found to JK Rowling owning Harry Potter.
> 
> Parts of this chapter have been quoted from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
> 
> Remember that a few chapters ago, Barty Crouch Jr walked away from his home with Bertha Jorkins and his father’s wand, so he doesn’t need to steal one now. He’s at the World Cup just because he likes Quidditch, and it’s a good chance to spy on certain people.

They partied and recounted the play by play of the match back in the big tent until they were about to fall asleep on their feet, and then Hermione and Ginny retired to the girl’s tent for a good night’s rest, but they had only been out a couple of hours when they heard Mr. Weasley’s frantic voice shouting, “Ginny! Hermione! Get up! _Fire_!”

“Fire?” Ginny said groggily.

“Fire?” Hermione repeated. “Fire!” She could see orange light flickering on the walls of the tent and the rising sound of a crowd of people screaming. “Merlin, it’s the whole camp!”

“What’s happening?” Ginny cried.

“There’s no time to pack! Get out now!” Mr. Weasley called over them.

Hermione knew she only had moments. She grabbed her wand from the bedside table, and then her hand dove to the bottom of her trunk and pulled out the one thing she had packed and not expected it to get cold enough to wear: her basilisk-skin coat. Ironically, she would now be wearing it to (hopefully) protect her from the heat.

A shiver rippled through the air—one that seemed to sweep through space like a tangible thing.

“What was that?” Ginny said worriedly.

“Anti-Apparition Ward,” Mr. Weasley said, with the certainty of someone who knew it well. “We have to go! Run!”

They emerged into the night and took in the scene in a split second. A crowd of wizards in black robes was marching in their general direction. Four human figures were suspended above them about sixty feet in the air. The wizards in the front of the procession were burning tents and blasting aside any that were in their way with their wands. Most of the camp was running away from them, screaming, but some witches and wizards who looked like Ministry officials were running towards them. Hermione couldn’t understand what the marchers were doing until she looked closer and saw that they appeared to be wearing white masks—masks painted like skulls. It clicked then: the four suspended figures, flailing in midair—two adults and two children.

“Oh, God, the muggles!” she shouted.

There was no time to react. “You go! We have to help the Ministry!” Mr. Weasley yelled. He had his wand out, along with Sirius, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, who were already sprinting into the fray.

“Sirius!” Harry yelled.

“Get out of here, Pup! We’ll find you after,” the reply came.

“You lot get into the woods and _stay together_ ,” Mr. Weasley ordered. “We’ll find you once we deal with them. They’re probably just rabble-rousers.” He turned around and ran after the others.

“C’mon!” Fred yelled, taking charge. “I got Ginny. George, you get Hermione.”

“I can take care of myself,” both girls protested.

“Don’t argue,” George said. “Harry, Ron, keep up.” He grabbed Hermione by the arm and pulled her along towards the trees.

Hermione took another look around and said, “Oh no, where’s Dobby? Dobby?”

 _Pop!_ “Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione!” he said, running as fast as his little legs would carry him to try to keep up.

“Dobby, quick, get on my back,” she said.

The elf did as she said at once, climbing up to her shoulders. “Miss Hermione, there is being Death Eaters!” he said. “Followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!”

“Oh, bugger, _that_ _’s_ who they are?” George said. “We gotta move!”

A growing crowd of wizards was trying to confront the marchers, and things were getting ugly. The marchers began shooting curses, whilst the Ministry wizards were trying to make sure the muggles weren’t hurt. Once they hit in the woods it became much harder to see. All that was visible seemed to be dark shadows blundering through the trees, interspersed with bright flashes from stray curses behind them.

“Miss Hermione!” Dobby squeaked from her shoulders. “Dobby shoulds gets you out of here!”

“What? How?” she said.

“Side-Along Apparition, Miss.”

“Side-Along Apparition? What’s that?”

“It’s where you apparate and take someone along with you,” George said. “It’s only supposed to be for emergencies.”

“But there’s an Anti-Apparition Ward—no, wait you’re an elf. But wait, you can do that? You never mentioned it.”

“It is being Old Elf Lore, Miss. Dobby shoulds be getting yous out of here.”

“No, Dobby, I can’t leave my friends—”

Suddenly, there was a thunderous boom behind them, and the forest was filled with a sickly green light.

“Dobby is sorry! It is being too dangerous!”

“No, Dobby, wait—!”

_POP!_

After the fact, Hermione reflected on this experience and appreciated the fact that she felt like she had been pulled through a real, live wormhole, but in the moment, all she could think about was the world turning black and the feeling of being squeezed so tightly that for a fraction of a second she was certain she was being crushed to death.

And then it was over. She gasped a lungful of air and fell with a thud to the Burrow’s living room floor.

And Mrs. Weasley screamed.

“George!” the Weasley Matriarch cried after her initial shriek of horror. “What happened? All your hands went to Mortal Peril!”

George wasn’t listening to his mother. “What the hell?” he shouted. “We’re home? How?”

Hermione was down on all fours with her eyes squeezed shut, trying not to throw up. She couldn’t understand how wizards could Apparate on a regular basis if that’s what it felt like. She only looked up when she heard a scuffle. George was trying to throttle Dobby.

“Why did you do that?” he yelled. “We had to stick together. Take me back. Take me back!”

“George, no!” Hermione stumbled into him, forcing him to drop Dobby.

“George! Hermione! What happened?” Mrs. Weasley.

“Why did you let him take us?” George shouted at Hermione.

“I couldn’t stop him!” she cried. “My parents ordered him to keep me safe, and their orders take priority.”

“George, please!” Mrs. Weasley pleaded.

George crumpled and gave his mother an anguished look: “Mum…Death Eaters attacked the camp.”

Mrs. Weasley screamed again and fell back on the sofa. For a moment it looked like she’d fainted, but after a moment, Hermione realised she was staring up at the Weasleys’ nine-handed family clock. Mrs. Weasley’s and George’s hands pointed to Home. The other seven all pointed to Mortal Peril. “What about the others?” she asked weakly.

“F-F-Fred had Ginny,” George stammered. “They and Ron and Harry ran into the forest. We were with them—”

“My p-parents ordered Dobby to keep me out of danger, so he pulled me out, and George because he was touching me,” Hermione explained shakily.

“The others were…were helping the Ministry people.”

“Ohhhhh…” Mrs. Weasley moaned. The horror of Death Eaters attacking her family seemed to have overridden the shock of a house elf performing Side-Along Apparition. “Please come home, Arthur—all of you.”

“I need to go back,” George asserted.

“Absolutely not!” his mother snapped back to attention.

“Mum, everybody else is still out there. _Fred_ _’s_ out there—”

“And you’re not going back into that.”

“They won’t know we’re there—”

“No, George,” Hermione interrupted. “She’s right, it’s no good if you just put yourself in danger again.”

“But—”

“Just a moment. Maybe Dobby can help.”

Dobby stood there, wringing his hands as the three stared at him. “Please be pardoning Dobby, Miss Hermione, but I must goes. Your parents orders Dobby to tell them if you is in danger.”

 _No,_ Hermione thought. _No, he can_ _’t._ It was one thing to pull _her_ out, but she was not going to let his orders to keep her safe hurt the safety of anyone else. Hermione was glad she had memorised Dobby’s new orders word for word. She could play the loophole game as well as he could.

“Dobby, wait!” she said. “Your orders said, and I quote, “If Hermione _is_ in a dangerous environment, you will tell us as soon as possible so long as your presence is not needed there to protect her.” But I’m not in a dangerous environment _now_. I _was_ in one a few minutes ago, but now that I’m out, the order doesn’t apply anymore.”

Dobby straightened up and got a grin on his face. He didn’t like being forced to the sidelines any more than she did. “Miss Hermione is very crafty. How can Dobby help?”

“Okay, first off, keep yourself safe. Stay hidden or keep to a safe distance if it gets dangerous. I want you to go back and try to find Harry—I’m sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but he’s the Boy-Who-Lived; he’s the biggest target. If he’s still in danger, bring him back here, and if you can, bring any of our group who are with him. If the danger’s passed, come back here, and take us to him.”

“What?” Mrs. Weasley started.

“Only if the danger’s passed to my parents’ standards, ma’am. We need to go back. They’ll be worried about us, and our stuff’s still there anyway. Can you do all that, Dobby?”

“Yes, miss, Dobby will do it.” He saluted her and vanished with a _Pop!_

Mrs. Weasley’s hands were shaking. She stayed on the sofa, muttering to herself worriedly. George sat down next to her, and she grabbed onto his hand like a lifeline.

George himself didn’t look much better. “Fred and I have never faced anything apart,” he said sorrowfully. “He’s in Merlin knows what trouble, and he probably doesn’t even know what happened to me.”

Hermione sat on his other side and awkwardly patted his shoulder. “They’ll be okay,” she tried to assure him (and herself). “Fred’s resourceful. Ron can do strategy. Harry can cast a Patronus. And Ginny knows more hexes than anyone her age should be allowed to.” That got a weak chuckle out of him.

There was a chime, and all three of them looked up breathlessly at the clock. Fred’s, Ron’s, and Ginny’s hands all swung around from Mortal Peril to Lost. Mr. Weasley’s, Bill’s, Charlie’s, and Percy’s were still stuck on Mortal Peril.

“Well…at least _they_ _’re_ out of danger,” Hermione said awkwardly. “See? What did I tell you?”

George visibly relaxed, though certainly not completely. “Well…that’s half the problem solved, then,” he said, trying to smile.

Mrs. Weasley was still too worried to speak, though from the look of it, she was no longer in danger of crushing George’s hand. Hermione kept rubbing his shoulder, not really sure what to do.

“They’ll be okay, too, Mum,” George said after a minute. “You know how brilliant Bill, Charlie, and Percy are, and Dad’s no slouch either.”

“Uh huh,” Hermione agreed. “I just hope Sirius is alright, too,” she muttered to herself. She didn’t want to think about what would happen to Harry if anything happened to Sirius.

It took another couple minutes for Mrs. Weasley to stir again. When she did, her hands were still shaking. “Oh, my nerves,” she said. “I’m too old for this business.” But even as she said it, a determined look crept over her face, and she stood up. “Come on, I can at least get you two some tea. I feel like I need to do _something_.” She stood up from the sofa, hesitated, then lifted the rather heavy clock off its spot on the wall and carried it to the kitchen. (Hermione was surprised that it looked like it used a spring-driven escapement instead of a pendulum. It seemed just a little too modern for wizards.) She grunted from the weight. “Merlin’s beard,” she continued muttering, “I don’t think I’ve moved this thing since…well, since the war…not much need to, I suppose.” She set it down on the kitchen table with a thud and began fumbling with the teakettle.

“Let me help with that,” George and Hermione said in unison, reaching out and grabbing the kettle at the same time.

“Oh!” Mrs. Weasley jumped, laying a hand on her chest. “Excuse me, Hermione. For a moment, you two sounded like…”

 _Like Fred and George_ was the obvious implication. Hermione wasn’t sure whether to be pleased about that or offended to be lumped in with those troublemakers.

George forced a laugh. “Watch out, Mum. There’s no telling what could happen with three of us.”

That was enough to get a weak laugh out of both Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. The Twins were good to have around like that. “Oh, Merlin help us all,” Mrs. Weasley said.

As she relaxed a little more, though still brooding and spending most of her time staring at her clock, George and Hermione got the tea ready, and Hermione tried her best to make conversation in hushed tones. “Bloody hell, Death Eaters now?” she muttered in frustration. “What is wrong with this country?”

“Yeah, I dunno,” George said. “We’ve had a nasty three years around here, haven’t we?”

“Mm hmm,” she lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “I’m getting a little worried. I don’t normally put stock in divination, but everyone seemed so serious about that prophecy Professor Trelawney made. Did I tell you about that?”

“Not the whole thing.”

“Oh, well…” she glanced at Mrs. Weasley. “I’ll tell you and Fred later, but she predicted some Death Eater would find…You-Know-Who and try to bring him back.”

“Yikes,” George hissed. “You don’t think that…?”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t smell right. Why not declare himself to the world if he is? But the servant _could_ be behind the riot.”

“That sounds bad,” he agreed.

“Yeah, I know. I do hope your family’s alright.”

“I know.” George spoke a little louder, for his mum’s benefit: “I’m…sure they’re fine. I mean, the whole Ministry’s there. Even if those were real Death Eaters, they’re way outnumbered.”

Hermione frowned: “Then why attack there at all?”

“Dunno. Make a statement, maybe? Or maybe they’ve just been drinking. That’d be even better for us.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes and drank their tea, trying not to think of all the things that could have gone wrong back at the campground.

“George?” Hermione said.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for looking out for me back there.”

He gave her a half smile. “No problem,” he said. “I don’t know what we’ll do without you this fall.”

“Oh, I know. Who’s gonna keep you two out of trouble?”

“Hah. _That_ _’s_ a lost cause, Miss Goody Two-Shoes.” She shot him an annoyed look. “But still, you’re a Goody Two-Shoes who’s improbably fun to have around.”

While not strictly accurate (she was enough of a bad girl to get grounded this summer, after all), that was enough to make Hermione laugh loudly, much to Mrs. Weasley’s bewilderment.

Suddenly, the clock chimed again, and all conversation stopped. Mr. Weasley’s, Bill’s, Charlie’s, and Percy’s hands all shifted from Mortal Peril to Travelling, which was where they were supposed to be. The three in the kitchen breathed a sigh of relief, but then, Fred’s, Ron’s, and Ginny’s hands bounced to Mortal Peril again. Yet they only stayed there a few seconds before they also shifted to Travelling.

“What the bloody hell—”

“George!”

“Sorry, Mum. What was that?”

“Could’ve been anything…” Hermione said. She didn’t really know how the clock worked. How did it _know_ there was Mortal Peril? Was it based on the Weasleys’ own beliefs? That seemed like it would be easiest, but it would miss things if they were unconscious. Maybe it detected that a Death Eater passed by her friends as he made a getaway? Whatever it was, it was quick.

With a pop, Dobby reappeared, making them jump.

“Dobby! What happened?” Hermione said worriedly.

“Harry Potter is safe, Miss Hermione,” the elf said, to her relief. “And so is all the Wheezys. All the Death Eaters is gone.”

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Thank you, Dobby,” Hermione said. “Can you take George and me back there?”

“Yes, miss, Dobby can, but just to be warning you, there is being trouble with Mr. Barty Grouchy.”

George burst out laughing.

“George,” Hermione scolded. “He’s had a hard night. You can’t blame him if he’s having trouble with names.”

“Don’t care. I’m totally using that on Percy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Weasley,” she said. “We’ll come back with the others on the Portkey. Don’t worry. If Dobby says it’s safe, I’m sure it is.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed and didn’t look like she wanted to let George go, but she just said, “Do be careful, dears.”

“Please be holding tight,” Dobby said. Hermione and George took his hands. Hermione braced herself, but it didn’t make the feeling of being squeezed through a one-dimensional tube much more pleasant. When they landed, Dobby immediately dropped to his knees, panting. They were just outside a clearing in the woods where a large group of wizards were gathered.

“Get some rest, Dobby,” Hermione said softly. “I can see why that’s for emergencies only.”

They stepped into the clearing, and they saw Amos Diggory interrogating someone they couldn’t see. “What did you see, elf?” he demanded. “Who was it?”

A squeaky voice replied, “I is seeing—” and Hermione realised it was the voice of Mr. Crouch’s house elf, Winky. “I is seeing—I is seeing—” she repeated oddly, as if she were unable to talk about what exactly she saw.

“FREEZE!” The wizards saw Hermione and George, and a dozen of them pointed their wands at them. The pair did just that. But as everyone turned and looked, certain members of the crowd recognised them.

“Hermione!”

“George!”

“Harry!”

“Fred!”

Most of the wizards—Hermione could tell by their robes that they were Aurors—lowered their wands as the group welcomed them again. Hermione was relieved to see Sirius standing unharmed by Harry as well.

But then, in a blink, Barty Crouch was towering over them in a seeming rage. “You two!” he roared. “Did _you_ conjure the Dark Mark?” He pointed at the sky.

“What—” Hermione looked up and gasped as she saw a horrible sight—one she had only seen in books: a vivid green cloud in the shape of a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth—Voldemort’s mark.

“Well, did you?” Mr. Crouch demanded.

“What? No! I’m a muggle-born,” Hermione said. “And he’s a Weasley. We’d never do that!”

“It’s true,” Mr. Weasley spoke up.

“I think, unfortunately, our perpetrator had escaped,” Mr. Diggory said, pulling Mr. Crouch back.

Mr. Crouch grumbled, but he said, “I fear you are right, Amos. As for _you_ —” He turned and glared at the elf who was lying on the ground. “Winky, I ordered you not to wander off.”

“But Mr. Crouch, I is seeing—here! Here!”

“That’s enough, Winky. I will not tolerate a servant who cannot follow orders.”

“But Mr. Crouch, Winky was trying to help—” the elf continued.

“Be quiet. I ordered you not to leave the camp, and you disobeyed me. _This means clothes_!”

Winky shrieked in horror at a frequency that would have given dogs fits and prostrated herself, clutching at his shoes. “No, master! Not clothes! Please, not clothes!”

Hermione was horrified at this display. She hadn’t seen what led up to it, but she got the gist. It was an eye-opener, though. She had never imagined that a “normal” elf would react this badly to being given clothes. “Mr. Crouch, you can’t do that!” she spoke up. “The camp was on fire and being trampled. She could’ve been killed back there. You couldn’t force her to stay there.”

“I have no use for a servant who disobeys me,” Mr. Crouch said coldly. In a shocking move for such a formal man, he ripped his tie from around his neck and threw it over top of Winky, who sobbed all the louder. “An elf who forgets her place is no elf at all.”

The Ministry officials dispersed after that, leaving Winky crying on the ground. Mr. Weasley corralled the group. “Come on, all of you,” he said. They turned to go, but Hermione lagged behind, staring at the poor elf. “Hermione, come on,” he repeated.

“J-just a moment,” she stammered. She stepped forward without a word, took off her snakeskin coat, wrapped Winky up in it, and carried her away, cradling her like a little child. Winky was crying too hard to notice at first, but her sobs subsided at the motion, and she stared up into Hermione’s face. She didn’t speak, apparently too shocked that anyone would show her any kindness given her present estate.

“Bringing the elf?” Mr. Weasley asked.

“Do you have a problem with that?” Hermione said sharply.

“No, no, of course not,” he said, holding up his hand. “I just don’t know what you can do with her.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“So what happened?” George asked as they caught up with the group.

“What happened to us? What happened to _you_?” Fred demanded. “One minute you were there, and the next you disappeared.”

“Sorry. That was my fault,” Hermione said. “My parents ordered Dobby to keep me safe, so he transported us back to the Burrow.”

That shocked the others. “Elves can do that?” Harry said.

“Blimey, you mean Mum knows about this?” Ron asked worriedly.

“She would’ve known from the clock, anyway,” George said. “Now seriously, what happened?”

“Well, we ran into Malfoy Junior,” Fred started.

“He was a real berk,” Ron added. “He wanted to know where the…” He turned red and trailed off.

“Where the mudblood was,” Harry said softly.

“Oh,” Hermione said.

“Ron about smacked him in the gob,” Ginny said. “We were already worried about you. But we kept going. And then that skull thing appeared.”

“Did anyone die?” Hermione asked fearfully.

“Not that we know of,” Sirius said. “It’s odd.”

“We heard the man that did it,” Harry continued. “He was right there by that clearing. But they didn’t catch him. The Aurors thought _we_ did it for a minute, but Sirius and Mr. Weasley talked them down.”

By the time they got back to the tent, things had calmed down, but Bill, Charlie, and Percy all looked pretty beat up. Hermione nearly hexed Percy when she explained about Winky, and he took Mr. Crouch’s side. The few encounters she’d had with the man all suggested to her that Barty Crouch was a thoroughly unpleasant human being.

In any case, the muggle family, the Robertses, were all safe, but the Death Eaters or whoever they were had all got away, scared off by the Dark Mark. Of course, that didn’t prove much. They might have been mere troublemakers who were terrified that real Death Eaters showed up, or they might have been real Death Eaters who were afraid that their master would be angry that they disowned him to stay out of Azkaban. It was the Dark Mark that puzzled everyone. Why was it cast? And by whom?

“Look, will someone just explain why the skull thing was a bigger deal than people trashing the camp and hexing muggles?” Ron demanded pragmatically.

“It was You-Know-Who’s symbol, Ron,” Mr. Weasley said quietly. “It hasn’t been seen in thirteen years. It was almost like seeing You-Know-Who himself in the flesh again.”

“But why?”

_“Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,” said Mr. Weasley. “The terror it inspired…you have no idea, you’re too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you’re about to find inside…” Mr. Weasley winced. “Everyone’s worst fear…the very worst…”_

Hermione shuddered at the image. She couldn’t help imagining it now—seeing the Dark Mark floating over her own house, finding her parents lying lifeless inside. It might _be_ worse than seeing Voldemort himself, because you knew you were already too late. She couldn’t imagine much that was worse—maybe dementors, but dementors trumped just about everything.

“So what do we do, then?” Harry asked worriedly.

“Just keep a watchful eye out, Pup,” Sirius tried to comfort him. “That’s all we can do.”

With the camp secure, they were able to stay back in the tents and try to get a few hours of sleep before catching the first available Portkey out in the morning, but there was one thing Hermione had to do first. Luckily, she had brought a little bit of parchment with her in case she wanted to do some maths on the trip. She took out a piece and began to write a letter.

* * *

A precious few hours of sleep later, Mr. Weasley packed up the tents with magic, and they loaded up to leave. But Hermione had her work to finish. After she finally passed out from exhaustion, Winky had slept like the dead on the floor of the girls’ tent. This morning, she stood weary, stooped, and downtrodden, wandering aimlessly around the campsite and moaning to herself softly. Hermione thought she seemed disturbingly like Moaning Myrtle, but hopefully she could change that.

“Winky, come here, please,” she said. Winky slowly wandered over to her. She crouched down in front of the elf and said, “I want to help you, Winky.”

“Winky does not deserve help,” she said and sniffed loudly. “Winky is a bad elf.”

“No, you’re not,” Hermione insisted. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I think Mr. Crouch was completely out of line. I think you’re a perfectly acceptable elf. Now, listen.” She held up the envelope. “This is a letter to Professor Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Do you know who he is?”

Winky’s eyes grew very large, and she nodded silently.

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go to Hogwarts, go to the kitchens, and ask for Sonya. Tell her you have a letter for Professor Dumbledore from Hermione Granger and ask her to deliver it. It tells all about your situation and asks him to bind you to the school. I don’t know if he’ll be able to pay the transfer tax to do it properly, but I know he’ll at least let you work in the castle.”

Winky stared at her in awe: “M-M-Miss Hermione Granger is h-helping Winky g-gets a new p-position?”

“Yes I am. I can’t stand to see an elf hurt like that.”

“Y-you is m-most kind, Miss…Winky will do what you ask.” Winky seemed to summon up her energy and vanished into thin air, taking the letter with her.

They packed up and took down the girls’ tent, and then the whole group went to work on the big one.

“Phew, that was some night,” Fred and George said in unison.

“Tell me about it,” Hermione said.

“At least we got our money,” Fred suggested. “That’ll be a big help for our, er, _work_.”

“Well, there is that.” Hermione reached into her handbag to pull out the small bag of gold that Bagman had given her last night. But suddenly, something felt wrong about it. She opened it up and gasped. The galleons had turned from gold to a dull bronze colour, and they began to crumble to dust in her hands. On the faces, a picture of a little bearded man was pointing and laughing hysterically at her. “This—this is leprechaun gold!” she yelled.

“What!” the Twins yelled. They quickly found their own bag of gold, and sure enough, all that was inside was disintegrating leprechaun gold. “That cheat!” they yelled.

“We need to do something about this, George,” Fred said firmly.

“Agreed, my brother. It’s one thing if we go all in, but that’s straight up robbery.”

“Now please don’t anything rash,” Hermione urged them.

“Don’t worry, ickle Hermionekins,” George said with a grin. “We can be subtle.”

“When we want to be,” Fred added.

“I reckon we’ll start by just writing him and go from there.”

“Oh. That’s alright, then. I can’t believe I let myself get conned,” she griped.

“It’s not your fault. Even Dad bought in,” Fred said. “I reckon he thought he was good for whatever he had to pay out.”

“Not with that book, he wasn’t,” she said. “Fifteen to one, honestly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” George assured her. “We’re all in this together. But no time now. We need to get home before Mum goes spare.”

They were just about to leave the camp when Hermione heard a voice calling her name. She looked up and saw a familiar face.

“Septima!” she called, running over to where the Vector family was passing by.

“Oh, Hermione, thank Merlin! I was so worried,” Septima said. “I couldn’t get any word.”

“I’m fine,” Hermione assured her. “The Weasleys looked after me. What about you? Are you all okay?”

“Yes, we’re fine. We were farther from the front of the camp, where the trouble started. We had plenty of time to get away. Of course, we’re not too happy about these events—”

“Yes, Death Eaters again,” Gaius said. He was keeping a tight grip on little Georgina’s hand. “I can’t believe after all these years…Well, Georgina might prefer Hogwarts, but if any more incidents like this happen, we may send her to Beauxbatons after all at Christmas.” The little girl sniffed worriedly.

“It’ll be okay, Georgina,” Hermione said. “If you have to come, at least you’ll have one friend there already.”

“You’ll be my friend?” she said hopefully.

“Of course I will. If we wind up going to a new school in a new country together, we’ll have to stick together, right.”

Georgina smiled and hugged her. “Thank you, Hermione,” she said.

When they finally got back to the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley ran out to meet the group in hysterics, still frantic over not hearing any news about their condition. Mr. Weasley and Percy were called into the Ministry right away to deal with the fallout. Meanwhile, the rest of the family de-stressed. Harry, Sirius, and the rest of the Weasley children went out for a game of four-a-side Quidditch. Hermione sat safe on the ground on the front porch and studied some abstract algebra—that was, until she remembered something important that made her smack herself in the forehead, and she ran out to the paddock.

“Ginny!” she called out.

Ginny swooped down on her broom and hovered beside her. “Hey, Hermione, what’s up?”

“Ginny, where does Luna live?”

“Over that ridge,” she pointed. “Can’t miss it. Her house looks like a giant chess piece. Why?”

“She and her dad were at the World Cup, remember? We need to make sure she’s okay.”

“Oh, bugger, we forgot all about her. I’ll come with you.”

“Oi, Ginny! Now we’re one short,” Ron complained.

“I’ll come with you,” Harry said after a moment’s hesitation.

Ginny looked up in surprise to see Harry descending to join them. “Really, Harry?” she said.

“Sure. That way, it’ll be even for them. And besides, I don’t think I’ve really met Luna properly yet.”

“I’m not sure there _is_ a proper way to meet Luna,” Ginny joked.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll like her, Harry,” Hermione said. “Granted, she’ll drive you out of your mind, but she’s so adorable while she’s doing it.”

Both girls giggled at Harry’s bewilderment as they walked over the ridge to the house that the Weasleys called the Rookery. The Lovegoods’ house did, indeed, look like a giant rook, and it was surrounded by strangeness. Magical kites flew suspended in the air and tied to a cable that led to one of the windows. Beside the front door stood something that the adjacent sign called a dirigible plum tree, which Hermione had never heard of, but which grew plums that floated up from little vines in a way that made them look oddly like radishes. On the other side of the door were chalk drawings of creatures that looked a little like pixies, but not quite…hanging from dirigible plums. The door itself had a knocker shaped like an eagle that was identical to the one at the entrance to Ravenclaw Tower, except that it didn’t ask a riddle. Ginny knocked it loudly three times and waited.

A minute later, Luna Lovegood opened the door. “Hello, Hermione. Ginny…And hello, Harry Potter. What a surprise,” she said with a smile. Beneath her long, blond locks she appeared to be wearing a pair of earrings made out of, once again, dirigible plums.

“Hi, Luna,” Hermione said. “We wanted to make sure you were okay after last night.”

“Ah, that’s very thoughtful of you. We’re both fine, although I was worried about Dad for a while. He was reporting on everything. But he says the best thing about running a non-traditional publication is that people usually don’t pay much attention to you when you’re sneaking about.”

Well, _that_ was certainly putting a positive spin on things.

“Would you like to come in?”

They agreed and entered the house. The place looked stranger on the inside than the outside. The entire ground floor was the kitchen, where all of the cabinets and even the sink and stove had been custom-made to fit the curvature of the walls and were painted with flowers, birds, and insects in bright colours. A wrought-iron spiral staircase stood right in the middle of the room, which led up to what would have been a living room if it hadn’t been hopelessly cluttered with books, papers, and enchanted miniatures of probably-non-existent creatures, and dominated by a large, old-fashioned printing press. A man with shoulder-length white hair was sitting at a writing desk beside the press, scribbling frantically.

“Hello, Dad,” Luna called loudly. “Ginny’s here. And these are my other friends, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.”

“That’s nice, Moonbeam,” her father said without looking up.

“Don’t mind Dad,” she said. “He’s been writing stories all morning. Enough things happened last night to fill a special edition.”

Luna’s father was the editor of the Quibbler, which, though Hermione wouldn’t say it, was basically a supermarket tabloid. Hermione was sure Mr. Lovegood would come up with some…unique explanations for the attack on the campsite.

“Would you like some gurdyroot tea?” Luna asked.

“Oka—”

“ _No_ ,” Ginny interrupted. “Er, something a little more traditional, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’ll go start it.” She hopped on the railing and slid back down the stairs.

Harry and Hermione gave Ginny an inquisitive look. “If you don’t recognise the name, it’s best to avoid it in this place,” she whispered. “Trust me.”

The three of them sat in awkward silence broken only by the scratching of Mr. Lovegood’s quill. He seemed completely oblivious to them. A couple minutes later, Luna returned carrying a tea tray.

“So where did you go when the Death Eaters came, Luna?” asked Harry.

“Oh, hello, Ginny, when did you get here?” Mr. Lovegood spun around and was staring at the group intently.

“Just now, Mr. Lovegood,” she said.

“Ah. It’s good to see you, then, especially after all the trouble. Moonbeam, who is this boy?” he said sharply.

Ginny and Hermione giggled at Harry’s expense again. Oblivious as he was, Mr. Lovegood was still the father of a thirteen-year-old girl and apparently had been alerted at once by another male voice in the room.

“This is Harry Potter, Dad. He’s a friend of Ginny’s,” Luna said as serenely as ever.

Mr. Lovegood’s eyes fell on Harry’s scar, and his mouth dropped open comically in surprise.

“Into the woods,” Luna said.

“Huh?” Harry asked.

“Where I went when the Death Eaters came,” she answered his question without missing a beat. “I met some very nice Scandinavian girls who helped me find my way through. Oh, and Dad, this is my other friend, Hermione Granger. The Arithmancer.” Hermione wasn’t sure why she heard capital letters.

“Oh? Oh!” Mr. Lovegood turned to see her as he was shaking Harry’s hand. He immediately shook her hand just as eagerly. “My Luna’s told me about you, Miss Granger. An extraordinarily unfiltered mind in the area of mathematics. The subconscious mind has an incredible ability to perform calculations very quickly, but most of us have such strong barriers between the conscious and the subconscious that we can’t access that power, and it takes years of practice to overcome. But you, Miss Granger, seem to have successfully removed those barriers at an early age and unlocked your full potential. Oh, I wonder if you might allow me to perform a few magical scans.” He grew more and more excited as he pointed to a strange headdress on one of the workbenches. “They might prove invaluable to my efforts to recreate the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, which was said to allow one’s thoughts to flow from conscious to subconscious and back unhindered so as to unlock the maximum intelligence and creativity of one’s mind.”

Ginny gave Mr. Lovegood a patronising smile. “They both have a lot of wild theories like that,” she said quietly. “Can’t make head or tail of half of them.”

“Actually,” Hermione said, looking up at the tall man in surprise, “I understood every word of that, and it was basically right.”

Ginny’s jaw practically hit the floor. She looked like she might faint. Hermione was pretty well shocked, too. It might be a first for her encounters with either of the Lovegoods, but she completely believed it. She had read quite a bit about the so-called “savant syndrome” because she seemed to possess the same natural talent that many savants did for lightning-fast calculation, though thankfully without the intellectual disability. Admittedly, it was something she had had to learn and practice much more than the typical savant. In any case, savants could have amazing untaught talents for both analytic skills like arithmetic and creative skills like painting, and while there was precious little research on the subject, it seemed like a big driver was that they had access to the enormous wealth of sensory and analytical information that the human brain normally filtered out from the conscious mind. She hadn’t heard of the Lost Diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw, but a magical device that could unblock those filters could be incredibly powerful.

“I think I’d like to try those scans, Mr. Lovegood,” she said.

“Ah, excellent, excellent,” he said with a wide smile. “Now, sit here—” He cleared a space on the workbench and began waving his wand around Hermione’s head. “—and tell me what is four thousand, nine hundred twenty-seven multiplied but seven thousand, four hundred twenty-nine?”

“Thirty-six million…six hundred two thousand…six hundred eighty-three,” she replied.

Mr. Lovegood asked her progressively harder maths questions, up to and including multivariable calculus and some examples of Arithmancy problems like modifying spells, not stopping until he had reached the limits of her abilities, which took some time. And yet, Hermione was smiling. After the terror of last night, it felt refreshing.

Luna, Harry, and Ginny spent the time discussing the match, but Luna seemed more interested in the fight between the leprechauns and the veela, and she also had her own bizarre theories about the match such as that the Irish Seeker, Aidan Lynch, was suffering from something called Loser’s Lurgy.

“It was really obvious the second time he crashed, since he dove first, didn’t even get the Snitch, and still failed to pull up,” she reasoned.

“Or his brain was still addled from the first crash,” Harry countered.

“Well, I suppose that’s possible.”

Ginny giggled: “Luna, I think if you ever commented a match at school, it would be hilarious.”

Luna frowned in thought. “I don’t know how much people would approve,” she said. “Most people always seem so focused on the score.”

“Um, that _is_ why most of the people are _there_ ,” Harry said uncomfortably.

“Oh, I know. It’s just that most people take too little time to really notice the world around them.” She leaned in a whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t think any of my roommates can even see the nargles.”

“Well said, Luna,” Mr. Lovegood said as he placed his strange headdress with ear trumpets and propellers on Hermione’s head.

“ _Nargles_?” Harry mouthed to Ginny.

“ _Don_ _’t ask_ ,” she mouthed back

“That is what I hope I will be able to fix with this helmet,” Mr. Lovegood continued. “The difficulty is that while the wrackspurt syphons remove sources of distraction from the thinker’s immediate area, in doing so, they narrow one’s focus, making it harder to take in a full view of the world. There, now, my dear, are you feeling any less encumbered, more creative—a more open mind, perhaps?”

“Can you see any nargles?” Luna asked.

“Um, not really, Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione said. And she thought she must look very silly, besides. Ginny and Harry were trying not to laugh. “And what do nargles actually look like, Luna?”

“Like this—oh, where is it…here.”

She handed her a sketch of a strange creature. It looked superficially like a Cornish pixie, but it had sea-green wings, four arms instead of two, and from the sketch of flowers around it, it was only about an inch high. It was a very nice sketch, worthy of any field guide. Hermione made a genuine effort to look around her surrounding for anything like it, but she saw nothing. “No, I don’t see anything like that,” she said.

“Well, they _are_ very hard to see,” Luna replied. “It’s easiest around midnight on the equinoxes, but you have to surprise them.”

“…Right…Did you draw this, Luna? It’s really nice.”

“Oh, yes, thank you. I’ve been practising for Care of Magical Creatures class this year.”

“I’ll be in that,” Ginny said. “And Arithmancy.”

“That’s nice. It’s too bad you have to leave, Hermione. I tested into fourth year Ancient Runes. We could have been in the same class.”

“I know, but at least you’ll have Ron in that class. He could definitely use some open-mindedness,” Hermione said. Ginny laughed that that. “And actually, Mr. Lovegood,” Hermione continued, “the way I became so good at maths was by memorising a whole bunch of useful arithmetic, so I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask about creative skills.”

“Oh, I think you’re more creative than you think, Miss Granger. And I think I’ve gained some useful notes either way,” he said as he took some more scans. “Thank you for humouring me.”

* * *

“I think I understand what you mean about her driving me out of my mind,” Harry said as they walked back to the Burrow. “My head’s still spinning—nargles and Loser’s Lurgy and all that.”

“Luna really _is_ a good friend, though, Harry,” Hermione said. “She tries to look out for me, and I try to look out for her. I was hoping the rest of you could do that for me since I won’t be there…But you’re right. I can only take her in small doses.”

“I try to just roll with it,” Ginny offered. “I think I built up a tolerance to her when I was little. Ron’s not gonna know what hit him in class, though.”

Back at the Burrow, Hermione had to pack up to go home. She would have liked to stay longer, but she was leaving for France tomorrow to get her supplies and get settled in with the language before the term started, so she didn’t have a lot of time to socialise. She did, however, have just enough time to discover that Bill played chess just about as well as Ron and had a very different playing style. After he beat her, she suggested playing another game by mail, which he accepted. She was determined to keep up a regular correspondence with her friends while she was away anyway, and if she was lucky, she might get some interesting tidbits on cursebreaking out of it, too.

She’d thought her parents wouldn’t know anything about the attack when she finally Flooed back to the Leaky Cauldron, but she’d forgotten about the fact that everybody in the pub would be talking about it. As a result, her mother was nearly frantic by the time she got there.

“Hermione,” Emma Granger said, hugging her. “They’re saying there was an attack or something last night. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mum,” she insisted. “Dobby got me out right away.” _Faster than I wanted him to,_ she added silently.

“But what happened out there?” Dan Granger asked.

“What, you mean the attack or overall?”

Hermione’s parents exchanged a concerned look. “Did something _else_ happen while you were there?” her father asked.

“Oh, nothing big. I found out wizards have absolutely no common sense when it comes to memory charms. I won about six hundred pounds in a bet, but the bookie wasn’t good for it, but Harry bought me a magical video camera that’s worth that much by itself. And I helped an elf who had been unfairly freed find a new home.”

“Oh, Hermione,” her mother said. “And you wonder why we don’t want you staying in this country.”

“No, I understand, Mum,” she said sadly. “At this point, I’m starting to wonder why I want to stay.”


	64. Chapter 64

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling possède Harry Potter.
> 
> Feel free to correct my French. I mostly used Google Translate, and I remember so little from high school that I can’t make any guarantees.
> 
> Also, italics written in English with quotation marks should be presumed still to be in French. It’s easier that way.

“Good luck this year, Harry,” Remus Lupin said as he and Sirius saw Harry off on the Hogwarts Express. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thanks, Remus.”

“And don’t skive off just because Hermione isn’t around.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? It’s not like I never study when she’s not around.”

“You gotta admit,” Sirius said with a chuckle, “she’s one who keeps you and your friends motivated. But listen, Pup,” he lowered his voice. “If you were anyone but Harry Potter, I’d say maybe Hermione’s parents have the right idea getting her out of there. You remember that prophecy of Trelawney’s?” Harry nodded. “And your dream last week?”

“Sirius, that was nothing—”

“Dumbledore doesn’t think so. And there have been other strange rumours floating around. He’s reading the signs. That’s why he called Mad-Eye out of retirement. I want you to tell Dumbledore if your scar starts hurting again.”

“But—”

“I mean it. If your scar hurts like it did last week, tell Dumbledore. Got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. Now, try not to worry too much. Dumbledore’s handling things. Just be careful. We want you to have fun this year. I think you’ll have more of it than usual.” He winked. “And try to find yourself a girlfriend, too.”

Harry blushed as the image of Cho Chang appeared in his mind. “Right. Thanks, Sirius. I’ll see you two at Christmas. And try not to starve without my cooking.”

Sirius laughed. “Never would’ve thought you’d be a better cook than both of us. ‘Bout the only good those muggles did to you. We’ll miss you, Pup.”

Harry boarded the train and a little while later was joined by Ron and Ginny, but it all felt off-kilter without Hermione. There was definitely something missing.

“So, d’you reckon we should get a compartment?” Ron said.

“I dunno…” Ginny said awkwardly. “Actually, I think we should try to find Luna.”

“Luna? Why?”

“Because Hermione was her best friend at Hogwarts. With her gone, we’re all she has left. She’s really not popular, unfortunately.”

Harry could see that. Hermione had a knack for befriending oddballs like house elves and Moaning Myrtle, and Luna was as odd as they came. He felt a little sorry for the Ravenclaw. He remembered being friendless, too. “Yeah, we should probably go check on her,” he agreed.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ron said reluctantly.

They searched up and down the train until they found Luna, but to their surprise, she wasn’t alone. She was having a pleasant chat with Neville Longbottom about the World Cup—or rather, Luna was having a pleasant chat. Neville was listening patiently, but looked utterly bewildered by her wild ideas. When the trio entered the compartment, he mouthed, “Help me.”

“Hi, Luna,” Ginny said loudly.

“Oh, hello, Ginny, Ron, Harry,” Luna answered. “I was just telling Neville about how the nefarious vampire activity in the Auror Corps hampered the investigation into the riot at the World Cup.”

Harry sighed: “I think whoever conjured the Dark Mark did that, Luna.”

“Well, maybe.”

After they talked for a few minutes, Neville had settled in enough to try to talk to Luna again. He _did_ find her interesting. He just needed an interruption in her bizarre stream of consciousness once in a while. “Luna, I was wondering if you could tell me more about that n-n-mnemonic stuff,” he said. “I think I was so behind in potions last year that it didn’t help much.”

“Well, personally I try to pair up ingredients that rhyme on the interaction tables…” Luna launched into a surprisingly coherent explanation of her memory techniques that everyone present appreciated much more than her conspiracy theories.

* * *

After the Hogwarts Express began running in 1845, it was so successful that the French Ministry decided to copy the idea, and so _L_ _’Express de Beauxbatons_ was born. The engine was sky blue instead of crimson red, but the train was otherwise very similar. On this train, however, was one lost-looking English girl trying to find a good seat among several hundred French students.

Hermione Granger came upon a compartment that had just two girls in it. She remembered how the first compartment she had sat in during her very first trip to Hogwarts had held Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, both good, if not close friends, and she decided to give this one a try. _“Ça vous dérange si je m’assois avec vous?”_ she asked the girls.

 _“Non, assieds-toi, s’il te plaît,”_ one of the girls said.

 _“Es-tu anglaise?”_ the other asked. Hermione’s accent was fairly obvious.

 _“Oui. J’ai transféré cette année,”_ Hermione replied. _“Je m’appelle Hermione Granger.”_

For the first time in quite a while, Hermione got no reaction to her name. She was becoming well known in scholarly circles, but not to the level of being widely recognised overseas. The girls introduced themselves as Hildegard Trefle-Piques, a fourth-year girl with her hair cut in a bob and a general look about her that would have fit in well in the 1920s in the muggle world, and Theodrada Roland, a third-year who, despite her name, looked more Italian than French and even bore the stereotypical tendency to gesticulation. Hermione was quickly drawn into a long explanation of what was going on with her when Hildegard asked, _“Why did you transfer? Was it the attack on the World Cup?”_

 _“No, I was going to before that,”_ Hermione replied. _“Were you there?”_

_“Yes, it was so frightening—tents burning, explosions going off—we had to run for the trees and not look back.”_

_“I was there, too. We did the same thing.”_ She didn’t mention Dobby absconding with her. _“But no, although that might have been enough for my parents by itself, with Voldemort’s supporters showing themselves again.”_ Hermione was pleased to see that the French girls didn’t flinch. The fact that Voldemort was a French name might have had something to do with it. _“I’m muggle-born, you see. But I transferred because I’ve nearly been killed four times at Hogwarts in three years.”_

At that, the French girls gasped and of course demanded she explain.

_“Well, I hate to admit it, but I think a big part of the reason is that I’m friends with Harry Potter.”_

This set off squeals of amazement. _“Harry Potter?”_ Theodrada said. _“_ The _Harry Potter?_ _”_

 _“Yes,_ the _Harry Potter, but honestly, he_ _’s not the big celebrity everyone thinks he is,”_ Hermione said.

This was going to be a long day.

It took several hours before Hermione could adequately explain to the French girls everything that had gone wrong over the past three years. The story got derailed several times when she said something they considered unbelievable. Mentioning spellcrafting led to several minutes of doing arithmancy problems in her head to prove that, yes, she really was that good at the subject. They had insisted the entire story about the basilisk was made up until she produced her snakeskin coat from her trunk. (It would’ve been nicer to be able to say it was the one Harry had killed, but they still thought it was a beautiful coat.) And, of course, she had to demonstrate her Patronus Charm to get them to believe that she could cast it. She noticed that her Patronus looked weaker than before and didn’t take corporeal form—probably a combination of being out of practice and not being in a very good mood today. She resolved to start practising it nightly again, just in case she ever needed it.

By the time they got to Baton Vert Station, the stop for Beauxbatons, Hildegard and Theodrada were duly impressed by Hermione’s skills and were happy to introduce her to their friends. It felt a little cheap, making friends this way, just by impressing them with her prowess, but she honestly hadn’t been trying to. It wasn’t her fault that her life story sounded ridiculous without extraordinary evidence. In the meantime, Hermione _did_ manage to learn some basic information about the school (albeit which Hermione mostly already knew from books), and Hildegard offered to Hermione to join her and her roommate, Adèle, as their new roommate, which Hermione went ahead and accepted because she didn’t know anyone else in her year any better.

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was a beautiful place. It was built in the twelfth century, but it had been heavily renovated in the seventeenth century in a sort of “keeping up with the Joneses’ competition with the Monarchy. Instead of the plain windows of Hogwarts, the Great Hall was lined with stained glass windows. Instead of bare stone, the main corridors were gilded in Baroque fashion. Even the uniforms were made of light blue silk instead of the heavy black wool of Hogwarts uniforms. Hermione felt like a lady-in-waiting for some princess of the _Ancien R_ _égime_ in this place.

Beauxbatons had no houses. The dorms were segregated by year, and the Great Hall wasn’t officially segregated along any lines. Instead of four long tables down the length of the Hall, there were fourteen rows of two tables each going cross-wise, each table seating twenty. The first years were directed to the tables closest to the teachers for tonight, but the rest of the students were free to choose any seat they wanted, though they tended to sort themselves into cliques by year and particular interests. It was so different from Hogwarts that at times, Hermione felt like she was back at her muggle secondary school again.

Madame Maxime, the Headmistress, was an enormous woman who looked to be the same height as Hagrid. She’d never thought about it much, but Hermione realised both of them must be partly non-human, probably giant. She wondered if they had ever met, or were even related. After the Welcome Feast, Madame Maxime stood, towering over the rest of the staff, and announced that the Triward Tournament would be taking place at Hogwarts this year. She herself would be at Hogwarts for most of the year as part of the festivities, and any student over the age of seventeen who wished to enter would go with her. She would teach those students personally throughout the year in what amounted to an independent study. A number of seventh years sounded interested. At the next table over, Hermione noted an exceptionally pretty girl with silver-blond hair being encouraged by her friends to enter.

It had been a long day, and by the end of the feast, Hermione was definitely ready to sleep. With no houses, at Beauxbatons, the boys and girls of each year each had a block of twenty rooms, mostly doubles, some triples, which were more like a muggle boarding school than the round rooms of four to eight beds at Hogwarts. Each block was overseen by a different teacher, who stayed with the same group of students for all seven years. The fourth year girls were overseen by Madame de Cotte, the Potions Mistress, who was far nicer than Professor Snape. She had introduced herself to Hermione before the feast and was pleased to learn that she had already selected her roommates. By the time she, Hildegard, and Adèle went to bed, their room had been converted from a double to a triple, and Dobby had moved Hermione’s things in personally. (It had been a surprisingly simple procedure to transfer his subcontract to Beauxbatons.) He had even unpacked them and stowed the in the dresser and closet just the way she liked them. That elf deserved all the praise she could give him.

* * *

“Vector, Georgina,” Professor McGonagall said.

The black-haired girl walked resolutely to the stool, and the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. Many of the students were watching with particular interest since she shared a name with one of the teachers.

 _I want to go into Slytherin, like Auntie Septima,_ Georgina thought.

“Slytherin, eh?” the Hat murmured in her ear. “Cunning enough, I suppose. Ambitious? Not yet, but the potential is there if you pursue it. It won’t be an easy path. Especially with the recent trouble. You may need a dose of Gryffindor courage to do it. Or perhaps you would have a readier mind for Ravenclaw.”

_I still want to go with Slytherin, Mr. Hat._

“Very well, then. SLYTHERIN!”

Professor Vector applauded loudly, as did many of the Slytherins. As usual, the rest of the Hall offered only polite applause.

“Isn’t that the girl Hermione was talking to at the World Cup?” Ron asked.

“Uh huh. She’s Professor Vector’s grand-niece,” Harry confirmed.

“‘S too bad. Would’ve been nice to have her in Gryffindor.”

“Maybe she’s not that bad,” Ginny offered. “Hermione’s a good judge of character.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “It’s like she said first year. Professor Vector was a Slytherin, and she’s alright.”

“Well, maybe,” Ron conceded.

* * *

The next morning, Madame de Cotte pulled Hermione aside after breakfast for a conference with Madame Maxime and Monsieur Oppenord, the Arithmancy teacher, since they had never actually dealt with the issue of her placement.

 _“Mademoiselle Granger,”_ Madame Maxime said. _“Allow me to welcome to Beauxbatons personally. How are you finding it?”_

 _“It’s…very beautiful, Madame,”_ Hermione replied. _“It just takes some getting used to.”_

_“Yes. I can understand. It must be a difficult transition. Now, all of your teachers at Hogwarts wrote very highly about you. However, Monsieur Oppenord has informed me of a slight complication with your Arithmancy instruction.”_

Monsieur Oppenord stepped forward and addressed her. He was a good deal older than Septima, a chubby man with a short, grey beard. He didn’t look particularly remarkable as a teacher, more passive and stoic than Septima, perhaps, but time would tell. _“Mademoiselle Granger,”_ he said, _“I understand you have passed the British O.W.L. qualification in Arithmancy that is normally taken in the fifth year. However, our philosophy is slightly different in France. Our qualifying exam is taken in the sixth year, and it is not equivalent to the British qualification.”_

 _“How so, Monsieur,”_ Hermione asked.

_“We believe in setting a little bit slower pace than the British curriculum for the main track of students. By the time of the N.M.O. qualifying exam, our students are expected to know similar material for the British O.W.L. plus a firmer foundation in polynomials, rational equations, and trigonometry. Then, with this firmer foundation, we believe we can set a more challenging pace for the seventh-year N.M.A. qualification beginning with functions and limits up through calculus. Technically, your O.W.L. qualification is only sufficient to test into the sixth-year class.”_

Hermione bristled at once. It wasn’t hard to see where the two curricula lined up relative to each other. Putting her in the sixth-year class was effectively asking her to step back half a year in her studies.

 _“However,”_ Monsieur Oppenord continued, _“Your extraordinary score on O.W.L. qualification suggests that you could do well in my seventh year class. Also, I have received a letter from your Hogwarts teacher, Septima Vector, informing me that anyone attempting to hold you back in your studies would, and I quote,_ ‘live to regret it, possibly in a way that involves a hex you can’t reverse because she made it up on the spot,’ _and in light of that recommendation, I would like to offer the opportunity to join my seventh-year Arithmancy class if you wish, so long as you maintain your marks._ _”_

Hermione smiled at once. Leave it to Septima to write a letter like that. She could be very blunt for a Slytherin. The choice was no contest. _“I’ll take the seventh-year class, Monsieur,”_ she said. _“I’m familiar with all of the maths parts of the curriculum. I don’t anticipate any problems.”_

_“Very well. Your first class with me will be on Monday.”_

Madame Maxime filled out a few empty spaces on a form. _“Mademoiselle Granger, here is your completed schedule_ ,” she said, handing over the parchment.

_“Thank you, Madame. By the way, Monsieur, how much do you know about linear algebra?”_

Monsieur Oppenord twitched a little when he heard the question. _“I’m afraid I never advanced that far, Mademoiselle Granger,”_ he said. _“Why do you ask?”_

 _“Just my independent study. It’s not important, Monsieur.” I’ll just keep working with Septima by letter,_ she thought.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Oh my God, you should_ _’ve seen it! Okay, picture this: Draco Malfoy, The Amazing Bouncing Ferret!_

_The new Defence teacher, Mad-Eye Moody: he_ _’s basically the best Auror ever. Malfoy got in an argument with Harry, and he tried to hex Harry in the back, but Moody saw it, so he turned Malfoy into this great white ferret and started bouncing him up and down with his wand! It was hilarious! McGonagall was really ticked, but Malfoy hasn’t been mean to any of us since. Moody’s the best. He really knows what it’s like to be out there fighting dark wizards. We can’t wait till we have him in class._

_Moody_ _’s kind of paranoid though. He was late to the Welcome Feast because he enchanted his rubbish bins to attack anyone who came on his property, and they got a couple of muggle policemen. Our Dad had to sort it out for him—G+R. The Daily Prophet ran an article on it—another one by that stupid Rita Skeeter. She couldn’t even get Dad’s name right!_

_Hagrid_ _’s got some new creatures this year. He calls them Blast-Ended Skrewts. Nobody here’s ever heard of them—not even Luna, which is downright scary when you think about it. Have you heard of them? They’re ugly buggers. They’re about a foot long, now, but Hagrid says they’re just babies. Yikes! Seriously, they look like two back ends of a scorpion stuck together. You can’t tell the back end from the front, and it doesn’t matter because they bite, sting,_ _ and _ _shoot fire out of both ends._

_People are saying Snape isn_ _’t taking as many points from Gryffindor this year. We’re not sure we believe it, but he only took five from Seamus for being late to class. It was kind of weird._

_Arithmancy looks like it_ _’s going to be a lot cooler this year with the spell detection and reversal stuff—H. Talking to Bill, I think it might be cool to be a cursebreaker and get to use that stuff._

_It was hard for me—G. I think I get what Professor Vector meant about muggle-borns being better prepared for the maths. I_ _’d only known about the algebra stuff from you doing it._

_There was a huge storm here when the train got to school, and Peeves made it worse by throwing water balloons at people. He was in a real fuss for some reason. We hear he trashed the kitchens, too._

_Oh, and there_ _’s big news! Guess what: Colin Creevey has a brother—a tiny, hyper kid named Dennis. He’s in Gryffindor too. We’re in trouble now. He was bad enough when there was only one of him._

_That_ _’s not the big news, Harry. Honestly. They’re having the Triwizard Tourament here this year! That’s what our whole family kept hinting at and being annoying about it—R+G. It was supposed to be a really big deal in the old days. Of course, you probably know all about it now. We guess they would’ve announced it at Beauxbatons, too. It’s pretty cool, though, right? And there’s a thousand galleon prize if you win! Too bad you have to be 17—R._

_Yes, it_ _’d be cool to win, but I get in enough trouble already—H. I’m more annoyed that they cancelled Quidditch for it. What’s up with that? Can’t they run two tournaments at the same time?_

_We were squeezing bubotuber pus in Herbology yesterday. We hope you had a better first day that we did._

_We_ _’re sorry you’re stuck away from here this year, especially now that you have to miss the Tournament. We already miss you here. What’s Beauxbatons like? Does it have the same classes? Tell us about your roommates. Do they have houses there? Are the teachers alright? Have you made some new friends?_

_Okay, okay, Ginny, you can ask her more questions later—R._

_Good luck down there. We_ _’d say we’ll see you at Christmas, but it sounds like there might be something going on for the Tournament then, so we’ll keep you posted._

_Your friends,_

_Harry, Ron, and Ginny_

_P.S. Georgina Vector_ _’s in Slytherin, but don’t worry; she’s not associating with Malfoy so far._

* * *

_Dear Harry, Ron, and Ginny,_

_Well, to take it chronologically, the weather in France was much nicer on the way here. It_ _’s really warm here. The castle is in the Pyrénées, although its exact location is hidden, of course. I met a girl named Hildegard Trefle-Piques on the train and decided to share a room with her and her roommate, Adèle Lamarque. Beauxbatons doesn’t have houses. Each year has a block of boys’ and girls’ rooms with two or three to a room and an assigned teacher. They’ve both been nice so far—more down to Earth than Lavendar and Parvati. Don’t tell them I said that, though. What do you want to know about them?_

_Beauxbatons is sort of like a weird combination of Gothic and Baroque architecture. There_ _’s some very interesting history behind it that, let’s face it, you probably don’t care about. But underneath the trappings, it’s actually set up a little more like a muggle boarding school. I’m not sure if that’s just because it’s newer or for some other reason. We don’t call the teachers Professor, either—just Monsieur and Madame._

_I_ _’ve already had Potions, History, and Charms. The Potions teacher is actually nice, and the History teacher is actually interesting! That’s a refreshing change. Unfortunately, the Charms teacher just isn’t as good as Professor Flitwick._

_I don_ _’t have Arithmancy until Monday, but I got into the_ _ seventh _ _-year class because the qualifying exams are different in France than in Britain. I_ _’m not convinced the seventh-year exam here is as good as a N.E.W.T., though._

_Mad-Eye Moody sounds kind of scary. If he_ _’s that paranoid, he could really hurt someone. He could’ve really hurt Malfoy, for that matter. But you’re right, I wish I could’ve seen Draco Malfoy The Amazing Bouncing Ferret. That must have been amazing. I hope he learnt his lesson for once._

_I_ _’ve never heard of Blast-Ended Skrewts, and nothing I could find quickly in the library here mentioned them. Ask Luna to sketch one for me. Maybe that’ll help. They sound like one of Hagrid’s more dangerous selections. Be careful around them._

_Ginny, I_ _’m sure you’ll do fine at Arithmancy once you get some practice in at it. Harry, detection and reversal are fun, but just wait until next year when you can make your own spells._

_Okay, I have a confession to make: I already knew about the Triwizard Tournament. Septima mentioned it when her family was explaining what they were doing about Georgina at the World Cup. I didn_ _’t tell you because she asked me to keep it a secret. I suppose it would be interesting to see it, but I agree with Harry: you’d be better off staying out of it. Anything that includes the words “cancelled because the body count got too high” you should really stay away from, at least until they get the bugs worked out of it. That’s really unfair about Quidditch, though, especially since only one person from each school can compete in the Tournament, and it’s only three tasks._

_I miss all of you, too, but I_ _’m getting by. Could one of you do me a favour, though? Go down to the kitchens and look for Winky—Barty Crouch’s former elf, remember? I sent her to Hogwarts, but I don’t know what happened to her after that, so just check if she’s there and if Dumbledore bound her to the school properly and if she’s okay. Thanks._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Ginny,_

_I think you should read up on the Triwizard Tournament, particularly with regard to Christmas._

_Hermione_

* * *

On Monday, Hermione was excited, and a little more nervous than usual. She was sure she knew enough arithmancy to keep up in this class, but skipping a couple of major units was a disadvantage she hadn’t had to deal with since she skipped a year in primary school when she was nine.

She got to Monsieur Oppenord’s classroom early, and as they came in, the seventh-year students looked surprised to see a fourth-year sitting there in the front row. Several of them asked her what she was doing there, to which she calmly replied that she was there for the class. One girl in particular, however, the one who had been particularly talking about entering the Tournament, looked Hermione up and down suspiciously. Now that she saw her up close, Hermione could see that there was something different about her. Her skin was fair and flawless, her hair silver-blond and waist length, her eyes deep blue and sharp, her figure—well, Hermione had a decent idea of what the average teenage boy was interested in, and this girl had it, seemingly perfectly accentuated by her uniform. Combining that with the way the boys were disproportionately leering at her, she realised she must be a veela—or at least part veela.

 _“Excuse me,”_ the girl said, _“are you lost, little girl? This is the seventh-year class.”_

 _Little girl?_ Hermione had a good idea why she wasn’t inclined to like _this_ veela. _“I know that,”_ she said. _“And I’m almost fifteen, Mademoiselle…?”_

_“Delacour. Fleur Delacour.”_

_“Pleased to meet you, Fleur Delacour. My name is Hermione Granger. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”_

Fleur Delacour’s eyebrows rose a fraction. Hermione had guessed that Monsieur Oppenord had mentioned her in class in the past three years. She may not be famous to the public, but word got around amongst arithmancers. _“‘Ermione Granger? You are the prodigy who is at Hogwarts, no?”_ she asked.

_“Yes, I was. But my parents decided staying at Hogwarts was hazardous to my health, you know, after fighting a troll, a basilisk, and a horde of dementors.”_

That was a bridge too far for her. _“No, but you are lying, of course. No little girl could survive all that.”_

 _“Well, I wasn’t alone for any of those, but I was there, Mademoiselle Delacour,”_ Hermione said indignantly. _“And if you doubt my arithmancy skills, just wait and watch.”_

There was no getting around that one. With the gauntlet thoroughly thrown down, Fleur said, _“We will see, Mademoiselle Granger.”_

Hermione was in gear after that encounter. It wasn’t the scepticism that got to her—that was perfectly healthy with claims like hers. It was the attitude. Fleur was so sure she was right that she dismissed Hermione out of hand. That was what really made Hermione want to show her up.

Hermione was saddened to find that Monsieur Oppenord was not as good a teacher as Septima—though admittedly, Septima was hard to beat, the way she had always gone the extra mile for Hermione for the past three years. He was less engaging and dynamic and more of a plain lecturer. But even so, he gave Hermione opportunities to shine by reviewing the trigonometry-based arithmancy the seventh-years had learnt last year. As soon as she solved one difficult problem in her head, most of the class started looking at her with different eyes. Two, and even Fleur was reappraising her. And when Hermione was the first in the class to find the counter to an obscure jinx Monsieur Oppenord gave them, her reputation was pretty well cemented, even if she just barely beat Fleur by about two seconds. To be sure, she was being challenged more than in Septima’s class, by virtue of having skipped ahead a few months, but her speed of computation had always been a big advantage.

Then, to her surprise, Monsieur Oppenord took a different tack towards the end of the class: _“Since this is the advanced class, we will also be studying the rudiments of experimental spellcrafting, that is, direct manipulation of magical energy. This is, of course, a more hazardous technique. It is better to do your maths first, but this is not always possible. I want to do a very simple demonstration to show the kinds of techniques this involves, and for this, you will need to partner up.”_

Hermione turned to a boy named Michel, who hadn’t said too much in the class, but seemed bright enough.

 _“For this experiment, one of you will cast a_ Lumos _Charm. Normally, with experimental spellcrafting you will separate the individual magical fields of a spell, which, as you should know, are loosely derived from the terms of the arithmantic expansion of the spell. However, the_ Lumos _Charm has only a single magical field—the sphere, so we will be seeing what happens when this field is pulled apart. We will use this because, unlike many spells, it is not a moving target._

 _“Magical fields may be physically manipulated by your wand by attaching them to it with an appropriate incantation. Here, the incantation is_ Adheré _, although you should be able to get it non-verbally pretty quickly._ _”_

Non-verbal magic! Hermione had forgotten that sixth and seventh years studied non-verbal spells in many of their classes. She was definitely behind on that, but there wasn’t much she could do but practice.

 _“When you attach the spell to your wand, you will be able to pull and stretch the magical field with it,”_ Monsieur Oppenord continued. _“Pull it far enough, and it will snap, releasing the energy stored within it. You should make sure your wand is not pointed at yourself or anyone else when you do this.”_

Oh, _that_ was reassuring.

 _“I want each of you to try the spell to get an introduction to how the method works,”_ he said.

 _“Would you like to try the spell first, Hermione?”_ Michel asked.

 _“Oh, I suppose so,”_ she said halfheartedly.

Michel cast “ _Lumos_ ,” producing a sphere of light at the end of his wand, being careful to angle it up and away from him. Hermione uneasily moved the tip of her own wand into the sphere of light and, with a dry throat, spoke, “ _Adher_ _é_.”

At once, the light was stuck to her wand. When she moved the tip away, the spherical glow stretched into an oblong ellipsoid, growing longer and thinner, the farther she pulled. She could feel the tension in the magic, like a magnet, trying to pull itself back into a spherical shape. She soon found that her hand was wobbling. She had trouble moving it steadily.

 _CRACK!_ One of the teams pulled their wands apart until the magical field snapped in two and disintegrated. The energy was released from the caster’s wand in a stream of sparks, causing Hermione to flinch.

 _“Are you okay?”_ Michel asked. _“You look uncomfortable.”_

 _“It’s nothing,”_ Hermione said. _“It’s just that I’m more of the theorist than an experimentalist. I haven’t done anything like this before…and, er…I have a friend whose mother died in a spellcrafting experiment gone wrong.”_

 _“Oh no,”_ Michel said as more spells snapped around them. _“I’m sorry about that. If you’re not comfortable—”_

 _“No, I’m fine. I just need to get a grip.”_ And she literally did. She got a tighter grip on her wand and yanked it away against the tension. When the spell was stretched like a rope, it snapped with a loud crack, leaving Michel’s wand sparking like a live wire. It wasn’t much, but presumably, further work in that area would be more interesting.

Despite her uneasiness with experimental work, Fleur seemed reasonably chastised by Hermione’s show of skill. Once the crowd dispersed after class, she looked her in the eye and said, if a little stiffly, _“I think I must apologise, Mademoiselle Granger. I had not believed that your skills were so advanced. That was…impressive work. I was at the top of the class last year, and yet you are even faster. How do you do it?”_

 _“Years of practice,”_ Hermione said. _“And…thank you, Fleur.”_

_“You are welcome…‘Ermione. Sometime, you must tell me more about the rest of your claimed exploits.”_

_“Oh, well I suppose I can.”_ She was doing quite a lot of that already, so it made little difference. Anyway, maybe it wasn’t exactly amicable, and there was definitely a hint of jealousy there, but at least they had some mutual respect, so Hermione thought that was a good start.

* * *

Ron didn’t know what to expect in his first Ancient Runes class of the new year. Luna Lovegood was in the class now, and Hermione wasn’t. There was no telling what could happen.

“I do enjoy runes very much,” Luna explained as they waited for Professor Babbling to arrive. “Mum wrote all the rune puzzles for _The Quibbler_ , and we always liked playing with them together.”

“Huh. Our Mum made us all learn French just in case there was another war, and we had to run,” Ron said. “Hermione says learning a second language early makes you better at stuff like runes. I really didn’t want to take the class, but I actually really like it. It’s cool how you can make all kinds of stuff happen automatically if you string the right runes together.”

“It’s very convenient, isn’t it?” Luna agreed. “I’m hoping that with the right runes, I can build an automatic nargle trap. It’s very tricky to trap nargles, you know. They can slip out of almost anything, and the like to cause more trouble if you try to confine them. But as much mischief as they cause, it could be very useful.”

“Um…sure, Luna. Good luck with that,” Ron said. Fortunately, he was saved by Professor Babbling’s entrance.

“Welcome back to the Study of Ancient Runes,” Professor Babbling said eagerly. “I think most of you will find this year more exciting than last year. Now that you all have a good understanding of the Futhark symbols, their properties, and the basic mechanics of linking runes, we will be able to expand more into rune networks, although it will be some time before we reach the point where they are complex enough to be of practical use. We will also be exploring the relationship between runes, the medium in which they are written, and energy they are able to store and deliver. Mr. Weasley, I believe you have some practical experience with that?”

Ron smiled as he recounted the runes he had used to temporarily hold the werewolf Professor Lupin last spring. That was always a great story to impress. However, he was not quite as enthusiastic when Babbling set the class calculating things like energy storage, power, durability, self-discharge rate, and so on. That maths was much more Hermione’s thing. There was a reason he hadn’t take Arithmancy.

Apparently, in addition to the language-type aspects, which was what Ron most enjoyed, there was a lot more to working with runes, like what they were carved in or written on and what they were carved or marked with. The stronger and more durable the material was, the more energy the runes could store, and the longer they would last. So runes carved in stone were more powerful than those carved in wood, which were more powerful than those written in ink on paper, which were more powerful than chalk, which could be wiped away with a swipe of one’s hand as so wasn’t very useful in practice. On the other hand, chalk markings couldn’t store enough energy to blow up in your face, so it was good for testing them.

That much Ron could follow pretty well, but the different properties and capabilities of the half dozen different kinds of common building stone alone were dizzying, and he didn’t have Hermione to help him out this year. For a lot of purposes, it wasn’t that big a deal, but if you wanted to control exactly how a rune network worked, you had to account for the materials, the exact shapes of the runes, and a bunch of other stuff.

Well, nothing else for it. He’d have to buckle down and do it—that or figure out how to translate Luna-speak into English, and that might be just as hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adheré: based on the Latin and French for “to stick to.”


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter in countries including, but not limited to, the United Kingdom, France, and wherever it is that Durmstrang is.

_“Say, Hildegard_ ,” Hermione asked her roommate once she was settled in with her classes.

_“Oui, Hermione?”_

_“How do I get to the kitchens here?”_

_“The kitchens? Er, I think you can go down the stairs to the left of the Grand Staircase, double back past the storage rooms for all the old, medieval furniture, and then curtsy to the portrait of the Comte de Saint Germain to get in. Why do you ask? Do you fancy a snack?”_

_“Actually, I wanted to meet the house elves.”_

_“The house elves?”_ Hildegard said in surprise. _“Why would you want to talk to them?”_

_“Well, I was good friends with the elves at Hogwarts. Plus I want to see how Dobby’s settling in.”_

That got Adèle’s attention as well. _“You’re friends with house elves?”_ she asked incredulously. _“And who’s Dobby?”_

_“He’s an elf who I managed to liberate from a really abusive master. He’s my at-will employee now, and I subcontracted his services to the school.”_

Both of Hermione’s roommates stared at her with their mouths agape.

_“I thought I mentioned that before.”_

They shook their heads. _“You…you’re friends with elves…and you hired a free elf?”_ Hildegard said. _“Is this some new trend in England we haven’t heard about?”_

 _“No. Or if it is, I started it, and it hasn’t really taken off yet,”_ Hermione replied. _“It’s just that I’m muggle-born, and I have some major issues with slavery. Anyway, I’m going to go see him. You girls want to come along?”_

The two of them regarded her sceptically. _“Oh, why not?”_ Adèle said. _“But honestly, Hermione, I’ve lost track of all the weird stuff you get up to. I don’t know how your old friends kept up with you.”_

_“Oh, trust me, Adèle; with Harry around, he’s usually setting the pace.”_

Hildegard was correct about how to get to the kitchens, and Hermione resolved to pace out the path later. She was already making a map of Beauxbatons, larger than her personal map of Hogwarts, and laid out on nice parchment instead of graph paper. She hoped she might be able to enchant it later. They reached the kitchens, and the portrait of the Comte de Saint Germain opened to let them inside.

The Beauxbatons kitchens looked a lot like the Hogwarts kitchens—a replica of the Great Hall in the middle surrounded by the cabinets, stoves, sinks, and cookware, with dozens of elves going about their business. One green-eyed elf, the only one in proper clothes, ran over to her.

“Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione!” Dobby cried. “It is being good to see you.”

“You too, Dobby. These are my roommates, Hildegard and Adèle. _Hildegard, Ad_ _èle, c’est Dobby_.”

 _“Er, pleased to meet you, Dobby,”_ the girls said uneasily, having never met a free elf before.

“How have you been doing, Dobby?” Hermione asked.

“Dobby is well, miss. The French elves has heard of Dobby from elves traded from England. Some of them is suspicious of Dobby, but it is being no worse than at Hogwarts.”

“Well, that’s good to hear, I guess.”

“Please come, Miss Hermione,” the elf squeaked. “Dobby will introduce you to the French elves.”

Hermione had a pleasant time getting to know some of the French elves, although her roommates didn’t seem very interested. It wasn’t quite like it was at Hogwarts. None of the elves here instantly latched onto her like Sonya had, but they were nice enough, as all elves are. The one unpleasant bit was when she learnt that the French elves were not interested in Dobby’s cooking advice.

 _“Please be pardoning us, Miss,”_ one of the elves said when she pressed the issue, _“but English food is not being liked so much in France.”_

_“Well, it doesn’t have to be English food. Dobby can do Indian pretty well. Do you know how to make curry? Or even something like Italian. I’m sure you’ve heard of pizza?”_

In retrospect, Hermione decided she probably should have been a little clearer with her advice. Beauxbatons was in for an _interesting_ dinner that Saturday.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_People say Professor Moody is really cool because he_ _’s actually been out there fighting dark wizards, but his first lesson was kind of creepy. He taught all the fourth years about the Unforgivable Curses, and then he did all three of them to a spider. First, he did the Imperius Curse and made it dance around the room. It was funny at first, but then he said Death Eaters used to use it to make people do all sorts of horrible things. Then he did the Cruciatus Curse, and it just started writhing and squeaking. Then he did the Killing Curse, and it dropped dead, just like that._

_He also said I was the only person ever to survive the Killing Curse—H. Like we said, it was really creepy. Neville really freaked out about the Cruciatus Curse. We don_ _’t know what that was about, but do you remember Sirius and Barty Crouch arguing about Neville’s parents at the World Cup? I think it has to do with that. I’m going to write Sirius and ask him._

_The other weird part was how he kept yelling_ _“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” all through the lesson. He says that’s how he’s stayed alive so long, and it’s the only way to really protect yourself from dark wizards. He’s probably going to get in trouble for showing us those curses, but he says we need to know what we’re up against._

_Moody and Snape look like they have some kind of feud going. Moody keeps making snide remarks about Snape, and Snape gets nasty again when anyone mentions him. He wasn_ _’t so bad at first._

_We have good news and bad news about Winky. The good news is that she_ _’s here, and Dumbledore paid the tariff and bound her to the school. I guess they have to do that with the regular elves all the time, so there’s a fund or something. The bad news is that she’s taken being fired by Crouch really hard. She still thinks she’s a bad elf, and she’s started drinking, so we think she’s probably not okay. The other elves don’t respect her very much because she was freed. But there is one good thing: they’re talking nicer about you. They still think you’re weird for paying Dobby, but they liked how you tried to help Winky by getting her a new position._

_How was Arithmancy class? Was it much different from Hogwarts? Did you clean up in there, too?_

_Your friends,_

_Harry, Ron, and Ginny_

_P.S. Sonya says hi._

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_We bet the others already told you about most of the stuff that_ _’s going on here. We just wanted to update you on what’s up with us. We have good news and bad news. The good news is that Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes is still in business. We had enough merchandise to start selling some around here and make a bit of money. And we’ve got the you-know-which room as a safe place to make more—we hope you don’t mind._

_The bad news is there_ _’s still nothing from Bagman. When we calmed down, we wrote him a letter. We didn’t accuse him of anything—_ _ yet _ _. We just politely suggested that he might_ _’ve given us Leprechaun Gold by mistake, and he really needs to pay up to all three of us. But we haven’t heard anything back from him. It’s starting to look suspicious (which it is), so we’re going to start looking at other options before long._

_Not to worry, though, we have a backup plan—or a bit of a backup plan. Dumbledore isn_ _’t the one who picks the Champion for the Tournament. Some impartial judge does. So we figure we just have to convince him we’re seventeen, and we can get in the running for the Tournament. We were thinking maybe an Ageing Potion will do the trick. If we can get one of us in the Tournament, we’ll have a shot at winning double what Bagman owes us._

_Anyway, we hope you_ _’re doing well down in France. It’s not the same without you here, but we’re getting by._

_Sincerely,_

_Fred and George_

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_This is a little awkward. What happened to Neville_ _’s parents is really his story to tell, but I guess you might as well know, since it’s public record anyway, just not widely publicised. I’ll ask you to keep it to yourself and your close friends, though, and especially not bring it up around Neville._

_When your parents were killed and Voldemort fell, Neville_ _’s parents were also in hiding. After a little while, they thought it was safe to come out, but then they were attacked by three of the absolute worst Death Eaters—even worse than the Malfoys: the Lestranges. Unfortunately, Bellatrix Lestrange is my cousin and Mrs. Malfoy’s sister. I told you I came from a dark family. The Lestranges thought the Longbottoms knew something about what happened to Voldemort, and they tortured them with the Cruciatus Curse to make them give it up. But of course, they didn’t know anything. No one did. So they just kept torturing them until they went insane. Neville’s parents have been in permanent care at St. Mungo’s Hospital ever since. The Lestranges were caught and sent to Azkaban—I had to listen to Bellatrix screaming all the time. Barty Crouch Jr was caught with them, but no one was really sure if he was part of it or not. His father sent him to Azkaban anyway, and he died within a year._

_Remember, just try to keep this quiet, Pup. That was really in poor taste for Mad-Eye to do that. I get his point, but he should have been nicer about it—and about the Killing Curse, try not to let it bother you. There_ _’s no need to worry there, anyway. You’re safe at Hogwarts with Dumbledore around._

_Sirius_

_P.S. When the visiting students get there, watch out for the Durmstrang Headmaster, Karkaroff. He was a Death Eater who sold out his comrades to get out of Azkaban, and he might still have an axe to grind._

* * *

_Dear Harry, Ron, and Ginny,_

_Professor Moody is starting to sound like a really disturbing teacher. Maybe he_ _’s good at teaching, but after the thing with Malfoy and now the Unforgivable Curses, I’m not so sure he_ _ should _ _be teaching._

_That_ _’s too bad about Winky. I don’t know if there’s any way to help her about that. It sounds like depression or something. Do try to help her if you get the chance, but I don’t really know where to start. Dobby says working for the school will either help or it won’t, whatever that means. I’m not sure I want to know._

_Tell Sonya and Tilly hello for me. Tell them I miss talking to them. I_ _’ve made friends with the French elves, but we don’t see eye to eye as much._

_Arithmancy is okay. It_ _’s a little harder with the seventh-year class, and M. Oppenord isn’t as good a teacher as Septima, but I’m still doing well. There’s one girl in the class named Fleur whom you’ll probably see at Hogwarts for the Tournament. She’s pretty good at it. In fact, at the class work, she’s almost as good as I am. Also, I’ve been asking around, and I found out she’s a quarter veela, so try to keep your heads around her, boys—especially you, Ron._

_We started studying experimental spellcrafting in class. It_ _’s interesting, but it’s really not what I’m used to. I’m still holding off judgement to see where it goes._

_Good luck dealing with Moody and Snape and all the rest._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Fred and George,_

_Have you gone mental?! Please don_ _’t try to enter yourselves in the Tournament. You could get in big trouble with Dumbledore and/or the Ministry, and more importantly, I reiterate that you should stay far away from anything that includes the words, “cancelled because the body count got too high.”_

_And besides, this judge who_ _’s coming in could easily just look up your birthday in the school records._

_That said, thank you for including me in trying to go after Bagman since I can_ _’t really do it from here. Twelve galleons isn’t_ _ that _ _big a deal, but I appreciate it. I_ _’m glad to hear you’re not completely out of business either. I won’t bother trying to tell you not to sell your things at school, but please try to be responsible about it._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_So there_ _’s a part veela in your class? Why didn’t you tell us sooner? Do you think you can get any beauty tips from her? Like, is it a spell that makes their skin shine and their hair blow on its own, or is it just natural magic? Does she have the best style in school, too? Do you think if you asked her to look us up when she comes for the Tournament, she would? Sorry to go all fangirly on you, but seriously, how often do you get a chance to meet a veela in this country?_

_Write back soon,_

_Lav and Parv_

* * *

“Hey, Harry, what’s up?” Ginny called when she saw her friend staring wistfully out the window.

“Huh? Uh, hi, Ginny,” Harry said sheepishly when he saw her. “I was just, er, thinking.”

“Arithmancy?” She pointed down at the homework in front of him.

“Oh, yeah. Ugh, I’m rubbish at geometry.”

“Well, I’m rubbish with algebra, so we’re even.”

“The algebra’s not that bad. I could give you a hand, if you like.”

Ginny coughed and sputtered in surprise for a moment, but she quickly collected herself. “Yeah, that’d be great,” she said. “Sorry I can’t help you with yours.”

“It’s fine, Ginny,” Harry assured her. “I mean, I’m not Hermione, so I can’t make any promises…” he trailed off, lost in thought.

“Yeah, I miss her, too,” Ginny said. “It’s not the same without her.”

“Mm hmm.” He made to pick up his books and go with her, but he got distracted looking out the window again. This time, Ginny saw which direction he was looking: the Quidditch pitch.

“It’s so unfair there’s no Quidditch this year,” she said, guessing his thoughts.

“I know. No practice, no games, no flying at all to do this year. It’s like it’s something else that’s missing.”

“Well, there’s no reason you can’t go out for a fly on your own,” she suggested.

“Oh?”

“Well, why not? It’s not like the pitch is closed or anything. Anyone can go out there any time. And besides, you need to stay in practice for next year.”

“Huh…you’re right. We should go out and fly sometime.”

“We?”

Harry laughed: “You’re the reserve Seeker, remember?”

“Right. Okay, then,” Ginny agreed. “Let’s go out there this evening. I just need to get my Arithmancy out of the way first.”

* * *

_“So we had just got out of the tunnel when those maudit détraqueurs came onto the grounds and attacked us. Of course, they wanted Sirius, but they tried to Kiss all of us. Harry and I cast our Patronuses, and we just barely held them off long enough for Professor Dumbledore to come and help.”_

_“You must be joking, ‘Ermione,”_ Fleur said. With her great skill at Arithmancy, the seventh-year had asked Hermione to join her study group. For Hermione, it was a bit trying at first, but she made an effort to get to know the older girl because she was in a new country and wanted to make friends, and besides, hadn’t she made an effort to get to know people who were different from her, like elves and ghosts? To her surprise, Fleur grew more tolerable with continued exposure, although right now, she was still being trying. _“Two third year students casting Patronuses? I cannot believe it. Even I struggle with that charm.”_

 _“It’s true, Fleur,”_ Hermione said. _“I do_ not _joke about les d_ _étraqueurs. I’ve never been so frightened in my life, not against the troll or the basilisk or Voldemort himself. It felt like all the happiness had gone from the world—like I was sinking into an endless oblivion.”_ She shuddered. _“I still practice the Patronus Charm every night so that I’ll never be without it again. I have trouble sleeping if I don’t. I was uncomfortable about it all summer.”_

 _“Oh? Then you could cast it now?”_ Fleur pressed.

Hermione sighed and drew her wand. One of these days, people were going to learn to take her word for it when she talked about her life. Honestly, a lot of this was public record if one knew where to look. She closed her eyes, concentrating on her friends and family back in England, and spoke, _“Expecto Patronum!”_

A silver light emerged from Hermione’s wand and began to take shape. Fleur gasped. It still took five or ten seconds’ concentration and a strong act of will, but Hermione succeeded in forming it into an otter.

 _“Mon Dieu,”_ Fleur whispered. _“You are an extraordinary witch, ‘Ermione. I am sorry I doubt you. It is only that I had thought people had adventures like yours only in books.”_

Hermione shook her head: _“It’s not like it is in the books, Fleur. It’s not some glamorous fairy tale. When you’re out there looking death in the face, and all your plans have gone wrong, and you have nothing left to keep you alive but your wits and your wand, it’s not a glorious adventure. It’s all you can do to keep from collapsing in terror. If it weren’t for my friends, I would have taken this nice, quiet life here two years ago.”_

_“I am sorry. It must be hard for you. You miss your friends very much?”_

_“Yes, I do. It’s so hard not having them around.”_

_“Most of my family is in Eastern Europe,”_ Fleur said. _“It is hard living so far from them as well. I will give you some advice, ‘Ermione. You try to get to know people, especially the different or unusual ones. I know you are friends with the house elves, and you have told me of your friends, Luna, Hagrid, and Myrtle. You have seen that not many witches so value diversity. I admire that, and it should not be wasted. Many people think I am arrogant, but they do not try to get to know me. They are not worth my time. I am loyal to those who are. You should do the same, whatever some people think of you. My advice is this: wherever you go, find friends who are worthy your time, and stand by them.”_

Hermione smiled. Maybe her first impression of Fleur wasn’t so accurate. _“Thank you, Fleur_ ,” she said sincerely.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Thank you for the latest information on Comet Shoemaker-Levy 9. I showed everything I had to M. Leverrier, the Astronomy teacher, but he seemed much less interested than Professor Sinistra. He doesn_ _’t seem to be nearly as informed about muggle astronomy as she is. It’s really disappointing to be honest._

_M. Oppenord isn_ _’t much better. He’s okay as a teacher, but he can’t help me at all with my independent study. Septima is trying to help me by letter, but there’s only so much she can do that way._

_I know I can_ _’t really do anything but try to stick it out here, but I really wish they could do justice to two of my favourite subjects._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_You won_ _’t believe what Moody did this time. He actually got special permission from Dumbledore to cast the Imperius Curse on everyone fourth year and up to try to teach us how to resist it. And you want to know the craziest part? Harry fought it off in something like thirty seconds. All the rest of us had to do everything he said. I don’t get how Harry fought it so easy—R._

_Neither do I—H._

_The homework_ _’s getting crazy here. The teachers are already giving us more to prepare for O.W.L.s, and they’re not till next year! And here we thought you were the only one—no offence. Is it that bad for you there?_

_Your friends,_

_Harry and Ron_

* * *

_Dear Harry and Ron,_

_Are you sure Moody had permission to do that? That sounds really fishy and kind of evil to me. That_ _’s good that Harry can fight it off, but I don’t really see what good it did the rest of you—sorry._

_My homework isn_ _’t as bad because the French exams aren’t until sixth year. I’m still getting used to doing it in French, though._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Hermione,_

_I found out about the ball. What do you think I should do about Harry? I think he still has a crush on Cho Chang. We_ _’ve gone out flying together a couple times, though—just flying because there’s no Quidditch. I really enjoyed it, and I think he did, too, but nothing else happened. What should I do?_

_Ginny_

* * *

_Ginny,_

_The best thing you can do is to keep being yourself around Harry. After everything he_ _’s been through, he wants someone real, not fake, manipulative, or obsessed. (And don’t worry; I don’t think you’re obsessed anymore.) The flying sounds like a pretty good thing, so keep that up, and try not to worry. I’m pretty sure you’re the best female friend he has right now, and for someone like him, that should be enough._

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Luna,_

_Thanks you for those sketches of the Skrewts. They were much more than I asked for, and they were very good. I still don_ _’t have a clue what the things are. Do you think they could be some kind of weird hybrid? I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, but I can’t think of anything else they could be._

_So far, we_ _’re only doing very basic experimental stuff in Arithmancy—things like binding and separating individual magical fields of spells to modify them. We aren’t even working with spells that move yet—mostly simple charmed objects. Honestly, it makes me a little nervous because I never quite know when a particular field will be stable or when it will break. Anyway, I’m more interested in how the shape of the magical field corresponds to the arithmantic expression of the spell. It reminds me of diagrams of electromagnetic fields in the muggle world, but more flexible. I asked Mum and Dad to find me a good book on the subject._

_Anyway, how has your year been so far? I hope people haven_ _’t been giving you a hard time and that you’re having fun in your new classes. Please don’t hesitate to tell Harry and the Weasleys if you have any problems. I know they’ll want to help you if they can._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

 

Luna actually had found herself wandering the corridors shoeless again a couple times this year. Her roommates—and it was her roommates who gave her a hard time more than anyone else since the rest of Ravenclaw just sort of went along with it—were growing bolder again now that Hermione and her connections to the Weasleys were gone. Of course, Ginny had been trying to cultivate her friendship again this year, and she would surely come to Luna’s aid. Harry probably would, too, for that matter.

Luna naturally didn’t like to make waves, though. She had tried to bring up the issue with the prefects and even with Professor Flitwick in her first year, but it had never been much help. The bullying either changed to something more subtle or started up again later, and none of them ever really followed up, so she was very reluctant to try again and felt like she would rather just deal with it. After all, it had taken Hermione visiting the Ravenclaw dorms and threatening to unleash the Weasley Twins to stop it last year, and it obviously hadn’t dispersed their underlying nargle problem. It made her sad, actually. These girls were so spiteful that it took an active threat of retaliation to stop them from harassing her just for being different. They must be very unhappy people to be like that, she thought.

Anyway, she felt very uncomfortable going out and asking for help again. It just wasn’t in her nature. The thing was, Hermione was still encouraging her, even from overseas, to stand up for herself and get some help. And Luna admired Hermione very much. She was absolutely brilliant and always seemed so sure of herself. She had faced down demons that Luna couldn’t imagine facing, and yet at the same time, she was so considerate to reach out to someone like her.

Maybe she _should_ do something to get some help.

* * *

“A wizard is trying to cross a river,” the door knocker said. “He has a fox, a rabbit, and a cabbage. He can only carry one of them across the river at a time, but the fox cannot be left alone with the rabbit, and the rabbit cannot be left alone with the cabbage. In what order must the wizard carry them across—”

“What?” Ginny interrupted. “What are you talking about? Just put a Freezing Charm on the fox and the rabbit, and conjure a bigger boat.”

“An acceptable alternative,” the knocker said, and it opened the door into Ravenclaw Tower.

“Ugh, stupid riddles,” Ginny muttered.

Ginny Weasley was not happy. Luna had come to her yesterday, looking very nervous. Luna so rarely looked nervous or uncomfortable that the sight was shocking, and she also (very uncharacteristically) had difficulty talking about it. But actions spoke louder than words, and Ginny hadn’t missed that Luna had come to her barefoot.

There they were: Dierdre and Melanie. They were the main troublemakers—the ones who turned their entire house against Luna in the first week of first year, when most of Ravenclaw otherwise might have ignored her. Everyone knew it, but no one who cared could quite prove it.

But Ginny didn’t need to _prove_ it.

“Hi girls,” she said with exaggerated cheerfulness.

“Weasley?” Melanie said. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Luna’s shoes went ‘missing’ again, and I wanted to ask if you’d seen them.” Ginny had a slightly more subtle style than Hermione.

“Why would we know where Loony’s shoes are? She probably gave them to the nargles or something.”

Ginny’s face hardened: “Her name is Luna, Melanie. I expect my _friends_ to be shown respect. And you really ought to care more about your roommate’s well-being.”

“Well, we haven’t seen them,” Dierdre said. “And you’re really not supposed to be here, so…”

“Fine. I’ll go. Oh, by the way, Fred and George are looking for testers for their new prank products. Are you interested?” Dierdre and Melanie blanched. Before they could launch into strenuous denials, Ginny continued, “Just something to think about. Toodles.” She turned and left the tower.

Oddly, Luna’s shoes reappeared quickly after that.

* * *

 _“Most counterspells arithmantically cancel out the spell they are designed to counter,”_ Monsieur Oppenord told the class. _“This cancellation is rarely complete even in theory because the counterspells most commonly have to be built from truncated power series. It is_ never _complete in practice because spells are never cast completely accurately. However, the residual magical fields are usually small and dissipate quickly. Only with significant mistakes in the casting will lingering spells effects remain._

_“It is also possible to reverse spells by manually stripping away the magical fields. However, for most spells, this is unfeasible for a wide variety of reasons. The unbalanced or unbound magical fields of a partially stripped spell could explode, cause a chain reaction that lashes out at the caster, or recombine into a different spell, and they can even cause damage to the target if they are working as intended._

_“We’ll be taking a closer look at that last point today. Again, if you strip away part of a spell from a target, the remaining parts can destroy the target, even if they are working as intended, and the next exercise will demonstrate that. Partner up; I will be passing several wooden blocks to each pair. You are to cast the Softening Charm on the blocks. The Softening Charm lays two layers on magical energy on the target, each with a different effect. Your assignment is to remove the two layers without destroying the wood. You may use any magic-shaping spells we have covered so far.”_

This sort of open-ended assignment was typical of the Advanced Arithmancy class, although Hermione was surprised that Monsieur Oppenord had given them so little information about how the exercise worked. She took the first block of wood and cast “ _Spongify_ ,” and the wood turned soft and spongy.

Her partner, Michel, touched his wand to the wood and tried the first spell: “ _Adher_ _é_.” The two magical fields stuck to his wand as he lifted it away, still clinging to the corners of the wood like cellophane. They separated just enough to see the two layers, but they didn’t peel away.

 _“Okay, so we need to unbind the layers a little,”_ Hermione suggested. “ _Phosphoro_.” The combined magical field began to glow with a soft light that took on the approximate colour of the wood. “ _Stratus_ _éparé_.” The two layers of the spell separated from the wood and from each other by about a centimeter. It was hard to tell, but it looked like the upper one was more brown, and the lower one was more yellow.

 _“Good,”_ Michel said. _“No reason not to just remove the top layer, n’est-ce pas? Excoria.”_ He placed his wand at the corner of the magical field and pulled back. The cellophane layer of magic peeled away from the wood. He flicked it off his wand, and in rolled up like a scroll in the air and vanished in a shower of orange sparks.

The wood looked all right for a moment, but then, just as Hermione said, _“So far, so good,”_ there was a crack, and the block collapsed into a pile of sawdust. “Eek!” she exclaimed.

 _“Wow. I did not expect that,”_ Michel said. _“Evanesco.”_ The sawdust vanished. _“Well, if removing the top layer did that, it stands to reason we should pull out the bottom layer first.”_

 _“I suppose so,”_ she agreed. They quickly cast _Spongify, Phosphoro,_ and _Stratus_ _éparé_ on the next block of wood, but this time, Michel cast _Adher_ _é_ to pull back the top magical field without unbinding it. Then, Hermione touched her wand to the bottom layer and cast “ _Excoria_.” The yellow layer of magic didn’t curl up in the air. Instead, gold sparks flashed across its surface, and it disintegrated into a little cloud of dust, then vanished.

Michel prodded the wood. The grain deformed, as if it were made of clay, by it didn’t crumble. _“Better,”_ he said. _“Excoria.”_ The other layer of magic was peeled away. With that, the wood was a little bent, but perfectly solid again.

They looked up. Around the room, the other pairs were working out the same method, except for Fleur and her partner, who worked together to remove the two layers of magic at the same time. Once most of the groups had it, Monsieur Oppenord explained, _“Very good, very good. Most of you have figured it out. The two magical fields of the Softening Charm have different effects. The inner field unbinds the fibres of the wood, allowing them to slide past each other, while the outer field makes the wood more flexible. If the fibres are unbound without being flexible, the wood crumbles at the slightest touch. If it is made flexible without unbinding the fibres, it merely becomes deformable, like clay. So you see, even simple spells can have unpredictable and dangerous effects if they are not disassembled carefully. Even a simple charm hides a lot of complexity._

 _“Mademoiselle Delacour had a good idea: remove both layers of the spell at the same time. This is effectively what the counterspell does; it nullifies both layers in succession quickly enough that the wood is not damaged. This is why it is always best to use a dedicated counterspell. These techniques are not very important for spell reversal, but it is_ essential _that you understand the interactions of spell components—a little like how it is essential to understand the interactions of potion ingredients—if you want to attempt experimental spellcrafting safely._ _”_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I admit I am surprised that there are so many potential applications of this_ _“group theory.” However, I’m afraid that I don’t quite see the magical potential. Beyond the ideas of spatial symmetries and crystal structures you mentioned in your last letter, is it really that great an advantage to unify such diverse techniques as the solving of polynomials, passwords, spell frequency analysis, and combinatorics with this one model? Perhaps I’m thinking too narrowly, but these new techniques seem so abstract that I am not convinced of their practical value for spellcrafting. If you could construct a concrete example with them, even a partial one, it might go a long way._

_I_ _’m sure this would go better if we could meet in person, but unfortunately, that option is not available for the time being. All we can do is keep moving forward as best we can._

_Sincerely,_

_Septima_

* * *

The thirtieth of October came around, and the anticipation at Hogwarts was palpable. Today, the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be arriving. Beauxbatons they knew a few things about, since Hermione had made the dubious decision to tell them to Lavender and Parvati. By now, the rumour was all over the school that a part-veela would be with the group, as well as word about the prodigious size of the Headmistress, which had Hagrid very interested.

The professors had been trying all week to make the students extra-presentable and sweep any academic or other shortcomings under the rug (although there wasn’t much they could do about Snape). At dusk, the Heads of House lined up their students outside waiting for their guests to arrive. It was a chilly evening, but still, they waited, speculating on just how the visitors would get to the school.

“D’you think they’ll take the train?” Ron suggested.

“I doubt it,” Ginny said. “It’d have to run over water.”

“What about broomsticks?” Harry said.

“Could even you fly that far, Harry?” Ron asked.

“No, I guess not.”

“I bet they’re trying to make a dramatic entrance,” Ginny said. “It’s like Dad says. We’ve always gotta show off when we get together.”

A moment later, Dumbledore pointed the Durmstrang delegation approaching. All eyes turned to the Black Lake, where an enormous whirlpool began to form of its own accord. Then, a mast emerged from it, followed by a whole ship, which shot out of the maelstrom at great speed and coasted to the shallows. About a dozen students disembarked and climbed up the embankment to the castle doors, all wearing heavy cloaks with fur trim, but in front of them walked an older man in sleek, silver robes who greeted Dumbledore heartily.

“My dear Karkaroff, I do hope your trip was a pleasant one,” Dumbledore said as the students applauded.

“It went swimmingly, didn’t it?” Karkaroff replied, and then he laughed at his own joke. “Ah, good old Hogwarts,” he said. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve had cause to come here. I take it Madame Maxime has not arrived yet?”

As the two Headmasters were talking, whispers spread up and down the lines of Hogwarts students as they noticed the student at the head of the Durmstrang delegation, just behind Karkaroff. He was less impressive and a bit uncoordinated on his feet, but there was no mistaking the thick, black eyebrows and the distinctively curved nose.

“Bloody hell,” Ron hissed, “it’s Viktor Krum!”

Harry was just as awestruck as his friend. The greatest Seeker in the world was not only still in school, but he was going to be there at Hogwarts for the rest of the year. Many of the girls and some of the boys were already searching their pockets for quills, hoping to get an autograph, when another sight diverted their attention.

Something huge and dark was approaching from over the Forbidden Forest. One of the first years screamed that they were riding in on a dragon, but it proved to be something even larger; an enormous, powder-blue carriage the size of a large house flew over the grounds, drawn by a team of twelve giant winged horses the size of elephants. It raced towards them and landed with the force of an earthquake, causing many students to jump back in a panic.

A boy in pale blue robes opened the door and unfolded a set of stairs, and a giant woman stepped out of the carriage. The rumours weren’t an exaggeration, the Beauxbatons Headmistress was every inch as tall as Hagrid. But unlike him, she was dressed opulently, in black satin and opals, matching her hair and eyes.

“My dear Madame Maxime, welcome to Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said.

“Dumbly-dorr, Karkaroff,” Madame Maxime said with a thick accent. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form,” Dumbledore said.

“Very well, thank you,” Karkaroff replied.

“My pupils,” Madame Maxime gestured to the carriage, where about a dozen boys and girls climbed out. Some of them shivered in the cold, which wasn’t surprising since they were wearing pale blue uniforms seemingly made out of fine silk. Most of them wore something or other over top of them; some wore scarves; some wore shawls; one tall girl had a muffler over her face.

And then there was one who didn’t seem to fit in. She looked younger than the rest of the students, who seemed to be in their late teens, and much more at ease. Most of the school didn’t recognise her with her new look, but to her friends, with her well-behaved hair in soft curls, her wide and perfectly straight smile, and her stylish, forest-green snakeskin coat, her appearance was enough to distract them even from Viktor Krum.

“ _Hermione?_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phosphoro: Based on the Greek for “light bringing,” meant in the sense of “phosphorescent.”
> 
> Stratuséparé: Stylised from the French for “separate layers.”
> 
> Excoria: Latin for “skin,” “peel,” or “flay.”


	66. Chapter 66

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: CPT symmetry: everything in our universe obeys the same physical laws if the charge, wavefunction sign, and time are flipped. JKR symmetry: everything in Harry Potter’s universe is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Thanks to HE-SpecOps for correcting my maths.

“ _Hermione?_!”

The shout drew attention to the youngest girl from the Beauxbatons delegation, and much of Hogwarts’s attention was diverted from Victor Krum to the return of her own native daughter. Many of the students didn’t recognise her at first, but most of her acquaintances soon did, and whispers ran up and down the lines about her surprise appearance. Certain Slytherins scowled, but most of them were eager to see her.

Hermione herself spotted her friends from the sound of their shouts and walked towards them with a smile on her face, but she was nearly bowled over when Ginny broke ranks and slammed into her.

“Oh my God, Hermione, I can’t believe you’re here!” the little redhead squealed, hugging her tight.

“Good to see you, too, Gin,” she grunted. Ginny could hug harder than Hermione could herself. It must come from her mother, she thought.

“Bloody hell, we didn’t think we’d see you till Christmas,” Ron said as she hugged him and Harry in turn. “What’s up? Are you entering in the Tournament or something?”

“Entering in the Tournament?” Hermione said. “Are you mental? I’m not old enough, and I wouldn’t be mad enough to enter even if I were. I’m only here for a visit. I’m going back on Tuesday.”

“Oh. That’s cool, I guess.”

“Oh, eet eez freezing ‘ere.” A tall girl with alabaster skin and silver-blond hair came up beside Hermione, pulling a muffler away from her face.

“I told you you’d want a cloak, Fleur,” Hermione said, suppressing an eye roll. “We’ve come fifteen degrees north in latitude.”

“You did not tell me that eet was already winter ‘ere. Ugh. Zese are your friends, ‘Ermione?”

“Yes. These are Ginny and Ron Weasley— _Ronald!_ ” Ron was staring at Fleur, slack-jawed. He snapped out of it at once. “Oh, and these two are Fred and George Weasley.” She motioned to the Twins as they approached.

“Actually, I’m Fred, and he’s George,” George said.

“Don’t listen to them. He’s George, and he’s Fred,” Hermione said without missing a beat. “And, of course, this is Harry Potter. Everyone, this is Fleur Delacour—from my Arithmancy class.”

Fleur shook Harry’s and Ginny’s hands in a friendly enough manner, but she seemed a little warier of the Weasley boys—probably rightly, to be honest. “I am pleased to meet you,” she said. “‘Ermione ‘az told me much about you.”

“Only good things, we hope?” Fred asked.

“ _You_ she said not to eat or drink anything you offer. Zee rest of you, she speaks well. _Pardon_ , ‘Ermione, we must join zee rest of our classmates.”

The students all filed into the castle. Hermione sighed wistfully when she saw the Hogwarts Great Hall. It had a certain medieval charm to it. _“It was built in the tenth century,”_ she explained to her classmates quietly. _“Similar magic to Beauxbatons, but an older style. Each House has its own table.”_

There was no dedicated table for the visiting students. They were instructed to sit wherever they liked. The Durmstrang students sat at the Slytherin table—no surprise there—while most of the Beauxbatons contingent opted for Gryffindor after Hermione took her seat with her friends. (She waved to Luna warmly along the way.) She could tell she really stood out with her blue robes and green coat amid a sea of black with red trim, but she didn’t care as long as she got to talk to her friends again.

“It’s great to see you, Hermione,” Harry said. “How’d you get back here? We thought you were gone for good.”

“I have Madame Maxime to thank for this. She’s wonderful. She could tell I was missing Hogwarts, so she wrote my parents and asked their permission for me to visit for Halloween. She said I would come in with the Triwizard entrants today and help get them acquainted with Hogwarts, and then I’ll be taking a Portkey back on Tuesday morning.”

“You came for Halloween?” Harry said in surprise. “Hasn’t that been the most dangerous night of the year for the past three years? I’m surprised your parents let you.”

“Yes, me too, but they know how much I was missing this place, too. Of course, they only allowed it because Madame Maxime said I’d be under her supervision the whole time, and I won’t be sleeping in the castle.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back for a day,” Fred told her.

“Yeah, we could’ve used your advice with some of our stuff,” George added.

“I’ve really missed all of you, too,” she replied. “It’s good to be back.”

Professor Dumbledore made his welcome speech, and food filled the tables. Hermione waved to Professor Vector from across the Hall, and she smiled broadly at her, as did Hagrid beside her.

“Whoa, freaky food,” Ron said, seeing the international selection. “What’s this one?”

“Bouillabaisse,” Hermione said.

“Bless you.”

“It’s _French_ , Ronald—come on, you know French… _and_ you know food. You should be an expert.”

Ginny and the Twins chortled as Ron turned red.

As everyone ate, two more guests came into the Great Hall, one whom Hermione wasn’t so happy to see, and one whom she was very interested to see: Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagman.

“Well, will you look at that,” Fred grinned conspiratorially. “Looks like Bagman came to us.”

“Yes, indeed,” George replied. “Hermione, what do you say the three of us try to catch him for a little chat?”

“You still haven’t heard anything from him?” she said in surprise.

“Not a word. He’s been lying low,” George told her.

“Yes, very suspicious,” Fred agreed, “but he can’t escape us here. He has to be here for the Tournament, doesn’t he?”

Hermione was surprisingly popular that evening, and the Weasleys gallantly moved to the side after a while to make room for her other friends to sit and talk to her. When Lavender Brown got close enough, she hugged Hermione almost as hard as Ginny had.

“Oh, Hermione, it’s so good to see you!” Lavender squealed. “We’ve missed you, and we’ve been wondering what you were getting up to down there, and—Merlin, you look hot!”

“Excuse me?” Hermione said.

“Well, you finally fixed those teeth, and your hair looks really nice, and you’ve really—grown.”

Hermione snorted. “ _I_ _’ve_ grown, Lav? Look who’s talking.” Lavender’s robes were definitely looking tighter in certain places than last year.

Parvati Patil giggled nearby. Lavender barely blushed. “Well, yeah,” she said, “but you never…you know, seemed the type?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she elected not to say anything.

“This is a beautiful coat, Hermione,” Parvati added. “What kind is it.”

Hermione grinned at her: “It’s genuine Indian basilisk.”

Parvati’s eyes grew saucer-sized: “No. Way.”

“Yes way. A pair of cursebreakers in India killed with the help of a spell I invented.”

“Merlin’s beard, you really get around, don’t you?”

“Well, by muggle standards, the magical world is tiny. It’s not that big a deal. Anyway, how are you girls? What have you been doing?”

“Well, Lav’s dating Seamus—” Parvati started.

“We are _not_ dating,” Lavender interrupted. “I think he might be interested, though. Anyway, Divination’s great. We’re doing a whole unit on astrology; you would’ve liked that.” Hermione refrained from noting that, from what she had read, wizard astrology was virtually identical to muggle astrology and equally useless. “Oh, and Professor Trelawney says Harry’s going to get in trouble this year.”

Hermione froze: “It wasn’t another prophecy, was it?”

“No, it was a regular prediction,” Parvati replied. “She just said he had dark times ahead or something like that.”

“Oh, well, that’s what she usually says.”

“Have you heard about Hagrid’s new pets?” Lavender changed the subject.

“The Skrewts? Uh huh. Luna sent me some sketches. And no, I _don_ _’t_ have any idea what they are.”

“They’re a right menace, that’s what they are,” Parvati said. “Be glad you don’t have to deal with them.”

They were interrupted when Fleur came by from further up the table, saying “Excuse me, ‘Ermione, are you finished wiz zee bouillabaisse?”

“Go ahead, Fleur,” Hermione replied. “Oh, and these are my old roommates, Lavender and Parvati.”

Lavender shook Fleur’s hand excitedly, two-handed. “Oh Merlin, it’s such an honour to meet you Mademoiselle Delacour,” she gushed. “Hermione’s told us all about you…” And within seconds, the three of them were happily talking about fashion. Hermione chuckled seeing them go at it like that, although she was a little surprised to find that Fleur looked a little less at ease with the conversation than Lav and Parv did.

“Hello? Ronald? Brother of mine?”

Hermione turned around and saw Ginny waving her hand in front of Ron’s face. Ron had turned a disturbing purplish hue and was clearly staring at Fleur again.

“What? What’re you going on about, Gin?” he said, blinking in annoyance.

“You were staring,” Ginny admonished him. “Girls don’t like that, you know.”

“She’s right,” Hermione agreed. “And really, she’s only a quarter-blooded. Her allure isn’t that strong.”

“What? I just want to…get to know our guests,” Ron told them in annoyance.

Ginny rolled her eyes: “I don’t see Harry using that method of getting to know our guest.”

Harry turned red at that remark. “Um, actually?” he said. “Sirius taught me some techniques to stay focused when there are veela around.”

“Oh,” Ginny said.

“Might not hurt to teach them to Ron, then,” Hermione suggested. She and Ginny giggled, but Harry only turned redder, and Ron scowled at them.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, Professor Dumbledore stood up and introduced Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman to the school as the organisers of the Tournament. Many people started wondering if one of them would be the judge who was to select the champion, but the truth turned out to be much more fantastic. The “impartial selector” was an ancient artifact called the Goblet of Fire—a large, but otherwise unremarkable-looking wooden chalice that was nonetheless filled with very remarkable blue-white flames that looked paler and hotter than Hermione’s trademark bluebell flames.

“Anyone wishing to enter the Tournament must write their name on a piece of parchment and place it in the Goblet,” Dumbledore explained. “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet to ensure that no one under the age of seventeen is able to enter.” That drew annoyed murmurs from around the Hall.

 _That_ _’s interesting_ , Hermione thought. _The Goblet itself doesn_ _’t know the ages of the entrants._

“And I must warn you,” the Headmaster continued, “that placing your name in the Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once your name is selected, so entering into the Tournament is absolutely not to be taken lightly.”

 _Oh, well that doesn_ _’t sound ominous at all_ , she thought.

They were dismissed to bed after that. Sadly, Hermione had to sleep in the carriage with the rest of the Beauxbatons students, as per her agreement with her parents, but tomorrow promised to be a good day.

* * *

In honour of the beginning of the Tournament, Professor Dumbledore had declared a special holiday from classes on Halloween, since it was a Monday, giving everyone a long weekend. That was an incredibly rare event at Hogwarts. Not even the Chamber of Secrets fiasco had got a day of classes cancelled, and Astronomy classes had even gone on at the same time that the Aurors were hauling Pettigrew off to the Ministry.

But Hermione was glad that her friends at Hogwarts had the day off, since it gave her that much more time to catch up with them. The visiting students all rose early to go in for breakfast, and to enter their names in the Goblet of Fire. When she came to the Entrance Hall, Hermione ran into Fred and George, who had smugger grins on their faces than usual. That was probably a bad sign.

“Dare I ask what you two are so excited about?” she asked.

“We’ve just implemented our little plan,” Fred told her.

“I’ve been out of the loop lately. Which plan?”

“The Ageing Potion,” George said. “We’ve just taken it.”

“Just a drop each. We only need to be a few months older to enter the Tournament,” Fred continued.

“Do you want some? We have enough to make you seventeen.”

Hermione saw realised what they were up to and giggled.

“What?” they asked in unison.

“It’s not going to work,” she said in a sing-song voice.

“Oh? And why not?” they said.

“Because there’s no way a genius like Dumbledore would be fooled by something as pathetically dim-witted as an Ageing Potion.”

“But that’s the beauty of it,” Fred said.

“Because it’s so pathetically dim-witted,” George continued.

“Dumbledore will never think of it,” they said together.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course he will. If _I_ were drawing an Age Line, given that we’re in a school and not just anybody can come in the building to start with, I’d add some runes to cross-reference student’s names with the school records to check their actual birth dates, just in case somebody tried to fool it by _any_ means, including an Ageing Potion. And Dumbledore’s smarter than I am, so I’m sure he came up with something similar, if not better.”

The Twins gaped at her in mock astonishment. “Dumbledore smarter than Hermione Granger?” George said.

“Inconceivable!” they said in stereo.

“We’ll just see how smart Dumbledore is, shall we?” Fred said. They waved to Harry, Ron, and Ginny across the room, then walked right up to the Age Line, paused as every eye in the Entrance Hall turned to watch them, and hopped across it. For a split second, it seemed that they’d beaten the Line, but then, there was a sizzling sound, and they were blasted away from the Goblet, landing at Hermione’s feet and suddenly growing luxurious, Dumbledore-esque beards.

“I warned you,” Hermione said, crossing her arms amid peals of laughter from the Entrance Hall.

“As did I.” Professor Dumbledore came out of the Great Hall to greet the crowd. “And I do appreciate your faith in me, Miss Granger.” Merlin, that man heard everything. “Perhaps you would like to escort these two to the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey is already tending to two other students who attempted the same ploy.”

“I’d be happy to, Headmaster,” Hermione said. She helped Fred and George up, threw one arm around each of their shoulders, and pulled them along to the Grand Staircase. The boys were laughing upon seeing each other’s beards, but soon enough, they were scheming again.

“What if we levitate our names in from outside the circle?” Fred suggested.

“Seems a little obvious, don’t you think?” Hermione said. “Dumbledore could easily put up an anti-magic ward.”

George considered that and said, “What if we send an owl with an envelope addressed to the Goblet of Fire and using our names as the return address.”

“No, no, too complicated,” his brother replied. “Just crumple up the parchment and toss it in.”

“Maybe— _or_ we could just ask an older student to put them in for us. _That_ _’s_ the obvious way.”

“George! Fred!” Hermione huffed. “Checking your names against the school records, remember? And before you talk about going and altering the records, I really don’t think you should be trying to enter at all. I know you want to make some quick money, but this isn’t the way to do it.”

“What, you don’t think we can do it?” Fred demanded with noticeable annoyance.

“I think you’d have a chance,” she conceded. “Maybe more than most people, but look, this Tournament is dangerous, no matter what Dumbledore says. I won’t believe they’ve got the kinks worked out of the safety standards until I see it, and if one of you somehow _did_ get yourself chosen, I’d be worried about you all year. It’s bad enough that Cedric wants to enter. It’s bad enough that Harry always seems to stumble into someone who wants to kill him. Honestly? I need a break from worrying whether all my friends are going to make it to next summer.”

Without warning, George unilaterally pulled Hermione into a hug and said, “Sorry, Hermione, we didn’t know you were taking this so hard.”

“Oh…maybe I’m being over-dramatic,” she said as she awkwardly hugged him back. “It’s just that being pulled out of school because it’s too dangerous tends to do that to you.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Fred countered. “It’s not like it’s You-Know-Who or dementors again. It’s just a contest.”

“Well, she’s kinda right, though,” George said. He broke off to face his brother. “People used to die all the time in this thing.”

“In the eighteenth century.”

“ _But_ we only have the Ministry’s word that it’s safer now, and you know how they are.”

“And Dumbledore’s word.”

“Just the same, I think maybe we should pass on the Tournament.”

Fred’s eyes grew wide. He clearly wasn’t used to being so directly contradicted by his Twin, and Fred always was the more reckless one of the pair, Hermione thought. “You can’t actually want to back out of this, George!” he said with complete seriousness.

“Hey, it’d be nice to be able to compete,” George defended himself, “but let’s be honest, are we really gonna get past Dumbledore’s tricks in the next twelve hours?”

Fred pressed his lips together in a way that Hermione had seen Mr. Weasley do a few times and admitted, “No, probably not.”

“Yeah. And besides, Bagman’s in the castle. _I_ say, once we have a shave, the three of us get together and go have a word with him.”

Fred looked a lot less disappointed at that and grinned a little again. “That does sound like a good plan B,” he said.

They reached the Hospital Wing, where Madame Pomfrey took one look at the Twins and said, “I should’ve known I’d see _you two_ this morning. Come on in.”

Fred went to the nearest open bed, and just before George went to the next one, Hermione leaned towards him and whispered, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he whispered back.

* * *

In principle, it was great having so many friends at Hogwarts, but right now, that meant more people to miss and, of more immediate concern, more people to catch up with in one day. And in the meantime, she was still supposed to show her fellow Beauxbatons students around the castle.

Introducing Luna to Fleur had not gone well.

“Fleur, this is Luna Lovegood, the, er, artist I mentioned. Luna, this is Fleur Delacour.”

 _“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Delacour,”_ Luna said in perfect French. _“It is good to meet you.”_

 _“You as well, Mademoiselle Lovegood,”_ Fleur replied. _“‘Ermione tells me you are an artist. What do you draw?”_

_“Magical creatures, mostly. My great-great-grandmother was a brilliant magical naturalist. Most of my family were, of course, but she was the best one. I’d like to update her field guide for rare creatures someday. By the way, Hermione, have you seen any Kruger’s vanishing mites at Beauxbatons?”_

_“Um, no, I don’t think so,”_ Hermione said.

 _“What are Kruger’s vanishing mites?”_ Fleur asked.

_“They’re tiny bugs whose bite causes lowered inhibitions. They hibernate for most of the year, but they’re very active around the fourteenth of February. There’s a French subspecies that’s active year-round, but they’re mostly concentrated around Paris. And some people believe that they are attracted to veela.”_

_“What? That’s crazy!”_ Fleur exclaimed.

Luna looked hurt. _“Fleur!”_ Hermione chided.

_“Well, it is.”_

_“Luna gets enough grief already from people around here calling her Loony. And anyway, I don’t think there have been any formal studies into the existence of most of the creatures Luna talks about. I think it’s appropriate to keep an open mind.”_

Fleur was probably more chastened by how hurt Luna looked than by Hermione’s words, but she lowered her gaze and said, _“My apologies, Mademoiselle Lovegood. I meant no offence. I have not seen any sign of…Kruger’s vanishing mites in my experience.”_

* * *

Perhaps because of that debacle, Hermione didn’t invite any of her friends to visit the house elves with her. Truthfully, the only magical person who didn’t look at her at least a little patronisingly over her friendship with the elves was Harry, who sympathised with their state of bondage, although Dobby’s bizarre attempts to save his life were still a sore spot.

When Hermione entered the kitchens, she was pleased to find they greeted her warmly again, more so than they had at any point last year. Sending Winky to Dumbledore had apparently reconfirmed her credentials as a friend of elves and not an active abolitionist.

“Miss Hermione!” a squeal came from one mop-wielding elf. “It is being Hermione Granger, everyone!”

Hermione’s closest elf-friend, Sonya, had been growing her hair out. Personally, she thought it looked better short. She’d never seen an elf with good-quality hair. But her cobalt-blue eyes were as sharp as ever, and she ran over to Hermione excitedly, nearly whacking her shins with the mop. “Miss Hermione, Dobby has said you is visiting.”

Hermione had paid Dobby six sickles to get him out of work at Beauxbatons for two days for so he could visit with her.

“It’s good to see you, Sonya—and the rest of you.”

“Oh, where is Grandmum? Grandmum!” Sonya said.

 _Pop!_ “Sonnitt, what is you wanting—” an irritated older elf squeaked before she noticed their guest. “Oh, Miss Hermione Granger. It is being good to see you,” said Tilly, the elf-children’s teacher.

“Thank you. I couldn’t visit without stopping by the kitchens. How are you doing?”

“It is very exciting, miss, with so many visitors in the castle,” Tilly replied. “There is being a few Beauxbatons and Durmstrang elves here to help with the foreign foods. The Beauxbatons elves has been tell us about you, too.”

Sonya giggled. “Is it true you is telling them to make chicken curry pizza, miss?” That got giggles from several of the other elves.

“No, I told them they should make chicken curry _and_ pizza. On different nights. I just wasn’t clear enough…And I’d recommend not trying that here,” she added before Sonya got any ideas. Actually, Hermione had thought it wasn’t too bad, but few others shared her opinion. “Anyway,” she changed the subject, “I heard Winky was here. How is she doing?”

Sonya and Tilly lowered their gazes a little. “Tilly is afraid Winky has not been doing well, miss,” Tilly said. “Tilly will finds her.” The grey-haired elf led Hermione through the mass of cleaning elves and came to one familiar one with a large red nose. “Winky, miss.”

“Oh, Miss Hermione Granger,” Winky stammered. “You has come back.”

Hermione could see what Tilly meant about Winky not doing well. The younger elf seemed to have aged ten years since she had last seen her. Her face was gaunt, and she was slouching sloppily, unsteady on her feet. She wore a Hogwarts tea towel, but it was not well-cleaned, and she still wore the necktie that Mr. Crouch had cast at her, wrapped around her neck like a scarf. She was also carrying and open bottle of Butterbeer. Neither were good signs. “Hello, Winky,” Hermione said worriedly. “Um, how are you holding up?”

“Winky is getting by,” she said with a sniffle, and she took a swig of Butterbeer. Now that she noticed, Hermione saw that Winky was at least a little drunk.

“Winky, isn’t it a little early for that? It’s not even two in the afternoon.”

The elf sniffled again: “Miss Hermione Granger cares very much for Winky.” Her eyes started to tears up, and she wiped them with the necktie. “Winky tries to be a good elf…”

“You are a good elf, Winky,” Hermione encouraged her, but that only made her cry more.

“Miss Hermione Granger,” Tilly whispered, “please come away. There is being nothing you can do.”

“But—”

“Please, miss.”

Hermione reluctantly went back with Tilly. “How much of that stuff has she had?” she asked. “Butterbeer’s not that strong.”

“It is being strong for elves, miss.”

“Tilly, I don’t understand. What’s wrong with her? And why is she still wearing that tie? She’s a proper bonded elf again.”

“Winky is hoping her old master will take her back, miss. She is saving the tie for him. It is a badge of shame for elves, miss. Not all elves can adjust to being free, miss, even if they is finding new masters. Elves is taught that it is their fault if they are freed for being bad elves. And it is usually true. Most masters is not freeing elves unless they is very bad.”

Hermione didn’t know what to say to that. She supposed maybe it was true what they said—that you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped—at least not all the time. Tilly led her back to Sonya, who was not speaking to Dobby, and shaking her head in disbelief.

“You is getting a holiday to visit Hogwarts, Dobby?” Sonya said. “That is just being wrong.”

“It is not really a holiday,” Dobby replied proudly. “Miss Hermione’s parents ordered me to make sure she was safe at school.” Sonya’s eyes widened, and many of the elves suddenly stared at Dobby. Dobby himself seemed oblivious. He was used to stares by now. “Dobby would have had to come anyway.” At that, many of the elves broke away, although Sonya still eyed him suspiciously.

Hermione had no idea what that was all about. She’d noticed similar stares when she visited the elves at Beauxbatons, but she could never make sense of it. This time, however, she overheard a couple of the elves murmuring things like “must have misheard.” Even more confused, she went back over Dobby’s words, and was shocked when she’d noticed it. The elves had all started freaking out when they heard Dobby use the word “me.” Now that she thought about it, she didn’t think she had ever heard any other elf use the word “me,” and even Dobby had only started this past summer. They used “I,” but even that less than half as much as a human. It wasn’t surprising in a bred servant race, sublimating their individuality into the identity of their masters—or something complicated and psychological like that. Dobby had just put his weirdness on display to them again, but what really warmed Hermione’s heart was that he looked as if he was proud of it.

Sonya continued to give Dobby a suspicious look, but whatever she was think, she seemed to resolve it in her mind. She said, “Sonya is still thinking you is a mad elf, Dobby, but it is good to be seeing you and Miss Hermione again.”

* * *

To be honest, Hermione was avoiding her arithmancy study group, or rather Cedric in particular. She really didn’t want to try to get through the same conversation she’d had with the Fred and George with her friend who had already entered and whom, she was forced to admit to herself, she really did have a crush on. She’d rather catch him tomorrow morning, when it was decided one way or another. Of course, the odds weren’t great that he would be chosen, so she was probably worrying too much.

But the highlight of her day was tea time, when she paid a visit to Septima. Little Georgina was there, too, and Hermione enjoyed regaling her with tales of Beauxbatons.

“Well, Fleur isn’t the only part-veela in the school. There aren’t many, but there are quite a few more students who aren’t full-blooded humans there than at Hogwarts,” she explained as part of one of the incidents involving Fleur. Come to think of it, those incidents were disproportionately romance-related. “Full-blooded veela are almost exclusively home-schooled, but I know there’s at least one hag there, and two vampires—both of them have to take dietary potions to attend, though, so they don’t cause much trouble. Anyway, Sylvie and Fleur don’t like each other because of some veela clan feud that I really don’t understand, and it apparently really hit a nerve when they were assigned love potions in Potions class—Madame de Cotte really dropped the ball there—and no one’s really sure what happened, but it ended with both of them shovelling out the Abraxan stables that night and several unexpected relationships being exposed amongst the seventh years.”

Actually, Hermione had the misfortune to know a few more details than that, but Georgina was already wide-eyed enough, and Septima gave her a warning look, so she didn’t share them and quickly changed the subject before the younger girl could ask any more awkward questions. “But most of the stuff that goes on there isn’t so…weird,” she said. “I was surprised how much I enjoyed Magical Creatures down there. We did a big unit on tending the Abraxans—how they got us here in one piece with as much whiskey as they drink I’ll never know. So what about you, Georgina? How’s Slytherin treating you?”

“Well, I think it’s a good house,” Georgina said. “Some of the older people are annoying, but I like all my roommates. And I made friends with Astoria Greengrass—she’s a second year.”

“That’s nice. No one’s giving you any trouble, I hope? Not that I would expect it, but—”

“No, no,” she said, a little too quickly. “I mean…they talk, but that’s it.”

“They…talk?” Hermione asked. She knew that being friends with a muggle-born would have certain Slytherins looking down on someone like Georgina.

Georgina lowered her gaze, her dark hair falling into her eyes. “Sorry, Hermione, but we…kinda have a rule: problems in Slytherin stay in Slytherin.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense,” she conceded. Slytherin always seemed to have a united front compared with the other houses, especially given how unpopular they were. “It’s okay, Georgina. I can respect that—except I would strongly encourage you to speak up to your Aunt Septima if it involves Draco Malfoy in any way. He could be downright dangerous.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t _do_ anything to me—not with Aunt Septima being a teacher.” The younger girl paused, thought for a moment, then whispered conspiratorially, “but he’s the most annoying one, though. He complained a lot last night about you being back.”

 _Of course he did_ , Hermione thought. Other than Malfoy, though, Georgina seemed to be settling in well and enjoying her classes. She still didn’t know what her life’s ambition was, but Septima assured her that she had plenty of time to figure that out, even as a Slytherin.

After about half an hour, Septima dismissed Georgina so that she and Hermione could talk about something a little weightier: abstract algebra.

“So these ‘symmetry groups’ are very nice to describe the geometry of shapes in multiple dimensions,” Septima said, remembering Hermione’s most recent letter. “But I still don’t see how it applies to spellcrafting.”

“Alright, I’ve been thinking about this,” Hermione replied. “Don’t worry about the physical geometry. This is about the underlying logical structure. Think of it this way: most spells have a counterspell. We normally think of spells in terms of inverse functions with power series or Fourier series, or sometimes in terms of cancelling the magical energies, but you can also think of the two spells as a _pair_ or _group_ of spells that for our purposes are on equal footing: each one reverses the other. With me so far?”

“Fair enough,” Septima said.

“Good. In group theory terminology, it’s actually like the group of the integer’s—its a little more complicated, but you can build a toy model where each application of the spell moves you one space forward on the number line, and the counterspell moves you one space back. But that’s _not_ the only way it has to be. Take the Da Vinci Charm, for example.” The Da Vinci Charm was a joke spell that made all the writing in a book turn backwards. “The Da Vinci Charm reverses itself. It is its _own_ countercharm. That’s a completely different logical structure from the spell-counterspell paradigm. In group theory terminology, instead of an infinite group, like the integers, it’s a group of only two elements. It would be only one, but you also have to have the identity element, which is not casting a spell at all.”

“So you think there may be arithmantic differences between the two types of spells?” Septima ventured.

“I…no. I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a good idea, though. But I was thinking of a few cases where there are more complex logical structures.”

“Such as?”

“Well, there’s not much in the literature, but I found one simple example. It’s related to the Colour-Change Charm. Normally we use Colour-Change Charms based on heraldic colours.” She drew a hexagon on a piece of parchment and labelled with the letters ROYGBV. “But there’s also a Colour _Wheel_ Charm that rotates the colours of the target around a six-point colour wheel, so red to orange, orange to yellow, and so on.”

“I’ve heard of it, Hermione,” Septima cut her off.

“Er, right,” she said, blushing a little. “And what happens if you cast that spell six times?”

“You wind up back where you started—ah, I see. That’s a different logical structure.”

“Exactly, and what’s more, it’s an _incomplete_ logical structure. That spell, and multiple applications of it, form a cyclic group of order six. But the symmetry group of the colour wheel is the dihedral group of order twelve. Theoretically, the Colour Wheel Charm points to the existence of six Colour- _Switching_ Charms based on reflections of the colour wheel.” She drew a line through the hexagon to indicate the reflection. “So this one would swap red and purple, orange and blue, and yellow and green.” She drew another line. “This one would only swap orange and purple, and yellow and blue. It leaves red and green alone. And then there are four more based on the other possible reflections.” She drew in the other four lines.

Septima was starting to get an inkling of what Hermione was driving at with this technique, and it looked like it could be a surprisingly powerful innovation. “So if I understand this,” she said slowly, “you’re saying that purely from this theory of symmetry groups, you’ve deduced that it’s possible to derive _six_ new spells from this one?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Hermione said brightly. “Obviously, this example is just a curiosity, and before you ask, I’m still working out the details, but I’m hoping I can find useful group structures in some of the more standard charms, if only in the arithmantic expansions and not the effects. If that pans out, it could be useful to invent a lot of new spells. And those are only the applications for charms.”

This could be _big_ , Septima realised, and she wondered how she had missed it before. Hermione was being modest again. It was true that Septima couldn’t think of any other good candidates for this analysis off the top of her head, but if it worked the way the girl was hoping, it could lead to inventing whole new _classes_ of spells. “What do mean by ‘only the applications for charms’?” she enquired.

Hermione suddenly looked a lot more nervous. “Yes, well…to be honest, I’m a little scared to apply it to transfiguration.”

“Scared?” she said in surprise. “I—I know that delving into the deeper aspects of magic can be disturbing at times, but I’ve never known you to have that problem.”

“It’s not about the magic, though. It’s about the physics.”

“How so?”

“Group theory isn’t just about logical structures. This is the maths that governs the fundamental particles of nature. It’s like the linear algebra applications in transfiguration, but theoretically much more powerful. I’m worried that if I try to apply it that way, I’m going to stumble on a way to flip matter to antimatter and blow up the castle.”

Septima couldn’t help chuckling.

“That wasn’t a joke, Septima.”

Septima turned serious instantly. “But you can’t…you _can_ _’t_ mean…blow up the castle?” she sputtered. “But how could you possibly—?”

“Do you know what antimatter is?”

“I think I’ve heard the word, but no, not really.”

“Okay, then do you know about muggle nuclear power? Nuclear weapons? That sort of thing?”

“Of course.”

“And you know about atoms? And how atoms are made of tiny charged particles?”

“I think so. It’s been a while since I’ve read any muggle chemistry.”

“Well, nuclear weapons are powered by splitting atoms. Antimatter involves destroying them completely. Antimatter is sort of like the arithmantic inverse of normal matter. It’s still made of tiny charged particles, but with the opposite charges. And when matter and antimatter come into contact, they annihilate—they cancel each other out—but there’s an _enormous_ release of energy associated with it. It’s _thousands_ of times more powerful than nuclear weapons. A speck the size of a grain of sand would explode with the force of a muggle blockbuster bomb.”

Septima’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. She could tell her former student was completely serious. It sounded impossible, though. How was the world still standing if such a thing existed? Her mind started spinning, trying to solve the puzzle. “Hermione,” said said, “this _is_ just theory…isn’t it?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, Septima. The muggles have made it in tiny amounts in laboratories—I’m talking individual particles, but with transfiguration…”

To be fair, if Septima had had to pick the student most likely to discover a world-ending spell, it would have been Hermione Granger, but she just couldn’t imagine the universe would be that unfair. She thought back over the girl’s explanation of the phenomenon and had an idea: “Of course. This…antimatter reaction…is it powered by the same kind of phenomenon as nuclear weapons?”

“Well, not exactly the same, but very similar.”

“Well, then, I don’t think it will be a problem.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed in confusion: “Why’s that?”

“It’s probably not transfigurable.”

“Not transfigurable…? How do you know?”

“Because in the hundred years since it was discovered, no witch or wizard has ever succeeded in transfiguring radioactive material.”

Hermione’s mouth opened part-way, then stopped. Her own mind started spinning. Magic couldn’t create radioactivity? That would simplify a lot of things. Merlin, she hadn’t even _thought_ about the possibility of transfiguring nuclear weapons outright, and this solved that problem nicely. Given that, it would probably be possible to prove arithmantically that you couldn’t transfigure antimatter, either. Except she realised that wasn’t proved in the first place: “Really? But radioactivity isn’t one of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law.”

“No, but it’s postulated to be a sixth exception. It’s just that no one’s been able to prove it.”

Now, it was Hermione’s eyes that grew to the size of saucers, and Septima froze when she fully registered what she’d just said. “Hermione…You think you can prove it?”

“I think I just found my next paper topic,” she whispered. “Thank you, Septima.”

Septima Vector shook her head in amazement after Hermione left. The student had officially outclassed the teacher. Forget taking her job; Hermione Granger would be in the _textbook_ before she graduated—and not just the Arithmancy textbook—the _Transfiguration_ textbook. Minerva would faint.

* * *

Hermione, Fred, and George were casually hanging out in the Entrance Hall just before dinner, chatting about how their respective years had gone. While it looked innocent to the casual observer, they had perfectly positioned themselves to intercept a certain large, blond ex-Quidditch player as he came in for dinner.

“Hello, there, Mr. Bagman,” Fred and George said in an overly friendly manner, catching him on either side.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Fred said.

“Quite the coincidence, isn’t it?” George added.

Ludo Bagman laughed, but he couldn’t quite keep the nervousness out of his laugh. “Er, hello, boys,” he said, turning to each side and looking for a way out. “I suppose it _is_ a coincidence. Um, say, should be a great feast tonight, am I right? Better get to it.”

He took a big step forward, but he was cut off when Hermione stepped in front of him, standing out brightly in her pale blue robes. “Good evening, Mr. Bagman,” she said, trying to mimic the Twins’ grins.

“Evening, miss,” he said cheerfully. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I really must be going—”

“Now hang on—”

“—this’ll only take a minute,” the Twins said.

“You never answered our letter.”

“We’ve been worried about you.”

“We’ve been wanting to talk—”

“—but it’s awful hard to get a hold of you.”

“Now, now, boys, you can see I’m alive and well. So there’s no need to worry. I don’t think we have any business.”

“Well, there _is_ the small matter of the four-hundred sixty galleons, three sickles, and twenty-seven knuts you owe us,” Hermione said. “You paid us off in Leprechaun Gold, if you recall. I’m sure it was just an oversight, though. Things were pretty chaotic that night.” _Never mind that you paid us_ before _things turned chaotic_ , she thought.

“Did I now?” he said, his voice jumping a couple of pitches. “Well, terribly sorry about that. I’ll get on that right away. I’ll have my people contact your people, and we’ll work something out.” And before they could protest again, he pushed between Hermione and Fred and entered the Great Hall.

“Well, that went well,” Hermione said. “We don’t even _have_ people.”

But she still smiled when she saw the Great Hall, reliving fond memories of…no, actually, she _didn_ _’t_ have any good memories of Halloween at Hogwarts. But the decorations were always beautiful, and maybe this year would be different…Please?

Although it might have been too late already, given the weirdness that was now sitting next to a disturbed-looking Septima.

“ _Hagrid_?”

“What happened to _him_?”

“What is he _wearing_?”

“What did he do to his _hair_?”

Hagrid was wearing something that _looked_ like a brown suit made of furs and a yellow and orange checked necktie. He looked more like a bear than a man in that monstrosity. His hair was slicked down in two big bunches with something that was definitely not hair gel.

“Is that… _axle grease_?”

It wasn’t just the fashion nuts like Lavender and Parvati who were staring. A large fraction of the school was aghast at Hagrid’s fashion _faux pas_. Something was definitely up with him. Hermione couldn’t be certain what, but when she followed his gaze, she got a pretty good idea: Madame Maxime.

It wasn’t surprising when she did the maths. It was entirely possible that Madame Maxime was the only woman Hagrid had ever seen who was his own size. It must be a lonely life for both of them, when she thought about it like that. But if he thought he was going to impress her with _that_ getup, he was setting himself up for disappointment. Madame Maxime knew all about fine dress and jewelry, and Hagrid, lovable though he was…didn’t. Hermione wished there was something she could do for him.

Most of the students waited impatiently for Dumbledore to finish eating (and he himself seemed wilfully oblivious to this) in order to get to the selection of the champions. At last, though, the food was cleared away, and Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Mr. Crouch, and Ludo Bagman stood and clustered around the Goblet of Fire. Dumbledore had just explained that the champions were to come forward and go into the back room to receive instructions when the brilliant, blue-white flames of the Goblet flashed bright red and spat out a charred piece of parchment. Dumbledore caught it one handed and read it off.

“The champion for Durmstrang will be Viktor Krum.”

Loud cheers of a disproportionately female tone erupted from the Great Hall. Hermione clapped politely. Of course, the star athlete would win.

“The champion for Beauxbatons will be Fleur Delacour.”

The cheers carried a disproportionately male tone this time. Hermione clapped more enthusiastically for her sort-of-friend, even if she was worried for her safety. Fleur was no surprise, either. She was at the top of the seventh-year class.

“The champion for Hogwarts will be Cedric Diggory.”

The applause from the Hufflepuff Table was thunderous. Hufflepuff so rarely got first billing. Hermione barely noticed the moans of displeasure from her Gryffindor friends. That was unexpected—and not good, in her opinion. Her breath caught as Cedric strode forward, looking so carefree with that enchanting grin on his face, and— _Get a hold of yourself!_ Cedric was a surprise in this. Sure, he was at the top of his class, but it was the sixth-year class, and Hermione was _definitely_ worried for him. If there was any way she could help him—maybe invent a few new hexes, maybe even curses, and send them to him—yes, she would try that.

It had certainly been an exciting evening, but after that, Hermione was quickly feeling ready for bed.

But then, the Goblet’s flames turned red a fourth time. It took longer to finish this time, as if it were malfunctioning somehow. Finally, it spat out a fourth scrap of parchment, and Dumbledore caught it in midair. His face was grave when he read it.

The old wizard cleared his throat and read out, “ _Harry Potter_.”

_Thud!_

That was the sound of Hermione’s forehead hitting the table.


	67. Chapter 67

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The contract says JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.
> 
> Did you really think Hermione would be a champion? It could be fun, sure, but there’s no rational reason for it. Voldemort needs Harry’s blood, and he doesn’t care enough about Hermione (yet!) to complicate his plan by involving her. Even hexing him the face earns her only a higher spot on his long, long hit list.

There was a definite murmur of unhappiness in the Great Hall. Harry Potter sat frozen in his seat, unwilling to believe what he’d just heard. Ron stared at him with his mouth hanging open. Hermione was rubbing her forehead where she’d banged it on the table, shaking her head with the most exasperated look he’d ever seen on her.

“I didn’t put my name in,” he said. “You know I didn’t.”

Ron didn’t seem to register his voice at all. Hermione shook her head with a slightly different tempo that he hoped meant she believed him, but he wasn’t sure.

“Harry, please come up here,” Dumbledore called again.

“You’d better go,” Hermione whispered.

Harry rose to his feet and walked up the long table to the front of the Great Hall in a daze. He was vaguely aware of the whispers growing louder, but he couldn’t make out anything that was said. Time itself seemed to lose meaning for him as Dumbledore directed him through the door to the anteroom to join the other champions.

Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum stood around the fire, waiting calmly for their instructions. Harry’s appearance certainly surprised them.

“What is eet, Monsieur Potter?” Fleur asked. “Do zey want us back in zee Hall?”

Harry shook his head slightly and tried to answer, but no sound would come out of his mouth.

Suddenly, the door banged open again, and Ludo Bagman barged into the room. He grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him along, looking far too excited for the situation. “Absolutely incredible,” he said. “Gentlemen, lady, most incredible—may I introduce the _fourth_ Triwizard Champion.”

That definitely got a reaction. Krum gave him a very suspicious look. Cedric looked as baffled as Harry did. But Fleur smiled: “Oh, vairy funny joke Monsieur Bagman.”

“Joke? No, no joke,” Bagman said. “Harry’s name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

“Zee Goblet of Fire? _C_ _’est impossible!_ ‘E could not enter ‘is name.”

“I _didn_ _’t_ enter my name,” Harry finally choked out.

Bagman didn’t seem to have heard him. He still looked like a little boy on Christmas morning.

“I would not ‘ave zought so, Monsieur Potter,” Fleur said. “‘Ermione says you are good, but not zat good.”

 _Gee, thanks, Hermione,_ Harry couldn’t help but think. Even with Sirius’s tips, he still wasn’t immune to the girl’s veela influence.

Dumbledore finally entered the anteroom, along with Karkaroff, Maxime, Mr. Crouch, Professor McGonagall, and, to Harry’s dismay, Professor Snape. Fleur was on her headmistress at once.

“Madame Maxime, Monsieur Bagman says that Monsieur Potter is to compete also! Eet must be a joke!”

“I am afraid eet is no joke,” the huge woman said, nearly knocking Fleur down when she clapped a hand on her shoulder. “I would like an explanation as well, Dumbly-dorr.”

“As would I,” Karkaroff agreed. “ _You_ said that no underage students would be able to enter.”

“Well, Potter’s always made it clear that the rules don’t apply to him,” Snape said.

 _Why is he here again?_ Harry wondered.

“Thank you Severus,” Dumbledore cut him off with a warning tone. He stepped forward and bent down towards Harry and stared at him intently, as if he was trying to read his mind. “Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?” he asked. His voice was calm, but the intensity in those pale blue eyes was overwhelming.

“No,” Harry said.

“Did you ask an older student to put your name in for you?”

Harry gaped: “You can do that? Hermione said the Age Line would—”

“Check your birth date against the records? Yes, or so I thought, at least for Hogwarts students.”

“Zen you must ‘ave made a mistake,” Madame Maxime suggested.

“I doubt it,” growled another voice. Professor Moody stepped out of the shadows with a clunk of his wooden leg. Harry jumped. He was almost certain Moody hadn’t been there before. “We all know Albus isn’t that careless.”

“Then how did Potter get in?” Karkaroff demanded.

“It’s obvious isn’t?” Moody said, giving the Durmstrang Head a more suspicious look than usual. “The Goblet was prepped for a tournament of three schools— _three._ Someone must have tampered with it to get it to spit out four names—probably Confunded it. Then, whoever Confunded the Goblet put Potter down for a fourth school. And if the Age Line only checked Hogwarts students…”

“It would not have checked Harry’s name.” Dumbledore’s face hardened when he realised the loophole he had left open.

“Which only says that an older student helped him,” Karkaroff said.

“Does it?” Moody said. “A mere student cast a Confundus powerful enough to bamboozle that Goblet? No. Think about it: Potter’s name gets put into the Goblet by someone with highly advanced magic in a way that _guarantees_ it’ll come out again. Sounds more like a hit to me.”

Harry didn’t think he could get any more nervous, but apparently, he wasn’t paranoid enough. Someone trying to kill him by forcing him into the Tournament sounded _exactly_ like something that would happen to him.

“A possibility we must consider, yes, Alastor,” Dumbledore said. “But in either case, I agree with your assessment. I highly doubt any student in this school could have Confunded the Goblet like that.”

“Even the Granger girl?”

“Hermione would never do that!” Harry shouted. Everyone turned to him.

“While Miss Granger has done more impossible things than any other student save Mr. Potter, here, I agree with his assessment,” Dumbledore said. “Miss Granger would not place her friend at such risk.”

“I agree,” Madame Maxime said. “Mademoiselle Granger ees a model student and vairy concerned for zee well-being of “er friends. Now, zis discussion ees vairy enlightening,” Madame Maxime said, “but we ‘ave not resolved our problem. Monsieur Crouch, Monsieur Bagman, you are our “impartial judges.” What ees your ruling?”

Mr. Crouch drew himself up importantly and spoke to the group: “The rules are very clear. The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Mr. Potter…must compete.”

* * *

While Harry was stuck with the powers that be deciding his fate, Hermione was drawing some very similar conclusions to theirs.

Point: There was no way Harry would deliberately enter his name in the Tournament or ask someone else to enter it for him.

Point: While she didn’t know the details, she was sure it would take someone very skilled to outwit Dumbledore’s safeguards.

Point: If it was a Hogwarts student who did it, that made them obviously good enough to compete, so why would they enter Harry’s name rather than their own? It wouldn’t improve Hogwarts’s chances of a win. If it was a Hogwarts professor, who knew Harry at least in passing, they would know he couldn’t compete with Cedric in a fair contest. If they wanted to rig it, why not rig it for Cedric?

Therefore, someone had entered Harry’s name in the Goblet hoping he _wouldn_ _’t_ win.

Therefore, Harry’s life was in grave danger. Again.

She reached this conclusion by the time Dumbledore dismissed the students to their dorms. However, she didn’t go back with the other Beauxbatons students. Instead, she followed the Weasleys part of the way to Gryffindor Tower, hoping she could catch Harry again before curfew.

As they walked, though, Ronald Weasley was following a different train of thought.

Harry’s name had come out of the Goblet of Fire. How had he done that? Ron wondered. Had he done it himself? Suddenly, Ron felt very unsure of himself. Harry had done some wild things before, but not like this. Well, sure, he _had_ shown off his Quidditch skills back in first year, but that had started with that fight with Malfoy. And yeah, he did charge off into danger a lot, but that was always because someone else was in danger first. Harry wasn’t a show-off—not like that…was he? Ron found himself second-guessing things that he had never paid any mind before. It wasn’t a good feeling. He was worried about his best mate, but at the same time, what if he really _had_ found a way to enter himself?

Ron was broken out of his thoughts by a shout from his brother. “That was brilliant!” Fred exclaimed. “Best prank ever!”

“At least the best we’ve seen all year, and that includes Malfoy being turned into a ferret,” George added.

“I wonder how he did it,” Fred continued. “We couldn’t even get past the Age Line.”

“Maybe he sneaked in and changed his school records, like Hermione said,” George answered. “Hermione, what do you think?”

“I don’t think he did it,” she said sharply.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” said Angelina Johnson, ignoring Hermione’s words. “I wish I could’ve done it, but at least we’ll have a Gryffindor in the Tournament.”

“Oh, yes. I call party in the Common Room!” Fred said.

“Seconded!” George agreed.

“He didn’t do it!” Hermione protested. “Didn’t any of you see his face? I think I would know if my best friend had entered a dangerous contest. He’s probably scared stiff right now, and he’s not going to appreciate a party.”

But her words fell on deaf ears. Nearly all of Gryffindor was too excited to have one of their own picked as Champion to think about anything else—certainly not about whether Harry actually entered himself. Their enthusiasm only served to make Ron feel more conflicted. He could work through logic as well as the next chess master. They all seemed to believe Harry had entered himself—Harry’s own house. Most of his friends. Hermione didn’t believe it, but she hadn’t been around all year. And she’d been sleeping out with the other French girls last night, and she was off talking to her other friends for most of the day. Plenty of Gryffindors had been around the Goblet all day. Surely, one of them knew what happened for sure and would speak up if Harry hadn’t been seen there—even though it seemed so bizarre for him to go after a prize like that, especially without telling Ron himself.

But it _was_ a prize, though. It came with money, glory, and, from the sounds of things, a lot of female attention.

“Ooh, that would be amazing if he wins,” said a giggling Lavender Brown.

“You think he could?” asked Parvati Patil.

“Sure. Just look at what he’s done. Isn’t that right, Hermione? You said he fought off all those dementors, and he killed that basilisk, and there was that thing with Quirrell—”

“But he had help for all of those, Lav,” Hermione protested.

“Maybe, but you haven’t seen how well he’s doing in Defence this year. He’s really good.”

“It looks like all that Quidditch is finally paying off, too,” Parvati added, and both she and Lavender giggled conspiratorially.

That bit really stuck in Ron’s craw. He’d been there for all of Harry’s adventures. He’d done almost as much. And yet it was always Harry that the pretty girls like Lavender and Parvati—and everybody else, really—talked about—something he was starting to care quite a bit about this year. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t Harry’s fault, but it was hard.

And they didn’t even _have_ Quidditch this year. He couldn’t even join in that now that Oliver Wood had finally graduated. That just wasn’t fair. Maybe it wasn’t Harry’s fault, but it definitely wasn’t fair—

“Ronald!”

He stopped, realising that Hermione had been calling his name for some time. “Huh?” he said.

“I _said_ , you don’t think Harry entered his name, do you?”

“Well, I don’t know,” he said testily. “Why don’t you ask him when he gets back?”

“Ron!” she gasped. “You can’t possibly think that Harry would—and you two!” She pointed at the Twins. “Harry could _die_ in this Tournament, especially as it’s designed for people three years older than he is. The least you could do is be a little concerned about that.”

Fred and George looked a little subdued at that thought—only a little. They were Fred and George, after all. But Ron seemed more annoyed when she pressed him than anything else. “Look, I don’t know, Hermione,” he snapped. “I’ll talk to him when he gets back.”

“Oh, fine,” she said, hoping he would cool down before Harry got to him.

“It’s okay, Hermione. I believe you,” a small voice said. Ginny laid a comforting hand on her arm.

Hermione sighed: “Thanks Ginny.”

“And I’m sure Ron’ll come around.”

“I hope so. He looks pretty mad about something.”

“Well, you know how Ron is…Hermione I’m scared,” the younger girl said. “You’re right. Harry could die in this. Is there anything you can do?”

Hermione had been wondering that herself for the past ten minutes. “I don’t know…” she said. “But I’ll think of something. You go on ahead. I’m going to catch Harry on the way up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Go on.”

Ginny turned and followed her brothers. Hermione, on the other hand, ducked into the nearest empty classroom.

“Dobby!” she called.

 _Pop!_ “Miss Hermione! Miss Hermione!” the elf said. “The other elves is saying that Harry Potter was picked for the Tournament.”

“Yes, Dobby, he was.”

“Then Harry Potter is being in danger, miss! We must be helping him!”

“I know that. I’m going to try to help him. What are my options for staying at Hogwarts the rest of the year?”

Dobby turned paled and looked down, wringing his hands. “Miss Hermione’s parents will not allow it,” he said. “Dobby’s orders is to stop yous from trying. And Professor Dumbledore would be asking your parents about it, too.”

“That’s what I thought,” she sighed. She couldn’t hide it. She recited Dobby’s orders in her head again. She didn’t think she could exploit a loophole this time, and even if she did, she couldn’t imagine there was any way to transfer back to Hogwarts without her parents signing off on it. Even if Dumbledore had the authority to force it, she was sure he wouldn’t—at least not unless she had proved an ability to help Harry in the Tournament beyond what he could get from the older students.

“Okay, then, I can’t come back to stay,” she concluded. “What if I asked Mum and Dad if I can visit again for each the tasks? I could probably bend the rules and take a few liberties to get a few extra days each time.” She didn’t relish the thought of abusing her parents’ trust, but seeing Harry put in this kind of danger—at least if he couldn’t get out of it—changed her perspective pretty fast.

Dobby bit his lip nervously. It was a strange look on an elf. Hermione was sure he must have picked up the habit from her—or perhaps her mum. “Dobby is thinking they would agree to the visits, miss,” he said, “but they says Hogwarts is dangerous. Dobby is ordered to tell them when you comes back.”

“Shoot, I hadn’t thought of that.” Dobby would have to tell her parents if she took those extra days (not to mention the skiving off class she’d have to do, but she was sure she could catch up if she worked at it), and they were sure to be less keen on that idea. Could she get around that? She didn’t really need to _break_ the rules, just bend them a little. There _was_ one way, she thought, though she hated to push it that far. “Dobby, please bring me my copy of your contract,” she said resignedly.

Dobby turned deathly pale, but he still had to obey his orders. He nodded with a squeak and popped away. A few minutes later, he returned with a long piece of parchment and handed it over with shaking hands.

“Thank you, Dobby.”

“Yes, miss…” he said worriedly. Finally, he spoke up, “M-Miss Hermione is not going to d-dismiss D-Dobby…is she?”

“What? No, Dobby, that wasn’t my idea,” she assured him. “I’m looking for something else.” She searched the contract for the provisions she wanted and carefully scanned for anything that would derail her plan. “Ah, here it is,” she said. “Look. My parents are my guardians and all that, but from a legal standpoint, Dad’s orders take first priority because he’s the one who’s paying you, and that’s written into the contract here. But now that I have my patents on those potions kits, I’m making enough money from royalties that I can pay you myself. Now look here.” She pointed to another section. “Because we’re paying you what muggles consider an exploitative wage, we gave you a very generous provision to leave. Basically, you can quit your position at any time with no prior notice by informing any one of us. I made sure to keep that provision in your subcontract to Beauxbatons, too.

“Now, here’s what I’m thinking. If Harry can’t get out of the Tournament. You cancel your contract now by informing me. Then, I’ll rehire you on a new contract with me as your sole employer. That way, Mum and Dad won’t have to sign it, and they never need to know. You’ll do almost everything the same, but you won’t have to notify them of my travels.”

Dobby’s eyes grew wide, amazed that his Miss Hermione had thought of something so devious. Fleetingly, he wondered if she could have made Slytherin if she were a pureblood. But then, he saw another problem and looked down at his stockinged feet in shame again. “But Miss Hermione,” he said. “Your parents _will_ be finding out.”

Hermione frowned: “What do you mean?”

“With Elf Magic, Dobby can only Trace his masters or employers. If you is Dobby’s only employer, your parents will be finding out if they calls Dobby and I can’t hears them.”

“Tsk.” That was another conundrum she hadn’t anticipated. How could she get out of that one? One more lie? Tell her parents Dobby had up and left to help Harry? No, Dobby was as devoted to them now as he was to Harry. They wouldn’t believe it. Plus, they’d be concerned about losing his eyes on her. What did she know about the Elf Trace? It only worked on masters or employers. It let Dobby hear them and come to them when they called. For bound masters, it worked on anyone in the family, but for employers, it only worked for people on the contract—and presumably dependents, but she couldn’t claim her parents as _her_ dependents. For Hogwarts elves, it was tied to the castle and worked anywhere in the school and grounds—To the _castle_.

“Dobby, this Elf Trace—instead of putting it on Mum and Dad, can you put it on the house instead? It’s where I officially live, after all.”

The elf brightened at that: “Yes, miss, Dobby can. Do you think that will work?”

“Yes, or at least it has a very good chance. Mum and Dad can’t really call you anywhere but the house, or they risk you being seen. If you put the Trace on the house so you can still hear them there, they’ll never have to know our arrangement changed.”

Dobby grinned broadly and hugged her legs. “Oh, Dobby is so honoured to work for such a smart witch,” he said. “I knows Miss Hermione will be able to help Harry Potter.”

“Well, I’ll certainly do all I can. I’ll start writing up the new contracts. You stand by the door and pull Harry in here when he walks by.”

Luckily, Hermione still had all the paperwork for when they had first hired Dobby. She made sure to keep everything in case someone tried to raise an irregularity with their unusual arrangement. Thus, it was trivial to copy all the forms she needed. A little while later, she heard a yelp from the door, and Harry stumbled into the classroom with a bewildered look on his face.

“Hermione?” he said.

“Harry!” She jumped up and hugged him. He looked like he needed it. “What happened down there?”

His face fell: “I have to compete.”

“Of _course_ you do,” she huffed. “There wasn’t any way you could get out of it?”

“No. The Goblet’s a binding magical contract or some such. I have to compete or face the penalty.”

“What’s the penalty?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds bad.”

“But you were entered against your will. That’s got to be considered bad faith or something like that.”

“I don’t think it matters.”

“Well…well, can’t they redraw the names?”

“Nope. They asked that, too. But Mr. Crouch said the Goblet’s decision is final until the next Tournament. I’m sorry, Hermione. Even Dumbledore couldn’t get me out of it.”

Hermione stepped back and took a deep breath. “Well…that’s it, then,” she said.

“What’s it?” Harry asked.

But Hermione was already fiddling with some parchments. “Dobby,” she said, handing the elf a quill. “Sign here, please…and here…and here…and initial here. Good. Now, move my things into the Room of Requirement, please—that’ll just be for tonight, of course. Then, take that subcontract to Madame Maxime to sign, and you’ll be reinstated. And here’s your pay to buy out the rest of this week.” She handed him a galleon.

“Yes, Miss Hermione.” Dobby took the parchment and vanished.

“Hermione, what’s going on?” Harry said.

“What does it look like is going on? I’m going to help you survive the Tournament.”

“What? But—but your parents—”

“I’ll ask them to let me visit on the days of the tasks, but I’m going to arrange things so I can spend a few days here before each one to help you prepare.”

“You are? How?”

“Well, to start off, I’m going to hide out in the Room of Requirement tonight and ‘accidentally’ miss my Portkey back to France in the morning. I’m very distraught over you getting chosen, you know. That’ll buy me a couple days while they arrange another one, and _I_ can arrange a quick way to get back here when I want to. Do you think Sirius would help me out?”

“Sirius? I—I guess. He seems to like you.” Harry’s head was spinning. In typical Hermione fashion, his now-curly-haired friend had already worked out what was going on and formulated a plan to do something about it in just the time it took for him to register that he was in deep trouble.

“Great. You’ll want to write him tomorrow morning, of course.”

“Uh…right…” he said. And before he could stop himself, he added, “Hermione, why are you doing this?”

“Harry…I’m sorry this happened to you. It always seems to be you, you know. I have a feeling I’m going to have to save your life three more times this year, and I need to be here in order to respond quickly…You’re my best friend, Harry. I can’t abandon you to a mess like this.”

Harry stepped forward and tentatively hugged Hermione. “You don’t have to do all that,” he said. “I haven’t been that great a friend to you.”

“Nonsense. You’re a wonderful friend. Are you talking about last winter?” He gave her an uncomfortable look, and she shook her head. “All friends fight sometimes. You’ve been there for me more than anyone else—ever since the troll. You know…that was three years ago tonight, and despite everything that’s happened, I wouldn’t trade the past three years for anything.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “I still wish I could pay you back for everything you’ve done, though.”

“Just stay alive, Harry. That’s enough for me. Now, you’d probably better get to bed. You look tired.”

“Uh, yeah, right.” They left the classroom together, and Harry asked one more question: “Hey, Hermione, _you_ don’t think I put my name in the Goblet, do you?”

“Of course not! I know you wouldn’t do that…But, um…”

“What?”

“Well…I think Ginny was the only other one who didn’t think you had.”

“Great. Ron? Fred? George?”

Hermione shook her head: “You know how boys can be—no offence. I know it must be hard for you. After all, there’s a good chance that…well, that this whole thing is a plot to kill you.”

Harry’s face darkened. “That’s what Professor Moody said,” he told her. “I was kind of hoping someone just put my name in to make me make a fool of myself.”

Hermione was perplexed. “Who?” she said.

“I don’t know. Malfoy?”

“No, he would rather see you killed. I’m sorry. It’s all screwed up. Just…try not to let it bother you tonight. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning.”

Harry nodded and went on to Gryffindor Tower, not anticipating the enthusiastic and entirely misplaced greeting that awaited him there.

It was a madhouse inside the Common Room. Everyone was congratulating him on getting picked in the Tournament—or at least everyone who came to the party, which was, admittedly, a biased sample. Even so, no one actually listened to a word he said, no matter how many times he tried to deny putting his name in the Goblet. The most he ever got was a _wink, wink, nudge, nudge_ in reply. Harry couldn’t believe it was even possible to have so many people in the same place who were capable of so thoroughly ignoring the person they were supposed to be celebrating. He could barely even get them to let him go on up to bed.

To his relief, Ron was already in their dorm room.

“So where were _you_?” Harry demanded.

“Didn’t feel like partying,” Ron said. “So did you do it?”

“What?”

“Did you put your name in?”

“No, of course not.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed, and he gave him a sceptical look.

Harry’s face fell: “You don’t believe me, do you? _You_ , Ron?”

“I don’t know,” the redhead insisted. “It’s weird, mate—really weird. I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t admit it to me. But still, how could your name come out of the Goblet if you didn’t even want to enter.”

“I don’t know. Neither did Dumbledore.”

“But wouldn’t that, you know, disqualify you from being the best candidate or something if you didn’t want to do it?”

Harry shrugged: “Maybe. But I wasn’t entered under Hogwarts. I was entered under some other school.”

“Awful convenient, isn’t it?”

“Ron! Are you serious? I didn’t enter my name.”

“I dunno, mate. I thought I got you, but now I’m not so sure. I mean, you _were_ talking about how it’d be nice to win the Tournament, weren’t you?”

“What? That’s ridiculous! Sure, it’d be nice, I would’ve never actually entered. I don’t stand a chance against Cedric.”

“You sure? You’ve always seemed to get out of tight spots before.”

“Because I had help. _And_ I got lucky. What’s got into you, Ron?”

“Nothing!” he snapped. “I just want to know why things don’t make sense anymore. I didn’t _think_ you would enter the Tournament, but why would anyone else enter you?”

Harry glowered at him. “Maybe to kill me,” he said. Ron’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t reply. “Hermione believes me, you know,” Harry added.

“Yeah, well that’s Hermione. She’s not the only one who can be smart.”

“Well, _you_ sure aren’t doing a very good job of it.”

“Whatever,” Ron said. He pulled his curtain back to block out Harry from any further conversation. But still, the redhead wondered why he felt so uncomfortable about it.


	68. Chapter 68

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Imperio! State the disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.
> 
> Yes, I know Ron is being a jerk. I tried to make him a little more intellectual about it than in canon, given his different choices in this fic, but yes, he is still a jealous git. He hasn’t had the introspective crises that Hermione and to a lesser extent Harry have had to force him to become more mature. I mention this because I had actually considered not making him a jerk in this story, but I realised he needed something like this to make him grow up. So he will see the light, but Harry won’t let him off so easy like in canon, because that only ensures he won’t learn from it.

Harry awoke on the morning of the first of November feeling wiped out, miserable, and very worried. It took him a moment to remember why, and then it came back to him: the Goblet, the Tournament, the, honestly, really insensitive party his fellow Gryffindors had thrown for him last night, Ron not believing him, nor any of his other housemates, except for a few kind words from Ginny. Hermione’s promise of help.

He groaned and staggered out of bed. He wanted to talk to Ron straightaway, but he had already gone down to breakfast. Harry really didn’t want to face the school in the Great Hall, but there wasn’t much else he could do.

When he got to breakfast, he felt the eyes of the whole school on him. The Slytherins were glaring at him, which was just to be expected, but what he wasn’t accustomed to was most of Hufflepuff glaring at him as well. He was sure they felt that he’d stolen their thunder when his name was drawn after Diggory’s. Ravenclaw just gave him a suspicious look, while a few of his fellow Gryffindor’s cheered again when he came into the Hall. That didn’t help his mood.

He located Ron and sat heavily beside him. His redheaded friend turned to face him wordlessly.

“So, are you ready to be sensible about the Goblet yet?” Harry demanded.

“Well…”

“Ron!”

“Look, mate,” he interrupted, “I don’t know if you entered or not, but I reckon either way you’re gonna need all the help you can get. I mean, it’s supposed to be seventh-years doing this stuff. So tell me what the First Task is, and I’ll help you strategise and stuff.”

Harry sighed he knew he shouldn’t take his frustration out on his friends, but he was pretty peeved that Ron still wouldn’t believe him. “Well, that’d be great, Ron,” he grumbled, “except they didn’t tell us what the First Task is.”

“Oh, well _that_ figures,” Ron griped. “I thought maybe I could do _something_. I guess you really are going in there alone. Shouldn’t, like, the whole school be getting in on this? Isn’t that the point?”

That was actually surprisingly perceptive for Ron. “Hey, don’t blame me,” Harry snapped. “I didn’t make the rules.”

“Well, how’re you supposed compete? You don’t know half as many spells as Diggory.”

“Gee, thanks, Ron.”

“Well, it’s true.”

“Hermione’s gonna try to invent some new ones for me. That should be a good start, shouldn’t it?”

“I guess,” Ron grumbled. “Of course, _she_ can help.”

“Hey, isn’t it a good thing if your best friend can invent some spells to get you out of a tight spot?” Harry said. “It’s really nice of her to help me out like that isn’t it? Especially since she goes to a rival school, now. But if you’ve got some good rune tricks I can use, I’ll take those, too.”

“Rune tricks?” he said. “There’s not much you can do when you don’t know what’s coming, at least with what Babbling’s taught us so far.”

“Well, that’s about it, then. Sorry, but there’s not much else to be done, I think.”

Ron just turned away at that and didn’t say anything more. It was bad enough, Ron thought, that last night had him second guessing everything he knew about his friend, but now, he couldn’t even help him out. He was a great chess player and a pretty good strategist from that. Even his brothers admitted it. But it was useless when he didn’t know what was coming. (He _assumed_ Harry truly didn’t know either. He wouldn’t try to go it completely alone…would he?) The same went for runes, which he was getting pretty good at. And of course, Hermione could invent new spells anytime. Ron just kept getting the short end of the stick.

Speaking of Hermione, Ron was surprised when he saw her come back into the Great Hall. She was drooping and looking dazed, like she always did when she hadn’t slept well, and yet, she was still managing to pull off the Beauxbatons uniform.

Ron had to admit, the way Hermione had cleaned up this year, she was a pretty good-looking girl. He already knew she was a girl, of course, but damn, he’d never realised before how much the Hogwarts uniforms hid. Hermione’s Beauxbatons uniform did her a lot more justice.

She sat down across from Harry and immediately launched into a conversation that Ron had no idea what she was talking about: “Sorry I’m late, Harry. I had to get a late start this morning in order to miss my Portkey properly. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, not too bad,” Harry said sarcastically. “It’s not like I’m fighting Voldemort again, is it?”

“Harry, you shouldn’t talk like that,” she chided. “Have you been to the Owlery yet?”

“No, I was gonna do that after breakfast.”

“Good. I’ll come, too. I need to owl Mum and Dad. Tell Sirius to reply right away. I need to make my arrangements pretty fast.”

“Ahem,” Ron cleared his throat loudly. _Miss my Portkey? Owlery? Arrangements?_ he thought. _Am I really that far out of the loop?_ “Someone wanna tell me what’s going on here? I thought you were going back to France.”

“Didn’t Harry tell you?” Hermione said. “I’m helping him with the Tournament. I ‘accidentally’ missed my Portkey this morning. They’re sending me a new one on Friday. That’ll give me time to arrange a way to come back here with Sirius to help with the tasks. I’m going to try to visit a few days before each one.”

“Oh…well you could’ve told me,” Ron said.

“Well, _you_ weren’t being very sociable last night,” Harry countered.

“Boys, this is no time to fight,” Hermione interrupted.

“Hey, I’m trying to be friendly—” he started.

“Say, Hermione,” George said from nearby, “I thought your folks were making Dobby to report your movements.” It was said teasingly, but Hermione could hear the undercurrent of concern.

“Oh, I rearranged his contracts last night,” she replied. “I’m paying him myself out of my royalties from the potions kits now.”

“Of course you are,” Ron muttered. Hermione sent him a sharp look. “Must be nice, having enough money you can just hire an elf on the spot. Not everyone can do that, you know.”

“Ugh. Well, I’m sorry for being more worried about my best friend’s safety,” she scoffed. “Anyway, _your_ parents didn’t pull you out of here. _You_ don’t have to worry about sneaking around behind their backs to help out.”

“Because we can’t afford anywhere else,” he shot back.

“Oh, come on, like you’d actually _want_ to go anywhere else,” Fred jumped in.

“It’s starting to look more inviting,” Ron said.

The Twins both shot him a mock scandalised gasp, but no one seemed to have a rebuttal to that one, so they went back to eating. Harry was still the object of whispers throughout the Great Hall, but he did his best to ignore them. Ginny offered a few words of comfort again, but she didn’t seem to really know what to say, either.

A little while later, the mail arrived, and Hermione was surprised when an owl dropped a slim magazine in front of her. She looked and realised it was the latest issue of _Annals of Arithmancy_. Then, she looked closer and saw that one of the articles was titled, _AN ANALYTIC TREATMENT OF EXTENSION CHARMS USING NON-EUCLIDEAN GEOMETRY by H. J. Granger and S. O. Vector._

“Oh my goodness, I forgot all about this,” she said, “my article _was_ supposed to be published today, wasn’t it?”

Ron stared at her in disbelief. “You _forgot_?” he said. “You publish so many articles you forget when they come out.”

“Oh, Ronald…just…cool it! We can worry about then when there aren’t any nefarious plots afoot.”

“Fine. Fine,” he said, but Ron was not happy. He’d been best mates with Harry for three years, and Hermione had been a pretty good friend, too, and now he felt like he was getting completely left behind. Harry was rich and famous and now getting all the attention for getting picked for the Tournament. As for Ron, he couldn’t help Harry this time, and people never seemed to recognise his achievements in helping Harry anyway. He had no Quidditch this year to make a name for himself on the pitch, and while Ron was a good student when he made the effort, Hermione was way over his head academically, and now, she was making her own money on the side thanks to that. Even Fred and George were just barely starting to do that.

How had he got to this point? He wondered. Harry and Hermione seemed even closer than before despite Hermione changing schools, and apparently, the two of them had gone off and made some elaborate plan without telling him.

And if he was honest with himself, could he really blame them? How could he ever keep up with those two? He hadn’t defeated an evil wizard as a baby, and he didn’t have the brains to be the best at any subject at school, let alone publish papers. Ron was accustomed to feeling…unworthy was probably the word. It came part and parcel with being poor, he thought, but now, it was hard not to see himself as the third wheel who just couldn’t measure up to his friends.

He barely even noticed that he split off from the two of them after breakfast and went to class alone, stewing in his thoughts.

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I_ _’m informing you now so that Dobby won’t have to. I overslept this morning and missed my Portkey back to France. I’m really sorry about that, but it’s not that big a deal. The Ministry will send me a new one by the end of the week, and I already asked Madame Maxime to tell the teachers at Beauxbatons to owl me their assignments. I don’t have classes here, so I have plenty of time to catch up._

_I_ _’m sorry again, but I was just so distraught last night. You remember how the Triwizard Tournament is considered very dangerous and is only open to students over age 17? Harry was selected to compete. Yes, my 14-year-old best friend, Harry. Someone—we don’t know who—somehow—we don’t know how—got through the magical protections and entered his name against his will. He still has to do it, though, because it’s a binding magical contract, and if he doesn’t, something magical and bad will happen to him. Headmaster Dumbledore says there’s no way out of it, even though that would be extortion in the muggle world or something like that. I was just so scared for him last night that I couldn’t sleep, and that’s why I overslept this morning. I’m still terrified that something awful will happen to him._

_I know I_ _’m asking a lot from you, but I have another request. I’d like to be allowed to visit Hogwarts again for each of the three tasks of the Tournament. I’m going to be trying to help Harry by inventing useful spells at Beauxbatons and owling them to him, but I really feel like I need to be here to give him moral support for the actual tasks. I’ll be sure to make all the arrangements for my schoolwork in advance, and I’ll be more careful about the Portkeys. Please? I just couldn’t stand it if I didn’t do all I could to help Harry._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. I almost forgot. I was talking to Septima yesterday, and she gave me a big idea for a new Arithmancy/Transfiguration project. I mean really big—like whatever-their-equivalent-of-the-Nobel-Prize-is big. It has to do with whether or not radioactive materials can be transfigured, which is a longstanding question. Actually, the prestige isn_ _’t why I really want to do it. The real reason is that it’s a stepping stone to giving myself the peace of mind of proving that it’s impossible to transfigure antimatter. No, that wasn’t a joke._

_Anyway, I need a few things for this project: (1) A nuclear physics textbook, (2) a non-electronic radiation detector, like a cloud chamber, or a bunch of those film badges they uses in reactor facilities, (3) a can of potassium chloride salt substitute (containing potassium-40), and (4) a chunk of uranium (it doesn_ _’t have to be very big). You can take the money out of my potions kit royalties if you have to._

* * *

“I would go to hell and back for that boy,” Sirius Black said. “In fact, I practically have. But _this_ is completely out of line—Oh, Merlin! I don’t even know what that thing _was_!”

“This was your idea, Padfoot,” Remus Lupin grunted. “You said we need to find your old mirrors so we can give one to Harry and—DOXIES!”

Digging through something that the deed called a house at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in London was like a dangerous expedition into the wildest part of the Congo, as far as Sirius and Remus were concerned. There was a reason Sirius had found a flat for him and Harry to live in. After the rats, spiders, doxies, and something that looked like a ghoul, but was way too tough and scary to be a ghoul, they would be lucky if they got out of this death trap without having to go to St. Mungo’s.

“ _Incendio_!”

“Padfoot, do you want to burn down the whole place?”

_Buzz! Buzz! Screech!_

“AHH! _Incendio_!” Remus screamed.

“You were saying?”

“Shut it!”

“I can’t believe that old elf is still alive here, especially with the state this place is in. I oughta gut it and start over.”

There was a loud flurry of cursing that seemed to come from all around them, and through it came the words, “Save it for when we aren’t about to be eaten by rabid jarveys!”

Finally, they fought their way through to Sirius’s old room—not that he had wanted to leave anything in this house, but that was where his effects had been sent after he went to Azkaban. Since his “mother” had sealed the room off at that point, it was an island of safety into the hostile territory of the House of Black.

“Phew,” Sirius said. “That was even worse than I expected, and that’s saying something.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Remus said. “I think those doxies got me, and I don’t fancy dealing with an untreated bite.”

“Fine, fine, let’s get to it.”

They dug through the old boxes. They were a mess of odds and ends—everything from clothes to toys to dirty muggle magazines mixed in with more important things like books and personal papers. There was no one box for magical items, so they had to tear up half the room to find what they were looking for.

“Hey, look at this,” Sirius said.

“The mirrors?” Remus said hopefully.

“No, it’s a photo from Harry’s first birthday.” Surprised, Remus looked over his friend’s shoulder. Sure enough, there was a photo of James chasing a baby Harry on a toy broomstick as he zoomed in and out of the picture while Lily stood by and laughed. “Heh. I remember that toy broom,” Sirius said. “And…aha! There’s a letter from Lily with it. I’ll send them to Harry with the mirror. He’ll love them.”

“We still have to _find_ the mirrors,” Remus reminded him.

“Right. Right.”

It took some more time searching, but they finally found the two communication mirrors and verified that they still worked. After that, they had to fight their way out of that place.

Sirius transfigured a rope and went out the window. “Brooms,” he said. “I should’ve thought to bring brooms.”

* * *

Harry was unhappy with Ron for most of Tuesday. Almost all of Gryffindor seemed to believe he had entered his name in the Goblet of Fire and only responded to his denials with a wink and a nod, no matter how many times he said it. And Ron? Well, he certainly didn’t look convinced by Harry’s story, and he looked angry about something. And angry about _what?_ Harry wondered. Not getting a chance of his own? Jealous of Harry’s fame and fortune? Well, he could have it. Harry would just rather have a peaceful year for once.

Hermione tried to make awkward conversation with Ron a couple more times that day, but Harry was in a bad mood and really didn’t want to deal with the redhead unless he would admit Harry hadn’t entered himself in the Tournament. Harry thought she was going to force a confrontation after classes were over for the day, but to his surprise, she told him she had something personal to take care of and nervously asked him to come with her.

Hermione had half-thought about doing this on Halloween, but she hadn’t thought it that important. However, now that she was diving deeper down the rabbit hole once again, she decided that, like the Patronus Charm, she needed some training in this subject, just in case.

She was just about to knock on the professor’s door when a gruff voice inside called, “Come in.”

The pair walked inside and came face to face with Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, an intimidating man with a peg leg, his face a mass of scars, including missing a chunk of his nose, and a pale blue false eye that could pierce cloud, shadow, earth, and flesh—not to mention doors. That was probably the most disconcerting thing of all. Just how much could he see in the castle? Could he see clear through to the outer walls? And Hermione didn’t even want to _think_ about clothes.

“Hello, Professor Moody,” she said. “My name is—”

“Hermione Granger,” he said. “Yes, I know about you. Vector talks about you all the time. Impressive work you’ve done here. I saw that paper you had this morning. Pity we’ve lost you to France.”

“Er, thank you, sir.”

“So? What is it, then? What can I do for you?”

“Well, Professor, I understand that you trained all of the fourth years in resisting the Imperius Curse a few weeks ago.”

“Tried to, more like. Not much potential for most of them.”

“I’d like you to give me the same training, if you don’t mind,” she said.

Moody raised his one good eyebrow. “You _want_ me to test you with the Imperius Curse, now?” he said.

“Well, it’s like you told them, Professor. It’s better to learn what it’s like in a controlled setting, where no one’s trying to control you completely.”

Moody nodded approvingly. “Potter, what are you doing here?” he demanded.

“A witness, Professor,” Hermione said. “One who’s known to be able to resist the Imperius Curse.”

The old Auror gave her a ghastly grin. “Ah, smart lass,” he said. “Course, I could still stun and Obliviate both of you if I wanted to try anything, but it’s good thinking. I’d give you points if you were my student.”

“Um…thank you, sir?” she said.

“So, you want to learn to resist the Imperius Curse,” Moody mused. “I warn you, lass, it ain’t easy. Your friend here is the only one who pulled it off. Most people, the best they can do is learn what it feels like and break out of it when their attacker’s concentration lapses.”

Hermione frowned. She would have thought it would be more of a direct battle of wills. But still, she said, “That’s better than nothing.”

“Alright, then,” Moody said. He pointed his wand, and Hermione had to force herself not to react as he said, “ _Imperio_.”

Suddenly, an amazing sense of calm came over her. All her worries were washed away, and she was happy and relaxed like she hadn’t felt since…she honestly couldn’t remember, but what did it matter? Perhaps those lazy summer days before she ever came to Hogwarts. It felt so freeing not to have to worry about Harry or any of her other problems. But shouldn’t she be worried about Harry? Nah. The thought was wiped from her head before she could fully think it.

Somewhere in the background of her mind, she heard Moody’s voice: _Do a cartwheel._

 _Why not?_ She thought. She was having such a good time already. Never mind that she hadn’t done a cartwheel in years. She took the proper stance and spun head over heel like she was five years old again.

 _Dance an Irish jig_ , Moody commanded.

Hermione didn’t know any Irish jigs, but the steps came to her unbidden, and she started dancing.

_Get down on all fours and bark like a dog._

_Now that_ _’s a little demeaning, isn’t it_ , some still-functioning part of her brain thought. _I think I_ _’ll pass on that one_.

_Get down on all fours and bark like a dog._

_Oh, very well._ She played her part, and then Moody abruptly broke off the curse.

“Ah!” Hermione yelped and jumped to her feet, taking a few cautious steps back from the old Auror.

“You okay, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Am I okay?” Hermione repeated absently. “Ugh. I feel like I took a big whiff of laughing gas. That spell really messes with your head.” To be honest, she really felt…violated after that, even though she’d asked for it. The symptoms were much the same as nitrous oxide, though: euphoria, detachment from the self and from reality, suppression of worry, and suggestibility. She thought she understood, now. There were other, milder spells that could influence people, but the _curse_ part of the Imperius Curse was that it suppressed the will. So it wasn’t a battle of wills, but a rout that only the very strongest—people like Harry—could fight off.

But Moody didn’t look wholly disappointed. “You have the spark there,” he said. “You hesitated at the end. You could probably fight it if you really pushed it.”

“Really, Professor?” Hermione cleared her head and thought it over. “Could I try it again, then? Now that I know what it feels like, I might be able to do better.”

“If you say so,” he replied. “ _Imperio_.”

The floating, euphoric feeling came over her again, but this time, the voice in the back of her mind was telling her, _Effects like nitrous oxide. Don_ _’t shut down completely. Keep a scrap of your wits about you._

Moody began to command her again: _Skip around the classroom._

_No, I_ _’d really rather not._

_Skip around the classroom._

Hermione skipped, but it was with a tinge of reluctance—a crack in the perfect contentment imposed by the curse.

_Sing opera._

_No way, I can_ _’t sing._

_Sing opera_ _…sing opera._

_No. I play piano. I should_ _’ve taken up violin. I don’t sing._

_Sing opera_ _…SING NOW!_

Hermione coughed under the force of the command and began belting out a truly terrible rendition of “O Mio Babbino Caro.” She might not have been a terrible singer in general, but she didn’t have the training for something like that.

 _Stop singing!_ Moody ordered. Hermione followed that command gladly.

Somewhere in her haze, she thought she heard another voice—Harry’s voice—saying, “Tell her to…” but she couldn’t make out the rest.

But Moody must have taken Harry’s advice because he commanded, _Write_ _“two plus two equals five” on the blackboard._

 _No way!_ Hermione’s inner self didn’t even hesitate to react.

_Do it. Write_ _“two plus two equals five” on the blackboard. Do it now!_

Hermione approached the blackboard and picked up the chalk, but still, she was thinking. _I_ _’m not doing it. Don’t mess with my maths._

_Write it! Write_ _“two plus two equals five’!_

Hermione put the chalk to the board and wrote a number 2, a plus sign, another 2, and an equal sign, fighting herself all the while.

 _Finish it!_ Moody ordered. _Write a five!_

Hermione’s hand started shaking. She pressed the chalk hard against the board, fighting to control which way her hand would move.

_Write a five! NOW!_

_I do not screw up maths problems!_

Suddenly, her hand jerked, and her fingernails raked across the blackboard with a piercing screech. The curse’s hold vanished so fast it set her reeling. But when she got her bearings looked up again, she grinned.

There, on the blackboard, was a number 4.

Professor Moody started laughing. “You were right, Potter,” he said. “Tell her to act like an idiot, and she’ll do it, but tell her to get a maths problem wrong, and she’ll fight it off like anything. Ha! Five points to Gryffindor for that one. Granger, you’ve got some toughness in you. Learn to use it on everything else like you do on maths, and you might be able to fight the Imperius Curse from a real dark wizard.

“Thank you, Professor Moody,” she said. She decided to quit while she was ahead, and she and Harry left the room.

* * *

The excitement of last night had died down in the Gryffindor Common Room, but people still smiled when Harry came in—except that Ron and Ginny sighed, though for different reasons.

“Hey, Harry, it’s almost supper time. What were you doing?” Ron demanded.

“Oh, Hermione wanted Professor Moody to train her in fighting the Imperius Curse. She wanted me to come along.”

“Ooh, you went for the Imperius Curse?” Lavender Brown said. “Did he make you do anything really horrible?”

“Not that horrible,” she replied. “Except he tried to make me get a maths problem wrong.”

Everyone who knew Hermione well gasped.

Harry chuckled: “I know. She fought it off when Moody tried that. I gave him the idea.”

“Yeah? So why did _you_ need to go?” Ron pressed Harry.

“Why?” he said in surprise. “Because she’s my best friend, and she asked for my help. She wanted someone there who could resist it.”

But suddenly, Ron started to get angry. “Your best friend?” he said. “Since when is _she_ your best friend?”

Harry stopped. That threw him. Was _that_ what this was about? “Since she started _acting_ like my best friend,” he shot back. “ _You_ sure aren’t doing a good job of it.”

 _Oh my God, are they_ fighting _over me?_ Hermione thought, to her horror.

“Hey, I’ve been with you for the past three years, Harry,” Ron said, his voice rising. “I’ve been by your side in every fight. Now you’re in this Tournament, and I can’t even try to help you.”

“Ron, what’s the matter with you?” Harry shouted. “You’ve been acting like a total prat all day. You know I never wanted to get in any of those fights. I don’t want to be in the Tournament either. None of it’s _my_ fault.”

“You’re still getting all the attention. You and Hermione. Me, I’m just shut out from you two, now.”

“We’re not shutting you out!” Harry protested.

“Yeah, Ron,” Ginny chimed in. “They’re still friends with you and me and Fred and George. _You_ _’re_ just being an arse.”

“Yeah, come on, Weasley,” Seamus Finnigan said, “just be glad we got a Gryffindor Champion.”

The general consensus in the Common Room was on Seamus’s side, which only made Ron angrier. “You see?” he yelled. “It’s great for _you_ , Harry. Everyone likes you “cause you’re a Champion, and I don’t even have anything to do.”

 _No,_ Hermione thought, _it_ _’s not about me—or not_ just _about me_. The thought was oddly relieving. _It_ _’s that jealousy and inferiority complex that he’s been fighting for the past three years. He thinks he can’t measure up to—to us. But he’s really gone off the deep end this time. I never realised he was that mad about it. And honestly, taking it out on Harry?_ As she listened to Ron’s ranting, something deep inside of her snapped. How could he do this to his best friends after everything the three of them had been through together? How could he not see how much Harry was hurting right now? It was all over his face. Harry had just been forced into a magical contract against his will, for Merlin’s sake—press-ganged into competing in a contest where he could lose his life. She couldn’t even express what the equivalent crime in the muggle world would be. She’d thought of extortion—or even slavery. Good God, wizards didn’t just do it to house elves; they did it to _each other_ , too. But the word still didn’t quite fit. She wracked her brain for something better. Harry had never even signed the contract. It ought to be void, but it wasn’t. It was…Her eyes widened as it hit her, and the implications mounted. It was even worse than she thought. This was _legalised contract fraud_. She had to do something.

“Ronald, will you shut up!” she cried.

All eyes turned to her. Normally, she would have been mortified that she had just shouted loud enough to silence the whole room, but at the moment, she was too livid to care. She turned around, trying to face the whole room. “All of you should be ashamed of yourselves! Harry’s been telling you all day that he didn’t put his name in that twice-damned Goblet. Why would he lie about that? It’s not like they’d kick him out of the Tournament. He tried to get out, and they wouldn’t let him because it’s a binding magical contract. He didn’t want to compete in the first place—it should have been obvious to anyone who saw his face last night that he didn’t. He’s terrified about it. _I_ _’m_ terrified about it. People _die_ in this Tournament, remember? And it’s designed for N.E.W.T. students, not fourth-years.”

No one spoke. It was rare to see a rant this big in the middle of the Common Room from anyone, let alone someone as quiet as she. Then, Hermione wheeled on the other boy who was supposed to be her friend. “And _you_ , Ronald. You’ve known Harry longer than anyone. Do you really think he’d lie to you?”

“I don’t know!” he yelled. “I don’t get how he could have got in if he didn’t enter.”

“Maybe because magical contracts are all screwed up.”

“But they couldn’t really do that, could they?” he shot back. “Maybe the Boy-Who-Lived wanted to go for the fame and fortune again.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Harry said.

“Ron, do you even hear what you’re saying?” Hermione shouted. “We’re talking about Harry Potter, here. As in, the Boy-Who’s-Already-Rich-And-Famous-And-Doesn’t-Particularly-Want-To-Be. As in, the Boy-Who-Was-Really-Hoping-To-Have-A-Year-Where-He-Didn’t-Almost-Die-…-Again. As in, the Boy-Who-Already-Tried-To-Get-Out-Of-The-Damn-Thing-And-They-Wouldn’t-Let-Him. I’d believe being forced into a magical contract over Harry lying about that. And that…” Her voice caught in worry. “That is _really bad._ I need to get to the library.”

“The library? Why?” Ginny said.

“Contract law! What else?”

Harry shook his head: “Hermione, Dumbledore said I couldn’t get out of it.”

“No, Harry. Not about that,” she said. “This is about much more than you being stuck in the Tournament.”

“What are you talking about?” said Lavender Brown. A few other people looked as if they had the same question.

Hermione was already headed for the portrait hole. “Think about it!” she said. “If you can be forced into one kind of magical contract against your will, then it stands to reason you can be forced into others. That’s a _big_ problem.” She got only blank looks in return. She tried to think of some examples they would understand: “Buying or selling a house? That’s a contract. You’re education here? That’s on a contract. Hell, _marriage_ is a contract.” She jumped through the portrait hole and hurried down the corridor.

There was silence in the Common Room. Everyone just stared at each other for about one second, and then all of the girls and a majority of the boys present dashed off through the portrait hole to follow her.

Ron stared as he watched them go. He considered following after them, but he was a little more preoccupied with the rest of Hermione’s words at the moment. When she put it that way, it _did_ seem pretty silly to think Harry entered his name in the Goblet. He knew he probably shouldn’t be so hard on Harry, too, but honestly, it was bigger than that by now. It was like they were just talking past each other all day. Yes, he was worried about Harry, but he couldn’t _do_ anything about it, so why waste his time? And in the meantime, he couldn’t believe they said they weren’t shutting him out. What did they call running off and making plans without telling him? What did they call calling each other their “best friend” all day? Did…they _like_ each other? It wouldn’t surprise him, Ron thought. Harry seemed to attract all the attention from girls, and Hermione was nice, scarily brilliant, had saved Harry’s life a bunch of times, and was starting to look really pretty… _Oh, Merlin_ _’s beard_ , he thought. _Do_ I _like her?_

Well, wasn’t that just the icing on the cake? Who would ever look at him, beside Harry Potter? What was he, compared with the Boy-Who-Lived?

Ron decided to head down to supper early alone. He felt like his two best friends had walked out on him, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to voice his greatest fear: that they didn’t need him anymore.

* * *

The crowd of Gryffindors barrelled into the library like a tidal wave, with one Beauxbatons student riding the crest. They barely even noticed Madam Pince’s protestations. Hermione, knowing the place perhaps better than anyone else in the school, made a beeline for the relevant section.

“Alright, we spread out,” she said. “Look for books on magical law, focusing on magical contract law. We should probably be looking for related things, too, like bonds, agreements, vows, pacts, life debts, those kinds of things.”

“Do you really think they could force someone into marriage or anything like that?” Ginny asked as they started combing the shelves.

“I don’t know, but I don’t want to risk it,” Hermione told her. “I want answers, and as soon as possible.”

They started pulling books off the shelves and swarmed the largest table, practically running over its sole previous occupant, a little third-year Ravenclaw with stringy, blond hair.

“Oh my,” Luna said in surprise. “Did you start a new study group, Hermione?”

“Sorry, Luna, we’ve got a crisis here,” Ginny said quickly.

“Harry was forced into the Tournament by a binding magical contract that he never actually signed,” Hermione explained. “We need to find out if you can be forced into other kinds of contracts and how to prevent it.”

Luna tilted her head and stared into space for a moment. Then, she said, “That _does_ sound important, doesn’t it? Could I help?”

“Sure, grab a book and start looking up contract law.”

Luna quickly found a book that looked interesting and joined the rest of the group. Soon, they were all leafing through dusty volumes that had not been touched in years at a frantic pace.

Unnoticed by the students, Madam Pince had given up trying to contain a disruption of this size herself and had gone to a higher authority. Within minutes, Minerva McGonagall walked into the library to find the largest Gryffindor study group she’d ever seen making a rather large nuisance of themselves.

“This one only talks about contracts having to be _signed_ ,” Patricia Stimpson reported.

“Life debts are magically invoked, but are not considered to be magically binding,” said Lee Jordan.

“Hold on, here’s something on marriage,” Parvati Patil read off: “Under the Marriage Reform of 1693, betrothal contracts are not valid unless signed by the actual parties to be married.”

“ _What_ is going on here?”

Over two dozen Gryffindors, one ex-Gryffindor, and one Ravenclaw looked up to see a very unhappy Professor McGonagall staring them down. They were silent, unsure how to explain things.

“I have _never_ seen a disruption in the library of this magnitude,” McGonagall continued. “What on earth is this about?”

The Gryffindors were all cowed into silence by that, but Hermione cautiously stepped forward and said, “Excuse me, Professor. This was my idea. I realised that Harry being forced into the Tournament was basically contract fraud, and I wanted to find out whether it was possible to be forced into other contracts.”

McGonagall blinked and sighed: “ _I_ could have answered that for you, Miss Granger. There was no need to overrun the library. Or do you think I would not have investigated Mr. Potter’s selection by the Goblet _very_ carefully?”

Hermione winced when she realised she had missed the most obvious resource. “Sorry, Professor,” she said.

“The Goblet of Fire,” McGonagall explained, “is very old. It does not make precisely the sort of contract that you see in parchment and ink today. Its notions of authority and consent are literally medieval. Its original use, so far as can be determined, was in drawing lots, where the lots need not be random, but instead judged by the Goblet’s magic—lots for contests like this one, and for conscription for battle, or even for selecting a king, in one instance. But under medieval law, any person could be entered by an authority figure over them, and the Goblet still follows that standard. Modern contracts do not allow that.”

That made quite a lot of sense to Hermione, even if the fact that it was possible to bind someone against their will, even in principle, was worrying. But then again, it would be a lot simpler to hit someone with a powerful curse directly. Than to use a contract. But then she realised something else: “But if Harry had to be entered by an authority figure, doesn’t that mean one of the teachers had to have done it?”

“I’m afraid we don’t know. It’s possible that the Goblet was Confunded to circumvent that as well. But I want to assure _all_ of you that it is impossible to be bound against your will into a… _betrothal_ contract, or almost any other sort of contract, in the modern magical world.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione and the others sheepishly put their books back and returned to Gryffindor Tower.


	69. Chapter 69

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Rita Skeeter maybe sloppy enough to report that I own Harry Potter, but I’m not. All rights go to JK Rowling.
> 
> Parts of this chapter are quoted from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.
> 
> On magical contracts: Many reviewers were correct in saying that it would be possible to bind someone into any contract with the Goblet of Fire or some other powerful artifact with liberal use of Confundus Charms. However, there are two qualifiers to this. First, the more you bend the “normal” rules of contract law, the more powerful the Confundus has to be, so not just anyone can do it.
> 
> More importantly, we don’t know what the consequences are of breaking a binding magical contract, but the world that JK Rowling built makes no sense if they include death (which should be the exclusive province of the Unbreakable Vow) or loss of magic (which is implied to be physically impossible). Therefore, the consequences must be less severe, like Hermione’s D.A. Contract Jinx, and therefore, getting out of the contract is merely a matter of being willing to accept those consequences. All that will probably not be important in this story, which is why I’m mentioning it here.
> 
> (Accordingly, I have a real problem with fics that invoke “marriage contracts,” and no one so much as asks whether it’s possible to get out of them. That’s the trope I was really trying to undermine in the last chapter, and I apologise if my explanation was incomplete.)
> 
> Thanks to bexis1 for the smoke detector idea.

Ron may have felt shut out by his friends, but Hermione was feeling pretty useless herself. She had won Harry some more allies who believed him with her rant against Gryffindor, but there weren’t many besides the group that had overrun the library. She could start thinking about new hexes that might help Harry in the Tournament, but without knowing what the Tasks were, she really had no direction. She tried anyway, but she didn’t get very far. Worse yet, that night Fleur confronted her sternly about the whole thing.

 _“I heard you’re going to be helping Potter in the Tournament, ‘Ermione,”_ the older girl said in the carriage that night. Fleur herself seemed to be interested in Hermione’s response, but the rest of the Beauxbatons contingent didn’t wait and expressed their disapproval at once.

 _“You are helping the enemy!”_ one of the boys said loudly.

Hermione sighed. She had noticed that that particular boy seemed to be especially affected by Fleur’s allure. _“Enemy?”_ she said. _“What enemy? This Tournament is supposed to be about international cooperation.”_

 _“It’s still not right for you not to support your school just because we are facing your old one,”_ one of the girls said.

 _“I’m not supporting Hogwarts,”_ Hermione protested. _“Harry wasn’t selected for Hogwarts—although I would help Cedric if he asked, but that’s because I’m his friend. And Fleur, I’ll help you if you want because, too, I’d like to consider you a friend. But I_ will _be helping Harry because he_ _’s been my closest friend for three years.”_

 _“You’re still competing against_ our _Champion,_ _”_ the first boy protested.

 _“I’m really not. I’m not trying to help Harry win. I’m trying to help him_ survive _. He_ _’s very good for a fourth year, but I don’t believe he could really compete with the other champions. He’ll need all the help he can get just to get through it.”_

_“But—”_

_“I think ‘Ermione has made her point,”_ Fleur cut them off, using her haughty voice. _“I do not believe Potter is a threat. He is only fourteen, after all. ‘Ermione, I might ask for your help later on, but I think I will be ready.”_

 _“Thank you, Fleur,”_ she said.

* * *

The high point of Harry’s week came on Wednesday morning, when he received a magic mirror that allowed him to talk to Sirius face to face, along with a photo of his family and a letter from his mother. Hermione (along with Ginny and every other girl who saw it) thought the photo was adorable.

“I see where you got your flying skills, Harry,” Ginny giggled.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said.

Hermione was more interested in the letter, however. Bathilda Bagshot claimed Headmaster Dumbledore knew the dark lord Grindelwald in his youth? That was something to investigate more closely if she ever had the time.

Harry had a nice, long talk with Sirius and Remus through the mirror, which he enjoyed, but it wasn’t very productive. They both agreed that Harry couldn’t get out of the Tournament safely and that it was probably an attempt to hurt or kill him. Naturally, they were very worried, but they said they trusted Dumbledore and Professor Moody to keep him safe.

Hermione borrowed the mirror for a private conversation with Sirius and Remus while Harry went to class. She evaded telling him what it was for. She didn’t want to get his hopes up until she was sure it would work. She was holed up in the Room of Requirement for a lot of Wednesday and Thursday, although she made one exception. She took Harry along on Thursday to ask Professor Moody to try the Imperius Curse on her again.

“Again?” he said incredulously. “I never met a lass who so _eager_ about it.” He shot her an exaggerated lascivious grin to make sure she got the point.

“I didn’t say I liked it,” Hermione protested. Her stomach turn, and she would have walked out if he hadn’t proved himself trustworthy last time. “I just think it’s important to learn to fight it to the best of my abilities—especially with the Death Eaters showing their faces again.”

“Careful, Miss Granger, you might start to sound like me.” He laughed mockingly. “Anyway, I didn’t give any of the Hogwarts students extra classes.”

“You also said most of them were hopeless,” she observed. “You kept testing Harry until he could throw it off completely.”

“Huh—Well, you’ve got me there,” Moody said. He tested her a couple more times. Hermione mustered up all her determination—that feeling last spring when she decided to take control of her life, her unwavering command of numbers and figures, her resistance to getting them wrong last time—and practically threw it at Moody. It was still almost impossible for her to break the curse, but she could fight it hard enough to noticeably hinder Moody in making her carry out his commands. With luck, that would be enough to alert others that she was being controlled, that was still a big advantage.

“Well, I doubt you’ll be able to do much more beyond that,” Moody told her. “This is one of those things you either have or you don’t. But still, you did better than most—a lot better.”

Hermione accepted that and went back to her work. On Friday morning, her hard work had paid off. She barely had enough time to catch Harry before her Portkey was to leave, and Madame Maxime was keeping her on a much shorter leash this time, but she really needed to talk to him, so she made it.

“Harry, good. There you are,” she said, running up to him before breakfast. “Listen, I only have a few minutes. You know how I’ve been talking to Sirius?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said.

“Well, he’s arranged for me to get a Portkey back to Hogwarts for the First Task, so I’ll be able to come see it.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that,” she said. “Unless something comes up, I’ll be coming in on the morning of the First Task. I really don’t think I’ll be much good to you without knowing what the Task is. _But_ Sirius is arranging for me to get a touch-activated Portkey instead of a timed one so I can come early if I need to. They don’t normally do that across international borders, but you know how Sirius is right now. I mean, I told him I was uncomfortable with him spending that much money on me, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He says you need all the help you can get. Anyway, if you find out what the First Task is, you can contact me, and I’ll come to help you prepare.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Well…thanks. That means a lot.”

“I couldn’t let you face this alone, Harry. Especially with Ron…” They both turned and looked at Ron, who scowled at them from a distance. Hermione was getting worried about him. He had been a stubborn prat before, but he had never been like this…Well he’d come close over “Scabbers’ last spring. “But I have something for you,” she turned back to Harry. “Take this, and _don_ _’t_ lose it.”

He looked at the thing she had pressed into his hand: “A galleon?”

She shook her head. “It’s not a real galleon,” she said. “You feel how much lighter it is than usual? It’s made of brass, and you can see at the top it says _COPY_ —I didn’t want to make the goblins mad. It’s a way for you to contact me immediately, in case it would take too long for Hedwig to get to the Pyrenees. I put a Protean Charm on it—which wasn’t easy, let me tell you. It’s N.E.W.T. standard. I had to have Remus help me. Anyway, look along the rim.”

Harry did and read off the letters there: “ _NO MESSAGE_.”

“You can send a message by tapping you wand to it four times. Write it letter by letter on the coin face using your wand tip like a quill, and tap four times to end the message. It’ll hold up to forty characters, including spaces and punctuation. I have my own coin, and it’ll heat up to alert me and show me the message. Then, I can come right away if I need to.”

“Wow, you didn’t need to do all that.”

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s that much compared with facing a horde of dementors. I’m just doing what I can. Good luck Harry.” Hermione hugged him, paused for a moment, and left. She strongly considered kissing him on the cheek, but she decided that doing that in public would be a very bad idea. It wouldn’t take much for people to misconstrue that.

And so, after an exhausting week, she was on her way back to Beauxbatons, where they didn’t have messes like this. And yet, she would much rather have been by her best friend’s side.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_We—reluctantly—understand about the Portkey. That was still very careless of you, though. It_ _’s terrible that Harry’s being put in more danger, and we’ve decided that we will allow you to attend these “Tasks,” so long as you don’t make that kind of mistake again._

_We_ _’re shipping you the things you asked for. It sounds like a very interesting project. But we’re not sending you any uranium. Even if we knew where to get some, that’s just asking for trouble._

_Love from,_

_Mum and Dad_

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Thank you for the supplies. Could you maybe send me a smoke detector instead? It_ _’s not important that it’s electronic. It’s because it’ll have a little piece of americium in it. I won’t try to tamper with it with magic. I just need an element that’s all radioactive as a control for my tests._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

Hermione’s next week was a flurry of activity. The other Beauxbatons students wanted to know all about Hogwarts, what she did there all week, the Champion selection, and especially Harry. Many of them weren’t happy that Hogwarts got an extra Champion or that he had upstaged Fleur, but Hermione answered all of their questions as far as she was able (and was comfortable) and she tried to emphasise that Harry was competing against his will and that she was really worried about him. Unfortunately, just like at Hogwarts, few people seemed to believe her.

Hermione’s main distraction for the next week was catching up on her schoolwork. Her teachers had not been happy with her missing three extra days of class, even though she still got stellar grades. There was also her maths independent study, her arithmancy papers, and inventing hexes for Harry to worry about. If she played her cards right, a lot of that could overlap with her Arithmancy class, but it was clear she was going to be taking a different direction in that class this year from what she’d expected.

Another task that she had set for herself was mapping Beauxbatons Castle. She had decided to set aside one hour per week to work on her map, which she hoped to eventually turn into something like the Marauder’s Map. By now, she had already mapped out all of the corridors, and she had recruited one of the house elves to show her and Dobby all the secret passages. Sadly, Beauxbatons didn’t seem to have anything like the Room of Requirement—an oversight that she wanted to investigate a bit closer—but there were other rooms she could reasonably use for spell testing if she didn’t go overboard.

It was on Saturday morning, a week after she got back, when she noticed something strange was going on—well, stranger than usual: an awful lot of people were pointing at her and whispering. A number of girls giggled or cooed when they saw her, but a greater number of boys _and_ girls were scowling at her or giving her the cold shoulder. It was so unusual that she stopped and checked her appearance in the Mirror Gallery to make sure there was nothing wrong with her, but nothing looked out of place. She couldn’t think of anything that would cause this kind of shift in opinion. Finally, she met up with Hildegard and Adèle at breakfast and said, _“Okay,_ what _is going on? Everyone_ _’s looking at me like I’m an animal in a zoo.”_

 _“What? Don’t you know?”_ Hidegard replied with an irritated tone.

_“Not until you tell me.”_

_“Here, see for yourself,”_ Adèle said, and handed her a newspaper. To Hermione’s surprise, it was the _Daily Prophet._ Even more to her surprise, there was an article in it about Harry—or, nominally, an article about the four Triwizard Champions, but the article was pretty much all about Harry—and that mostly about his life story, not the Tournament itself.

 

_Watchers of the revived Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts received a shock last week when Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was selected as a fourth Triwizard Champion. Despite Harry_ _’s suspect entry into the contest, the judges ruled that he was bound by contract and was to compete for Hogwarts._

 

 _“No, he isn’t,”_ Hermione said, though no one was really listening. _“He was entered under a fourth school. Cedric is the Hogwarts Champion.”_

Unfortunately, the rest of the article—and it was a long article—went downhill from there. The reporter had allegedly got an exclusive interview with Harry, but the article’s description of Harry himself was purple, at best.

 

_An ugly scar, souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures the otherwise charming face of Harry Potter, whose eyes—_

 

 _“Who says it’s ugly? He told me once he liked how his scar looked before he knew what it meant.”_ But that wasn’t the worst, from the description, the article went into the interview itself, and the transcript of the interview made her wonder if it wasn’t invented from whole cloth.

 

_Tears fill those startling green eyes as our conversation turns to the parents he can barely remember_ _…“I suppose I get my strength from my parents. I know they’d be very proud of me if they could see me now…Yes, sometimes at night I still cry about them, I’m not ashamed to admit it…I know nothing will hurt me during the Tournament because they’re watching over me…”_

_“No way!”_ Hermione said. _“There’s no way he said that. Even Harry isn’t_ that _foolhardy. His parents wouldn_ _’t be proud. They’d be scared out of their wits. Even Sirius is worried, and he’s way more reckless than Harry is. And…he still cries about his parents…? That doesn’t sound like him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually cry when he talks about his parents…although I guess I’ve slept in the same room with him…”_

It took her a minute to collect herself after reading that rubbish. The rest of the article was filled with yet more ups and downs. The part about Sirius was surprisingly accurate:

 

_Harry lived with muggle relatives until this summer, when his godfather, Sirius Black, was exonerated of the crimes for which he was sent to Azkaban. Black took Harry in this summer, despite still recovering from his ordeal. Questions have been raised about Black_ _’s competence, given his long-term dementor exposure and his long-term association with a known werewolf, Remus Lupin. Harry, however, said he enjoyed his new accommodations._

_“Sirius is wonderful. He’s not perfect, but he tries so hard. My relatives and I could never understand each other, them not having magic, and all. It’s a lot better living in the magical world. I’ve only known Sirius for a few months, but I already love him like a second father. He’s going help me train to win the Tournament.”_

That actually wasn’t far off the mark, except for the winning part, Hermione thought, but that still wasn’t how Harry talked.

 _“Did you get to the part about you, yet?”_ Hildegard asked.

_“There’s a part about me?”_

Hildegard and Adèle smirked at her. Hermione scanned down until she saw her name, and she then understood why she kept getting funny looks.

_Harry was modest about his romantic life, but according to his classmates, it is as fraught and complicated as the rest. Harry found love early at Hogwarts. His close friend, Colin Creevey, says that he was rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl with a growing list of accomplishments to her own name. Harry_ _’s sweetheart began an accelerated course in Arithmancy in her first year, has published several scholarly papers, and began marketing a small line of potions kits in apothecaries this summer._

“His _sweetheart_?” Hermione cried, lapsing into English. “That’s ridiculous! We’re just friends!”

 _“Right. Just “friends,’”_ her roommates said.

“I mean it! Their source is wrong. Colin Creevey isn’t Harry’s close friend. He’s a fan-boy who’s always trying to take his photo. Honestly, can you imagine _me_ dating _Harry?_ I’m already a nervous wreck without being in love with him. And besides, he and Ginny are more interested in each other. Anyone who pays attention knows—” She trailed off when she remembered that, apparently, no one _did_ pay attention to Harry—not with the way he was constantly disbelieved. Why did she even bother? She shut her mouth and kept reading:

 

_Sadly, tragedy struck the young couple this year, when Hermione_ _’s parents forced her to transfer to Beauxbatons after she was involved in several dangerous incidents at Hogwarts. But they seem to be making their long-distance relationship work, and Hermione even visited Hogwarts in order to see her boyfriend’s entry into the Tournament and will return to watch Harry compete in each of the tasks._

_Harry, of course, had only good things to say about his girlfriend, lavishing praise on her especially for her spellcrafting skills._

_“She’s brilliant. Definitely the best in the school. She’s helping me train, too. She’s inventing all kinds of new hexes I can use.”_

 

This was an insult to responsible journalism. Harry might think that, but there’s no way he would say it—not like that, and Hermione said so.

 _“That’s not the worst,”_ Adèle said. _“See what it says about Fleur.”_

 

_The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang Champions in the Triwizard Tournament are Fleur Delacoeur and Victor Krum, respectively._

“What?!” Hermione said. “They don’t even mention Cedric! And they misspelled the other names. Who wrote this thing?” She looked at the byline: _Rita Skeeter_. She groaned. It was the same woman who had attacked Mr. Weasley and other Ministry officials over the World Cup fiasco. She supposed she count her blessings that Skeeter had at least listed Harry as the “fourth Champion” so that people who were paying attention would know there _was_ another one. But no, she couldn’t tolerate this kind of hack job. Something would need to be done.

She remembered something from last spring. She ran back to her room after breakfast and removed an acid-green quill from her trunk that she had found in the Room of Requirement, but never really done anything with. Setting it up on a parchment, she tried to imitate how she thought Colin Creevey would describe her: “You used to see Harry and Hermione Granger together all the time. She’s brilliant, she is, but her parents made her transfer to Beauxbatons.”

The quill, however, wrote its own version of her words:

 

_Harry was rarely seen out of the company of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl with a growing list of accomplishments to her own name. Sadly, tragedy struck the young couple this year, when Hermione_ _’s parents forced her to transfer to Beauxbatons._

 

Well, that was how Rita Skeeter had done it. She must have a quill just like this one, apparently designed to write fictionalised and purple prose. What she could _do_ with that information, though, she didn’t know yet.

There wasn’t anything she could do now, she admitted. She tried to put it from her minds and relax with one of her other side projects, but it was difficult. In addition to mapping the castle, she had set aside an hour a week to try to reverse engineer her omnioculars from the Quidditch World Cup. Her primary goal was to figure out how to transfer their video recordings onto a more watchable medium to make them into a real video camera. She had bought a cheap magical camera for comparison, too. So far, she had figured out how the recordings were stored in the instrument; it seemed to be some kind of crystal—two crystals, rather, one for each lens. That gave her interesting ideas about 3D displays, but that was much further down the road. She thought maybe she had a simple way to transfer it onto ordinary magical film, but only in ten-second increments, like a regular magical photo, and she wasn’t sure. Maybe when she visited Hogwarts next, she could ask for help from…Oh, dear: Colin Creevey.

* * *

Molly Weasley was a little more credulous than Hermione Granger as she read Rita Skeeter’s interview. Her emotions shifted rapidly as she waded through it. She was furious all over again that Harry had been allowed to enter the Tournament. Whether it had been deliberate or not, they had still let him get in way over his head. And, she was sad to say, her youngest son was no help. From her other childrens’ letters, Ron had been sulky and jealous ever since Halloween. That was no way to treat a friend. Thank Merlin for Ginny, she thought, and she’d never thought she’d say this, but thank Merlin for Fred and George, too. At least they were still supporting him.

Later on, the part about Harry’s family had Molly in tears. _“He still cries about his parents!”_ she said. _“Oh bless him, I never knew!”_ But a few paragraphs after that, she was in for a shock.

Harry and Hermione? Molly had honestly not seen that coming. And really, she should have, knowing how devoted Hermione was to Harry. She could even admit that they would make a lovely couple. But it had to be hard on Ginny. She hoped her daughter wasn’t taking it too badly. Harry and Ginny seemed to have grown close from what she wrote in her letters and from Harry’s visits this past summer. Molly was thrown for a loop when she read that things had gone in a different direction. And she had no idea where Ron stood on this, especially after this dreadful falling out. Hermione had been a surprisingly good influence on him until this mess. She had thought that maybe in spite of how different they were…

Of course, it was far too early to be _seriously_ thinking about such things, but Molly couldn’t help imagining sometimes that it would just be so _perfect_ if Ginny and Harry got together, and Ron and Hermione got together, too. Molly wasn’t a manipulative woman, by any means—opinionated, very much so—but not manipulative. Her chief failing in this matter was that she was a hopeless romantic, and it was a real let-down to see that her vision wasn’t coming true.

She hoped Ginny would be more practical, but something told her her daughter would be taking this at least as badly as she was. After all, Ginny was the one who (admittedly, like most little girls) had wanted to marry the Boy-Who-Lived since she was six. Molly thought she’d better write her a letter to comfort her.

* * *

It was several days before Molly heard back from Ginny, and when she did, it was perhaps a bigger shock than the article itself.

 

_Dear Mum,_

_I was as surprised as you were when I saw that interview. I talked to Harry and wrote to Hermione just to be sure, and they confirmed that they aren_ _’t together and never were. They’re just friends. That’s what I had thought, too. I’ve never seen anything between them. It turns out Colin was just mixed up because they and Ron were always together before I started hanging out with them. Don’t worry. I set him straight._

_Actually, Hermione spent a lot of last year helping me get past my shyness and get close to Harry. I_ _’ve been trying to support him more because she’s not here this year._

_Harry and Hermione said that most of the stuff in that interview was wrong. Harry didn_ _’t enter himself, and everyone who believes him is really worried about him. Hermione and Mr. Black are trying to help him, though._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

 

So Rita Skeeter had been wrong, Molly thought. That was a surprise. Everyone thought so highly of her. But no, Harry was no more than good friends with Hermione. And what was more, it looked like there might be a little something between Ginny and Harry after all. Oh, she knew they would look so adorable together. She was still very concerned about Harry being stuck in the Tournament and the fact that Ron still wasn’t speaking to him, but at least that was one less thing to worry about.

* * *

Hermione was awakened from a deep sleep by a sharp, burning pain on her chest. She hissed through her teeth and sat bolt upright, fumbling with the small chain so she could see her Protean-charmed fake galleon. Hermione had taken to wearing the galleon as a necklace all the times so that Harry could contact her any time day or night in an emergency. As she pulled the necklace off, she also fumbled for her watch on the bedside table. It was half past one in the morning, and there were two and a half days until the First Task. This must be really bad.

She got hold of her wand and cast _Lumos_ so that she could read Harry’s message. Her response woke her roommates, and she strenuously claimed they had been dreaming when they questioned her on her exact words.

The coin read: _FIRST TASK IS DRAGONS! HELP!_

Hermione deliberated for a few minutes about what to do. She didn’t think she’d get any more sleep with that news—not until she did something constructive, anyway. She knew it was no good leaving now; she wasn’t ready. But she was useless here. She needed to get the full story as soon as possible. Deciding on a course of action, she stepped out of her bedroom and whispered, “Dobby.”

The _Pop!_ didn’t come right away. Dobby must be sleeping. Sure enough, half a minute later, the elf appeared in his nightclothes, wobbling and rubbing his eyes. An elf in footie pyjamas was one of the stranger sights in her life.

“Miss Hermione?” he said blearily. “What is being happening?”

“Harry found out what the First Task is. It’s dragons.”

“WHAT?!” Dobby was wide awake, now.

“Shh! Don’t panic. We’re going to help him as soon as we can. Come back and wake me up again at six, then help me pack for a three-day trip. At six-thirty, I can leave the dorm, and I’ll start tracking down my teachers to get my homework. Once I have all of it, we’ll use the Portkey Sirius sent me to get to Hogsmeade. I’ll see what I can do for Harry then. Okay?”

“Yes, miss. I understands.”

Hermione tried to get a few more uneasy hours of sleep, but her mind was already racing, trying to figure out how she could possibly be useful to Harry if he had to fight a dragon. She already felt worn out when Dobby woke her again, but she forced herself to move.

* * *

Harry was very surprised when, near the end of breakfast, Hermione came running into the Great Hall, harried and out of breath, but unobstructed. He hadn’t expected her until after classes today at the earliest, and he didn’t know how she might be able to help him, but he was glad she was there.

“Harry!” she said when she reached the table. “I got your message. You’ll have to tell me everything. I can’t believe they’re making you fight a—”

“Shh!” Harry said. “Not here,” he whispered. “I’m not supposed to know about it. We have History first class. I can skip and talk then.”

“Skip class—? Oh, very well,” she said. It _was_ History, after all. “Is there any tea left? I didn’t sleep well.”

Hermione got her cuppa and left with the rest of the Gryffindors. Madame Maxime gave her a questioning look and frowned at her. She could probably work out that if Hermione was here, then Harry knew what the First Task was. Fortunately, her Headmistress didn’t confront her. After all, Harry really needed the help, and it wasn’t like Hermione’s help would make him a serious threat to Fleur, right?

Speaking of which: “Harry, do the other Champions know about the task?” Hermione asked.

“Fleur and Krum do,” he said. “Maxime and Karkaroff were there last night…I should probably tell Cedric so it’s fair.”

“Good idea. Ron, are you coming?” She motioned in the direction Harry and she were going.

“Why?” the redhead said.

She leaned close to him and whispered, “Because the First Task involves _dragons_. This is something you can actually help with. Remember how you helped us with Hagrid’s dragon in first year?”

“Harry already asked me last night,” he protested. “I told him I didn’t have any better ideas than what Sirius and Remus came up with.”

“It’s called a brainstorming session, Ron—”

“A _what_?”

“Brainstorming. It means with more people, we might be able to get some better ideas.”

“I doubt it.”

“Fine. Be that way. Fred! George! Ginny! Can any of you get away with skipping class? I’m trying to help Harry get ready for the First Task.”

“Oh, sorry, Hermione,” Ginny said. “Arithmancy.”

Hermione nodded. She was right not to risk Septima’s wrath.

Fred shook his head, too: “Transfiguration.”

“I’m free,” George said. “It’s great having only three classes. I’ll give you a full report, Fred.”

“Excellent. Harry, go get your mirror. We should get Sirius and Remus in on this, too.”

A few minutes later, Harry, Hermione, and George were ensconced in an unused classroom with Sirius and Remus on the mirror.

“By the way, Harry, when did half the school start wearing badges that say _POTTER STINKS_?” Hermione asked.

“Saturday. It was Malfoy’s idea.”

“Figures. So tell me about the Task. What did you find out?”

“Okay, so yesterday in class, Hagrid told me to meet him at midnight at his cabin with my invisibility cloak. I went out there, and he was taking Madame Maxime for a walk in the Forbidden Forest. I think he was trying to make a date out of it. His French is terrible, by the way.”

Hermione giggled at the thought of Hagrid trying to charm Madame Maxime. Talk about opposites attracting. “How did she like it?”

“I think she was more interested in the dragons. There were four of them—one for each of us—and a bunch of handlers, too. Charlie was there, George.”

“Charlie? How’s he doing?”

“He seemed okay. I was more worried about the dragons, though. With my luck, I’ll probably get the Hungarian Horntail. It looks twice as bad as the others.”

“So it’s true, then?” Hermione said. “You have to fight a dragon in two days?”

Harry shook his head: “Charlie said we only have to get past them. They’re nesting mothers, so I think we only have to steal an egg from them, or something.”

“ _ONLY?_!” Hermione shrieked. “Harry, that’s even worse! Don’t you know anything about animals?”

“Sorry, Hermione, I didn’t get to watch many nature programs growing up,” he said, backing off from her anger.

“Oh, Harry,” she groaned. “Look, if you were…if you were a dark wizard—just hear me out—would you rather fight Bill Weasley, the brilliant cursebreaker, on his own, or would you rather try to kidnap Ginny from under Mrs. Weasley’s nose?”

The colour drained from Harry’s face, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Oh God, oh God, oh God, I’m gonna die!” he said.

“Bloody hell, Harry, you _are_ in trouble, aren’t you?” said George, who had gone pale himself. “What’re you gonna do?”

“That’s what we’re here to figure out,” Hermione said. “Sirius, Remus, Harry said you had an idea. What is it?”

“Dragons are extremely magic-resistant,” Remus began to lecture. “It takes a very strong spell to get through their hides. The other Champions probably have a few options to choose from, but unfortunately, Harry doesn’t. Their fire is magical, too, so the Flame-Freezing Charm is iffy, at best, and you still have the teeth and claws to worry about. However, they _do_ have weak points. The most important one is the eyes. There’s an O.W.L.-level spell called the Conjunctivitis Curse that irritates the eyes and blinds the victim. It’ll take a lot of power to blind a dragon, but I think he’ll be able to pull it off.”

“I hope so,” Harry said. “I don’t know if I can do it. I mean, I tried it a couple times this morning, and I can kind of cast it, but I don’t know if I can _aim_ it that well.”

Hermione imagined the scenario—missing multiple times with that spell. It didn’t look promising, and aiming wasn’t all. “The dragon could dodge, too,” she observed. “I don’t know how smart they are.”

“Well, if you two have any other ideas, we’re open to them,” Sirius said.

“Hmm…George, what other weaknesses do dragons have?” she asked.

“Erm, ears, I guess. And nose and mouth. A Sleeping Draught would do it, but you’d need a strong one, and a lot of it. Not a whole lot else, though. Their skin’s pretty tough, and there’s no specialised spell for them or anything.”

“What about wings and tails?” she asked. “Those have got to be more vulnerable than the rest of them, and they need them to fly.”

Harry and George both stared at her. “You haven’t seen the Quidditch pitch yet, have you?” George said.

They trekked over to the other side of the castle on the seventh floor to get a good view from the windows. In the middle of the Quidditch pitch, the organisers had built a large, clear geodesic dome, two hundred feet wide and a hundred high. Few dragons grew larger than a bull elephant, so it would be a moderately confined space, presumably one that would protect the spectators, while still retaining enough room to manoeuvre, but not fly. The grass was gone inside the dome and replaced with jagged rocks and rocky soil in an odd, ring-shaped pattern of trenches.

“That’s not good,” she said. “No use clipping its wings, then—or out-flying it, if you could summon a broom. In fact, it would make it pretty hard to summon anything…What we need is a better way to exploit the dragon’s weaknesses—something easier than hitting it directly in the eyes. I don’t know, George. Do you have any ideas?”

“Not right now, but Fred and I will try to think of something. I’m sorry, Hermione. This is a little out of our league. I think I’m glad we didn’t try to enter, now.”

Hermione sighed: “Alright, if no one else has any ideas, I’ll head to the library and see if I can dig up anything else and then try my hand at inventing something. I’ll let you know if I think of anything, Harry.”

Oddly enough, Harry felt a lot more assured of Hermione’s plan to use Arithmancy that she did.


	70. Chapter 70

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The atomic number of Harry Potter is JK Rowling.

“Septima, suppose that, hypothetically, someone had two days to figure out a way for a fourteen-year-old to fight a dragon,” Hermione asked her old teacher.

Septima Vector froze with worry. _Dragons? What were they thinking?_ “Hermione, is this about the Tournament?” she asked.

“Since teachers are not allow to help the Champions, I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Well, then…hypothetically, I think that person would need to find a way to incapacitate a dragon quickly and especially efficiently. It takes a lot of power to bring down a dragon, and a fourteen-year-old is going to be limited in that department.”

“I know. It should be better to attack the weak points, but then, it’s a matter of aiming.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“I was thinking if there was a way to spread out the attack, it would help, but then it would need more power again to be sure it would work.”

“Hmm…it’s a challenge…Well, it’s a simple equation, isn’t it, Hermione? Energy required times the area of the spell divided by the area of the target gives a fundamental minimum of power requirements, multiplied by the number of times our hypothetical caster has to use it given his aim. Then, you just need to optimise it—unless this hypothetical fourteen-year-old knows how to harness external energy sources like tapping the ley lines?”

“No, even I don’t know how to do that,” Hermione said. “At least not on the fly. Thank you anyway, Septima. I’ll just have to find some way to optimise it. I don’t think there’s anything else I can do.” She sighed. “Why does this keep happening?”

“If we knew that, I think Harry wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

“Ugh, and that Rita Skeeter woman—do you think she’ll be here again for the task?”

“I’m sure she will,” Septima said. “A most unpleasant woman.”

“I know. I’d like to give her a piece of my mind for that article she ran on Harry.”

“One thing at a time, now, Hermione,” she warned. “And be careful. You don’t want Rita Skeeter turning her quill on you more than she has. She is one of the shrewdest people I know. She had to be to survive rooming with Bellatrix Black for seven years.” She paused and shuddered. “Sorry, I was just remembering an eleven-year-old Bellatrix Black coming into the school when I was a sixth-year. Scariest eleven-year-old I’ve ever met, but somehow Rita kept her cool around her.”

Hermione shivered, too. From what Harry had mentioned about Neville’s parents, she could imagine how scary _that_ woman was.

Hermione had spent several hours in the library that morning trying to find out any more information about dragons that could be of use, but she didn’t turn up anything. The weaknesses of dragons were well-documented, eyes being the most important one, so there was nothing to be learnt there. With Septima’s advice, she spent several more hours trying to think of a better way to blind a dragon. Unfortunately, the Conjunctivitis Curse had already been very well arithmantically optimised a hundred years ago. Everything she thought of either quickly proved to be less efficient or was so complicated that she didn’t think she could work it out in time for the Task.

 _Come on, come on, come on,_ she thought. She found herself pacing the corridors towards supper time, hoping and praying for a useful idea to come to her. _How do you blind a dragon? How would a muggle do it? Shoot its eyes out? No, that_ _’s the aiming problem again. Expose it to chemicals? No—difficult without potions, and dangerous in a confined space. Find a way to cloud the eyes somehow…? Uh-uh, too complicated._

 _What if I increased the power of my Laser Pointer Charm?_ She thought. That could be an idea. Industrial lasers were used to burn, cut, and engrave things all the time. And a laser was a continuous beam. It could be aimed on the fly. But no, she thought, the aiming would have to be even more precise than with a typical curse, and if Harry swept the beam across the stands, he could hurt the spectators. She wasn’t ready to go that far. Yet.

What other ways were there to blind something, especially temporarily? A camera flash? Hmm…that could work if she invented an equivalent spell—except it would need a lot of power. Maybe a searchlight charm? But that would require _Lumos_ to be so overpowered that Harry almost certainly couldn’t cast it. How else could she produce a bright light? Burning something, maybe? No, nothing burned that bright except… _Magnesium!_ Of course! A magnesium flare. Or better yet, a stun grenade. If she could make one of those, it would work beautifully.

Except could Harry successfully transfigure one? She doubted it. She doubted even she knew enough about them to create one successfully. _Transfiguration creates a magical construct based solely upon your knowledge of the target_ , Professor McGonagall had always drilled into them. One mistake in the design could turn a stun grenade into a deadly bomb—or a fizzle. What about bare magnesium, then? Maybe, but that was almost the same problem. Transfiguration was a magic of the familiar—beetles into buttons, teapots into tortoises, and so forth. You could change the substance some—like you could turn stone into wood—but pure substances like magnesium that you couldn’t easily tell apart by eye were the domain of alchemy—N.E.W.T.-level spells.

It seemed like an impossible conundrum. Burning magnesium was the best idea she could come up with—fighting fire with fire, appropriately enough—but where to get it? Harry didn’t have any on hand, and he couldn’t bring it in, anyway. He was only allowed a wand. And he couldn’t make it. What could he do? She stamped her foot on the stone floor in frustration.

 _Wait a minute_ _…the_ stone _floor._

Of course! There was loads of magnesium in _stone_. Harness outside energy sources, Septima had said. Sure, it was already in an oxidised state, but magic laughed in the face of chemistry and played fast and loose with conservation of energy. She knew there were spells that could separate out different substances. She probably just needed to find one and rebuild a few terms.

She had it. She ran to the Great Hall as supper was starting and said, “George! Fred! That Water-Purifying Charm you showed me last year. I need to know more about it.”

Both twins were at her sides in seconds.

“You got an idea?” George said.

“I think so, but I don’t have much time. I need a purification charm that I can take apart and rebuild to work on a different substance.”

“That’s our girl. Knew we could count on you,” Fred said.

“We don’t know much about the Water-Purifying Charm, but I think we can help you look it up,” George added.

“C’mon, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but let’s eat quick and head for the library,” Fred agreed.

The Water-Purifying Charm, _Katharizi_ , wasn’t commonly used. For most qualified wizards, why purify water when you could just use _Aguamenti?_ But Fred and George said it was simpler than _Aguamenti_ , and to her delight, they taught her how to cast it easily. That gave her hope for Harry to pull it off if she could finish her part of it.

“Brilliant. Now, I need an arithmantic breakdown for it,” she said.

“Can’t you work that out yourself?” asked Fred.

“Probably, but it’ll go faster if we can find it written out around here before curfew.”

“Ah. Well, better start looking, then.”

They did, scouring the Arithmancy and Charms sections of the library. The bad thing about it being an obscure charm was that it wasn’t in the standard tables. It meant going through quite a few books, but they finally found it.

“Hey, look at this,” Fred said as loudly as he dared in the library.

“Huh? You found something?” George asked.

“Here, check it out.”

George rushed over and took a look at the book. “Well, that looks like it could be it,” he said. “Damn, I wish I’d taken Arithmancy.”

“You do surprisingly well without it, though,” Hermione said as she joined them. She only needed a few seconds of assessment before she said, “Yes, this is it. Thanks, boys.” She hugged each of them in turn, and George checked the book out for her so she could take it with her.

“So you think it’ll work?” he asked.

She sighed and slumped wearily: “Nothing guaranteed, still, but with this…I think so.”

“Sure it’ll work,” Fred said. “If anyone can work it out, you can.”

“Oh, God,” she murmured.

“Hey, you okay?” said George. “You look tired.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night. And I’ll be up all night working out this spell. You know, just once, I’d like not to be Harry’s last hope.”

“Yeah, we can see how that’d be tiring,” Fred sympathised. “Come on, we’ll walk you out to the carriage.”

“Er, okay.” She smiled. They each took one of her arms, and they walked together to the Beauxbatons carriage just before curfew.

“Thanks again,” Hermione said outside the door. She hugged them both again, lingering wearily on George for a moment. But this was no time to stop and relax. “You’ve really helped,” she added.

“Always happy to,” Fred told her.

“We’ve always appreciated your unique skills,” George added.

“Helped us out a few times.”

“Just wish we had more time to work together this year.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said. “But I’ve got work to do. Good night.”

“G’night, Hermione,” the Twins said in unison.

There were a lot of questions from Fleur and the others about what she was doing, but she (rudely, she was sorry to admit) brushed them away. She was far too busy working on her spell. She annoyed them throughly as she kept pacing and scribbling down arithmantic equations late into the night.

She barely noticed the passing of the hours, she was so engrossed in her work. That was her blessing and her curse all in one and had been since first year—how she could work around the clock and not know it. Around one o’clock, she did start to feel sleepy, even standing up. She went into the bathroom several times to splash some cold water on her face, and she considered stepping into the shower and turning it to cold, but after a little while, she started to feel more awake again as her body grudgingly accommodated her. But she still didn’t dare sit down, because if she did, she was afraid she’d fall asleep before she stood up again.

At around four o’clock, her mind started to feel very fuzzy. She had to double- and triple-check her work to make sure she got it right. It was only when the sky began to lighten in the windows that her circadian rhythm began to reassert itself. By morning, she whittled the purification spell down to its base elements and built it up again into a framework that she was pretty sure she could fill in with details to do what she needed it to. After that would be testing, and then, if all went well, teaching it to Harry. However, there were only about thirty hours before the First Task. She would need all of them, and she wouldn’t be able to get through them under her own power. So she bit the bullet and went to the Hogwarts Infirmary.

“Hello, Madam Pomfrey?”

“Yes? Miss Granger? Goodness, have you slept?” the Matron said when she saw her.

“No, ma’am, I was up all night working. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?” the matron turned stern. “And what do you think I can help you with?”

“Well, ma’am, I think I’m going to need some Pepperup Potion—probably three doses.”

“Three!” she squawked. “You can’t possibly—Don’t you know how Pepperup works?”

“I didn’t mean all at once!” Hermione protested. “I need to have this project done by the First Task. I just need one dose to get me through the day, one to get me through the night, and one to make sure I don’t fall asleep during the Task tomorrow, and—and if I come in here and ask for more after that, you have my consent to tie me to bed and force-feed me a Sleeping Dra—Oh God, that came out wrong.”

Madam Pomfrey looked slightly dazed. She shook her head and snapped out of it: “Miss Granger, even with those assurances, staying awake that long can be very harmful. I can’t imagine what you think is so important that—”

“Do you know what the First Task is?” Hermione cut in.

It was plain that she did, for the Hogwarts Matron, who was used to every magical injury and illness under the sun, started to turn green.

“I have an idea for how to keep Harry alive tomorrow,” she continued. “I’ve been in contact with Professor Lupin, and we agree it’s better than the best thing he could come up with.” That was true. Harry had lent her his mirror. “But it’s not done yet. I need all the time I can get to finish it, and I need to be at peak performance to make sure Harry’s ready.”

Madam Pomfrey stared at Hermione for a minute, as if sizing her up, and then nodded and went into her office, from which she returned with two potions of conspicuously different colours. “Don’t tell anyone I did this, Miss Granger, but if you’re as good as Professor Vector says, I think it’s worth the risk. Pepperup Potion.” She handed her the first phial. “I’m only giving you one at a time, mind you. You’ll have to come back here for the others. The second one, use it wisely because you’re only getting one of them. This is Wit-Sharpening Potion.” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Pepperup won’t clear your head so much as it’ll just wake you up, so you may need it. Wit-Sharpening Potion won’t make you cleverer than you normally are, but it will bring you back to your peak performance for about twelve hours.”

“I understand,” Hermione said. “Thank you, ma’am.” Hermione drank the Pepperup Potion, and she immediately felt jolted wide awake, like she’d been dunked in ice-water, and yet very warm at the same time with steam coming from her ears. She knew she’d need her wits most to finish designing her spell, so she drank the Wit-Sharpening Potion right away. At once, the lingering fuzziness vanished from her mind, and she felt a perfect clarity that she only felt on her best and most-satisfying days of spellcrafting. She could do this.

* * *

“Say, Potter, you’ve got a strategy for the Task tomorrow, don’t you?” Professor Moody said.

“Erm, sort of. I talked to Professor Lupin, and he said to use the Conjunctivitis Curse. Hermione’s trying to come up with something better, though.”

Moody raised an eyebrow. “And you’d trust an untested spell in a fight like that?” he said.

“If Hermione invented it, I would,” Harry said confidently.

“I’d be careful with _any_ untested spell if I were you, Potter, no matter who invented it. Lots of things that can go wrong. Just something to think about.”

“Well, um, thanks for the advice, Professor.” Harry walked away and promptly discarded that advice. Moody was just being paranoid. He already trusted Hermione with his life, and if she said a spell would work, he would believe her.

Moody scowled. If Potter died out there because he took the advice of a fifteen-year-old mudblood over an expert in combat magic, there would be hell to pay.

* * *

It took hours. She was worried she might not have time to actually test the spell and teach it to Harry. But in the early afternoon, Hermione managed to write out a complete spell that looked correct on paper. It was time to test it. No Room of Requirement this time. She needed to do this outside. She walked to an obscure corner of the grounds and waved her wand at the ground.

Nothing happened.

She cast her spell again, more carefully. She could feel the magic, and she cast a few diagnostic charms to see what had happened. That gave her enough clues to figure out what she had done wrong and revise her spell. The new spell still didn’t work, but it was a little closer. Two hours of this later, she had a spell that seemed to work.

Now, it was time for the real test. She transfigured a pair of earplugs and a pair of sunglasses, which she charmed deep blue with the same spell she had used to defend against the basilisk. Now, she cast the spell again—on a reduced scale, took a step back, and followed it up with, “ _Incendio_.”

There was a loud crack in the air followed by an even louder shriek of “YES!”

She redid the small-scale test two more times to try it with green and red sunglasses, but she found that blue worked the best. “Time to go full-scale,” she said with glee. This time, she put the whole package together. She set up a torch at a safe distance, cast the spell one more time, and followed it up with “ _Depulso_!”

_BOOM!_

“YES! YES! YES! Twenty-four hours! Ha!” Hermione was so excited that she ran all the way back to the castle and didn’t stop until she practically bowled Harry over. “Harry! Harry! I did it!” she said. He and Ginny grabbed her to calm her down.

“Did what, Granger?” an annoyed-sound drawl asked. “Snogged Vector? I don’t know what else would get you _that_ excited.”

Hermione gasped, and Harry whirled around to face the intrusion. “Buzz off, Malfoy,” he said. “This isn’t your business.”

“Oh, but she’s so entertaining, Potter,” Draco Malfoy shot back.

“Stunningly pretty—ha!” Pansy Parkinson said from Malfoy’s arm. “I think Skeeter was Confunded when she wrote that one.”

“And you, Parkinson!” Harry snapped.

Malfoy ignored his warning: “Say, how does it feel, Potter, knowing your girlfriend is two-timing you with a female teacher? I thought even _you_ could do better than that.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Hermione said at the same time.

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Ginny added, to some funny looks.

Harry went a step further and drew his wand. Malfoy reflexively drew his. “She’s not my girlfriend. _And_ she’s not with Professor Vector, not that it’s any of _your_ business,” he said. “And if you spout off again about her like that again…I’ll use the spells she’s taught me on you.”

“Oh, she’s taught you spells, now? And she didn’t tell you you were completely hopeless? Or did she lie so you wouldn’t walk out on her like the Weasel did?”

Ginny whipped out her wand, now, as did Hermione and then Parkinson. That one really hurt.

“Just walk away now, Malfoy, if you know what’s good for you,” Harry ground out.

“Hmm…no, I don’t think I will.” There was a brief pause, and it suddenly seemed as if everyone realised what would happen next. Then, motion.

“ _Furnunculus_!”

“ _Densaugeo_!”

_BANG!_

Harry and Malfoy had both fired at the same time, but Malfoy hadn’t been aiming at Harry. He had twitched his wand to the side and fired at Hermione. And yet, somehow, Harry had anticipated this and jumped in front of Hermione as he cast his own hex. The spells collided in midair, and both went wide, colliding with the walls.

Malfoy stood there, shocked that Harry had anticipated his move.

“Wanna try that again?” Harry said. “Back off of my friends.”

Malfoy stared and seemed to weigh his options before he turned and said to Parkinson, “Come on, Pansy, let’s ditch these losers.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone. “I can’t believe you jumped in front of me like that.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” he said. “I couldn’t let him hurt you like that. What spell was that, anyway?”

Hermione blushed: “It was a Tooth-Growing Hex. I saw it when I was looking up dental magic last year.”

“Wow, that’s mean even for him.”

“I know. Plus,” she said primly, “I’m the one who ought to be using _that_ spell.” _Hmm_ _…not a bad idea_ , she thought. Maybe she would invent some teeth-related hexes if she ever had the time.

Harry just laughed.

They went to dinner, and Hermione explained to Harry that she had invented a spell for him to use in the Tournament and that she just needed to teach it to him. They both ate quickly so that they could get to it as soon as possible. Ginny and the Twins were interested in seeing it, but Hermione pointed out that they would probably need to be out well past curfew, and it would be a lot easier for just two of them to sneak around with Harry’s invisibility cloak. She did, however, make one exception, which led her to the Hufflepuff Table.

“Excuse me, Cedric?”

“What do you want, Granger,” one of the boys around Cedric said. Several of the Hufflepuffs glared at her, presumably for her support of Harry.

Cedric held up his hand to quiet him: “Yes, Hermione?”

“I invented a spell to help Harry in the First Task. I wanted to let you know. I’ll teach it to you, too, if you want.”

Cedric’s eyebrows rose a fraction. She had already offered to help both him and Fleur, but not with a concrete spell to teach him. “That’s very generous of you, Hermione, but I think my plan will work pretty well.”

“Oh. Okay, then,” she said, disappointed. “I just wanted to check. I mean, if it’s simple enough for Harry, I thought it might really be able to help you.”

The glares from the other Hufflepuffs intensified. They probably didn’t appreciate her butting in. Cedric’s voice remained kind, but he still said, “I appreciate your concern, Hermione, but I’m going to get through it on my own.”

She wanted to tell him how she really felt—how much she liked him—yes, she could admit it to herself—and how she was so worried that something would happen to him, and even if her spell was useless, she’d feel a lot better if he would just come out and see it for himself. But she didn’t feel like she could under the glares of his house mates. So she just muttered, “Alright. Good luck,” and told Harry to go get his invisibility cloak.

“You certainly are breaking a lot of rules lately, aren’t you, Hermione,” Harry teased, trying to cheer her up.

“They did first by forcing you into this thing,” she said. “I’m just trying to even the score.” She went to Madam Pomfrey for another Pepperup and met up with Harry again to lead him out to that same spot on the grounds, far from the castle and near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where she re-lit her torch. They could hear the roars of the dragons in the distance.

“Okay, Hermione, so how am I supposed to fight a dragon?” Harry asked.

“Remus’s idea is a good one,” she said. “Go for the eyes. Those are the weakest spot. The trouble is power and aiming. I realised that what you need is a way to blind it without having to aim that well. Have you heard of a stun grenade? Or you might have heard it called a flash-bang grenade?”

Harry looked confused: “You mean those things the muggle army uses to knock out everybody in a room?”

“Not exactly. A stun grenade produces a bright flash and a loud bang. The flash causes temporary blindness. It’s so bright that it completely saturates the retina. It becomes physically impossible to see for a few seconds. The bang is so loud that it not only causes temporary deafness, but it also disrupts the inner ear so that you lose your sense of balance.”

“How do you know all this, Hermione?” Harry said nervously.

“We get quite a few soldiers and bobbies in Mum and Dad’s practice. Plus what they learnt in dental school.”

“Right…So you want me to do that to a dragon? How do I do that?”

“I’ve already tested the technique. I just need to teach you two spells. Have you learnt the Banishing Charm yet?”

“No, I can’t even get summoning down.”

“Well, hopefully banishing will be easier. The other spell is one I just invented today. You’re going to use the ground in the arena.”

“I am?”

“Yes. You see, stun grenades usually contain magnesium, and there’s loads of magnesium in soil. I invented a spell to sift the magnesium ions out of the soil and turn them back into the pure metal, and I think you’ll be able to learn it. You’ll rely on the dragon to light it. Now look, that torch represents the dragon.” She pointed to the dancing flame. “You’ll need ear and eye protection for this.” She transfigured two pairs of earplugs and two pairs of blue glasses. “Use the blue Colour-Change Charm I came up with in second year,” she called loud enough for him to hear through the earplugs. “Now, I’ll cast my spell at the ground in front of me. Be careful not to get any powder on you.” She waved her wand in a wide circle over the ground and chanted, “ _Dialego Kathar Magnesia_.” Slowly, what looked like a dense, silvery cloud rose up from the soil and hung in the air. It was about eighteen inches wide and opaque, like thick smoke.

“Now, banish the cloud at the dragon’s head. You don’t have to hit the eyes, just close enough that it takes it as a threat and spits fire at it. And make sure you’re not too close.” She jabbed her wand and shouted, “ _Depulso_!” The cloud of magnesium powder raced away from her as if blown by a fan. The instant it touched the flame…

_BOOM!_

The sound shook the trees. Harry’s hands flew to his ears despite the earplugs, and it was so bright that his eyes snapped shut despite the blue glasses. But if Hermione was to be believed, the dragon would be far worse off. He looked at her in awe and a little fear and wondered if she had really been holding back all this time. “Hermione,” he said, “remind me never to make you mad at me.”

Unfortunately, Harry was soon to find out just how scary Hermione could be when she was on a mission, and her mission tonight was to teach Harry how to fight a dragon in less than eighteen hours. She set up several more torches at a safe distance and began teaching him her Stun Grenade Spell. It was more intense than anything he had done in Professor Flitwick’s classes. Hermione drilled him for hours on the wand movements he needed to make, the pronunciation of the words, and the rhythm and timing to put it all together. She made him practice them over and over. She drew pictures in the dirt to show him exactly what the spell was doing at the molecular level so that he could hold the intent firmly in mind. At times, she reminded him eerily of a drill sergeant, although that might have been from desperation and lack of sleep on her part.

But his work paid off. Gradually, he advanced from getting no response at all to the spell to producing a few wisps of dust, and finally, around midnight, producing a full, dense cloud of magnesium powder, like Hermione had. Then, she made him do it again, and when he could pull it off flawlessly three times in a row, she tested it by banishing the cloud into one of the torches.

_BOOM!_

“That’s great! You’ve got it, Harry!” Hermione said with a manic grin. Now, he was certain that the lack of sleep was starting to make her loopy. “And now, the Banishing Charm.”

Harry groaned at the prospect of having to learn another spell, but he was interrupted by a loud voice booming over the grounds: “Oi! Harry? Hermione? What’re yeh two doin’ here? Yer scarin’ the animals.” They turned around to see Hagrid carrying a lantern towards them.

“Hello, Hagrid,” Hermione said. “I was helping Harry train for the Tournament.”

Hagrid’s cross look turned to one of concern, and he lowered his voice a little. “Well, yeh can’t do it out here,” he said. “I can’t cover fer yeh if yeh keep makin’ bangs like that.”

“It’s okay Hagrid, we can go back now,” Hermione assured him. “We can do the other part of it inside.”

“Well, that’s alright, then, I guess. Just don’t get caught. Oh, and good luck tomorrow, Harry…and try not to hurt the you-know-what too much.”

“Um…thanks, Hagrid. I’ll try.”

“Good night Hagrid,” Hermione said. “Get your cloak, Harry. We’ll go to the Room of Requirement.”

The two teens walked back the castle under the invisibility cloak. Hermione still seemed wide awake, but she had a dazed look in her eyes, and Harry was starting to worry about her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“At this point, that depends what you mean by okay, but I’m getting by.”

“You didn’t need to stay up two nights for me,” he insisted.

“I was my choice Harry. I wanted to help you.”

“Well, I _am_ glad you did. I’m just still not really used to people going to so much trouble for me.”

“Hmm, I suppose I do have a stubborn streak,” she conceded. “Everyone conspires against us, and I dig in my heels more.” Harry chuckled. “Thanks again for protecting me from Malfoy earlier,” she added. “I know you’ll probably say it was nothing, but it means a lot to me. I guess _I_ _’m_ still not used to having people defend me. Not like that with schoolyard bullies instead of dark wizards trying to kill us.”

Harry was silent for a little bit, and then he said, “I don’t like bullies, Hermione. My relatives are bullies. All of them, and I can’t stand them.”

“That bad, huh?”

He didn’t answer. They had reached the Room of Requirement. Harry stood back while Hermione opened the door. She told the Room to produce a large number of pillows for them to practice the Banishing Charm. However, once they were inside, Harry stood still, seemingly lost in thought.

“Harry?”

“You know, I’ve never told anyone how horrid my relatives really are,” he said. “Not even Sirius.”

“Harry, I didn’t mean—You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I…I think I want to. I think after everything we’ve been through, you deserve to know more about me.”

Hermione sat down on a stool that the Room provided—not an armchair. She didn’t want to risk that, even with the Pepperup. “Okay, then,” she said, subdued. “What did they do?”

Harry also sat on a stool and began his story: “When Dumbledore took me to the Dursleys, he left me on the doorstep, wrapped in a blanket with a letter to my aunt, telling her what had happened.”

“He left you on the doorstep? He didn’t even knock?”

“No, but I don’t really care about that. The Dursleys were way worse. The next morning, when they found me there, they…put that blanket on a mat in the cupboard under the stairs and used that for my bed.”

“They didn’t!” But she could see he was completely serious. “For how long?”

Harry gave her a sort of twisted smile: “My first Hogwarts letter was addressed to the cupboard under the stairs.”

“Oh my God!” Unable to contain herself, she stood up again and hugged him. “How could they do that to you?”

“I think I told you how much Aunt Petunia hated my mum. She said she was a freak, and so was I. Anyway, that’s when they finally moved me out of there.”

“What happened?” Hermione said, letting him go again. “Why did they let you out?”

“They saw the letter and got scared someone was watching the house, so they gave me Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“He had a second bedroom?”

“Yeah. They spoilt him rotten just to rub it in my face how much better he was than me.”

“That’s just awful.” Hermione was near tears by now: “I can’t believe they were that cruel. Was there more? Did they hit you, too?”

“No, that was Dudley. They let him beat me up when he could catch me, but I was always faster than him. Of course, he still scared away everyone who tried to be my friend. I didn’t have any friends until I came here. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia smacked me around once in a while, but they never used a belt or anything. They’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb. They just made me do all the chores and locked me in my cupboard when I did something wrong.”

“Good Lord, it’s a miracle you’ve turned out this well. That’s still severe emotional abuse and neglect, you know. You really shouldn’t have to go back there anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s only two weeks a year, and it keeps me safe from Voldemort. I can handle them, now.”

“I guess,” Hermione said in a voice that made it clear she still didn’t approve. “Is that all? They did feed you, didn’t they?”

“Most of the time. Although that time right after Dobby showed up, I started to get worried—”

To Harry’s bewilderment, at the mention of Dobby, Hermione started laughing and crying uncontrollably at the same time. “Um, Hermione, are you okay?” he said.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, choking through her laughter. “It’s really not funny. It’s just—Dobby—When we’re at home, he sleeps in the cupboard under the stairs— _by choice!_ It’s cleaned and furnished and stuff, and apparently that’s normal for elves, but still—”

Harry pictured the sight and started laughing hysterically himself. Soon, they both tumbled to the floor, still laughing.

Hermione couldn’t believe he trusted her enough to confide all this to her. She didn’t have anything near this awful in her own life, which she was very grateful for, though in her mind, that made it hard to properly show her gratitude for that kind of trust. “Well, I’m glad you finally got out of there, at least mostly,” she said once she collected herself. “But we really do need to get back to work. Oh, um, there _was_ one other thing…You don’t have to answer, though.”

“Yes?”

“Do you really still cry about your parents? I won’t think less of you if you do. It’s just that it didn’t really sound like you.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Rita Skeeter made that up. I…I still feel sad about it sometimes, but I didn’t really know them. It’s just something I grew up with.”

“I understand, Harry.”

Learning the Banishing Charm was not as difficult as Hermione’s spell, but it was still a challenge, and Harry was getting very tired, not having had any Pepperup himself. Still, Hermione drilled him, emphasising the need to _push_ the pillows away. It had to be cast with a forceful intent, maybe even a little bit of anger. Harry worked and worked at it and put everything he could into it. Hermione was still feeling stressed and was starting to get a twitch in her eye by the end of the night. For a while, it seemed like he had a mental block on it, but finally, it came to him. It was nearly six o’clock by the time they were done, but he managed to cast it three times in a row, and Hermione finished off with a banishment-fuelled pillow fight, which she won, but he still held his own.

“Okay, Harry, I think you’re ready,” she said. “As ready as you’re going to be, anyway. Come on, you look tired. You should get some sleep before the Task.”

“Everyone else’s gonna be up in a couple hours, though,” he groaned.

“Hmm…come on. I have an idea.” She led him out the door and then began pacing back and forth in the hallway again. After three passes, a slightly different door appeared. Inside, there was a small room done in the style of the Gryffindor Common Room with another door leading off of it. Hermione open this door and revealed a bedroom with one bed of the same type as in the Gryffindor bedrooms. “Here. Now, no one will disturb you.”

“Wow, great…but what about you?”

“Harry, I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours doing nothing but work on these spells. I’m way behind on my homework.”

“Your _homework?_ But couldn’t you—”

“No, don’t worry about me. You need to sleep. I’m not the one who has to fight a dragon this afternoon. Dobby?”

_Pop!_

“Is Miss Hermione still awake?” Dobby said. “You shoulds be sleeping.”

“I’ll sleep tonight, Dobby. Get it all out of the way at once. If I try to split it up, I probably won’t get my work done at all at this point. Okay?”

“Yes, miss,” he said reluctantly.

“Good. Please bring Harry a set of pyjamas from his room, and bring me my school books from the carriage. And I’d like you to wake Harry at a quarter to noon for lunch.”

“I understands, miss.” He popped away.

“He’ll probably be a couple of minutes,” Hermione said. She thought for a moment and added, “I don’t think I have any stories about growing up that are as dramatic as yours, Harry.”

“That’s definitely a good thing,” he said.

“True, but there is one I wanted to tell you.” He looked surprised but he nodded. “I’m sure you know how, in muggle schools, it can be ‘uncool’ to be the smart kid.” He nodded again. “Well when I was in Year 3, the other kids started to notice how different I was. That was when I started getting private tutoring in maths because I was so far ahead of them. And I could already do thinks like multiplying large numbers in my head. A lot of the other kids were impressed, but some of them made fun of me about it. They…they called _me_ a “freak.” They scared away all of _my_ friends. Some of the other girls would smack me around a little. It got worse and worse as the year went on. I don’t know what I would have done if Mum and Dad hadn’t been there for me. They actually considered having me switch schools.”

“But they didn’t?” Harry asked.

“No. My teacher saw what was happening and saw my marks and said I might be better off trying to skip a year, so I did that instead. I went straight into Year 5 the next year. Then, I was younger than the rest of the class, and I guess they felt more protective of me or something because I didn’t have much trouble after that. Anyway, I know it’s not nearly as bad as what you went through, but I do know what it’s like to be persecuted and friendless. That’s why I try so hard to help my friends. I know how much they’re worth.”

Harry gave her a soft smile, stepped towards her, and hugged her. He didn’t have problems being hugged, but she couldn’t remember if he had ever initiated a hug before. “Me too,” he whispered. They stood there, two kindred spirits, until Dobby returned with their things. (In fact, the elf gave them a couple of extra minutes.) And for just a little while, Hermione was able to let go of her worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Dialego Kathar Magnesia: stylised from the Greek for “separate and purify magnesium.”


	71. Chapter 71

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter equals JK Rowling squared divided by radius.
> 
> Well, this is my longest chapter ever, and the first that’s OVER 9,000! words. I considered breaking it up, but I didn’t think there was a good place that meshed well with the next chapter.
> 
> I’m not sure how some people got the idea that Hermione is trying to solve everyone else’s problems. That wasn’t my intent at all. She offered help to Fleur out of politeness, but she didn’t make a big deal out of it. She pushed harder to help Cedric because she has a crush on him, something I thought that was pretty clear. I don’t see where she’s shown any pattern of co-dependent behaviour outside of the Tournament, and I certainly wasn’t trying to create one. This story is still about Hermione, and she will be making her own way in a big way as time goes on.

Harry found he was rather glad that he slept until lunch. It meant he had to spend less time worrying about the task. Not that he wasn’t dreading it, but now that he was prepared, he was more of the mind of wanting to get it over. He didn’t much feel like eating, but it was no use fighting a dragon on an empty stomach—though he questioned whether a full stomach would be much better—so he and Hermione headed down to lunch together.

Hermione had been to Madam Pomfrey and back while Harry slept and now had a vacant look in her wide eyes and dark circles that almost looked painted on. After her third dose of Pepperup, she was starting to hate the stuff. She felt like her mind was in a fog—a terrible sensation for her. Meanwhile, her heart was racing, and she felt jittery and short-tempered. She’d never been awake for this long before, and she was now regretting trying to power through her homework. She’d got a fair amount done, despite barely being able to focus, but she knew it wasn’t up to her usual standards.

But if today worked out, it would be worth it. It would serve _them_ right if Harry showed them all and kicked that dragon’s arse, which she thought was a distinct possibility (mostly telling herself that so she wouldn’t have to think about him being eaten).

So, she was feeling really irritable today, and there was already a lot to be irritable about today, like four students basically being thrown into gladiatorial games. Whose bright idea was this, anyway? If it was Bagman, she was going to nail him.

Her bad start took a turn for the worse as she and Harry headed down to lunch—a little late, after most of the students had passed through. It was on the last deserted flight of stairs, when no one else was around, that she heard a voice call out from above. “ _Supplanta_!”

“AHH!” Harry yelled as he was hit by a Tripping Jinx, stumbled, and flipped over the railing, falling to the floor of the Entrance Hall.

“HARRY! _SPONGIFY_!”

Quick and dirty, as Septima once said, was the solution here. Hermione didn’t even think as she drew her wand and cast the strongest Softening Charm she could at the floor below. Harry hit the stone and bounced once before coming to a stop. He rolled, groaned, and then started to stagger to his feet. Hermione sighed with relief, then spun around to see a sniggering Draco Malfoy at the top of the stairs, surrounded by his ludicrous cronies. “It’s about time,” he said. “I thought he was gonna skip lunch—”

“ _YOU_!” she screamed. “ _You foul, loathsome, evil—Expelliarmus!—little cockroach_!” Malfoy flinched as Hermione did something he’d never expected: she flew up the stairs, disarmed him, and held her wand at his throat before he could blink. “Drop it, Parkinson!” she snapped. Pansy Parkinson had been the only one of his friends smart enough to draw her own wand, as Crabbe and Goyle looked too bewildered to move. Malfoy actually looked scared. _Good_. “I can’t believe—! That was low, even for you, Malfoy. What do you think would have happened if Harry had broken his leg and couldn’t compete?” she demanded. Actually, that was a good question. How _would_ the magical contract react if a Champion were incapacitated? “He could’ve been cursed into oblivion! He could’ve been thrown in there and eaten alive! But you don’t care, do you? It’s all good fun to _you_ if he dies today as long as you get your _panem et circenses_. I ought to—”

“Hermione!”

It was Harry’s voice. She snapped out of it and looked down at her hand in horror at what she was doing. Was she really holding her wand to Malfoy’s throat? Yes. Yes, she was. She was in a worse mood today than she thought. She wouldn’t have done him any permanent harm, of course, but still…She took a half step to the side so she could look down at Harry and keep one eye on the Slytherins.

“Hermione, don’t. I’m okay. It’s not worth it,” Harry said.

Hermione relaxed her grip on her wand and started to back away, but in her present state, she couldn’t resist making one final jab—or rather one final right hook. She switched her wand to her other hand and punched Malfoy in the nose with a satisfying crack. He went down hard, whimpering in pain and indignation. “Try to sabotage Harry again, and I’ll hex your teeth out, Malfoy,” she hissed. “And I’m a child of dentists; I can make it happen.”

The Slytherins fled, although it was probably more from embarrassment than fear. When she rejoined Harry, he stared at her with wide eyes, not speaking.

Yes, sleep deprivation did _weird_ things to her.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, they weren’t quite as alone as she had thought because when they turned around to face the Entrance Hall, they found themselves face to face with three very stunned Weasleys. _Great, now everyone_ _’s gonna find out_ , she thought.

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” Fred started.

“That was brilliant!” George said.

“And scary.”

“And awesome. I mean, punching him in the nose?”

 _Merlin_ _’s pants, I just punched someone in the face, didn’t I_ , she thought. _I_ _’m supposed to be the non-violent one around here._

“Wow, Hermione, I had no idea you had _that_ in you,” Ginny said. “Ron’s gonna be ticked that he missed _that_.”

“I’m a child of dentists—”

“—I can make it happen,” the Twins quoted ominously.

 _Oh no, did I really say that?_ she thought.

“I remember your folks telling Dad what they did for a living,” George said. “Malfoy _should_ be scared.”

Hermione was too mortified to respond. Instead, she just managed to say, “Come on, let’s eat.”

Professor McGonagall took Harry down to the Quidditch Pitch immediately following lunch. The dragons had all been subdued, restrained, and hidden from view, but one could hear their growling and snorting from a fair distance. Hermione followed close, hoping to given him a final—wrong choice of words—send off. McGonagall clearly sensed her concern, because she stepped away from the entrance to the tent to give them a minute.

“You’re ready, Harry,” Hermione said, trying to assure herself as much as she was him. “You’ve got the muscle memory. Let your arm do the wandwork, and concentrate, like we practised—”

“It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I trust your spell.”

“Harry, don’t say that!” she cried. “I tried, but…Now, if you die out there, it’ll be _my_ fault!”

“Hermione, calm down. Your spell is brilliant. It’s better than the best idea Remus could come up with, and he was the best Defence Professor we’ve had.”

She blushed at the compliment, but it didn’t make her any less worried: “But you still have to…”

“Battle a dragon, I know.”

Near tears, she hugged him.

Then, there was a camera flash.

They both broke apart like the other one was on fire, but it was too late. The photo had been taken, and Rita Skeeter was striding over to them, excitedly saying, “Young love!”

“That wasn’t—”

“We’re not—”

“How…stirring.”

“We’re just friends!” Hermione protested.

“She was helping me train,” Harry said, but Rita didn’t seem to be listening. Hermione shifted her assessment of the woman from “dislike” to “loathe.”

Professor McGonagall had also seen the flash and had rushed back over to give Rita a piece of her mind. (“The Headmaster _can_ have you barred from the school, you know!”) But amazingly, even McGonagall’s wrath didn’t seem to scare Rita Skeeter. Maybe she really was as tough as Septima had said. McGonagall eventually escorted Hermione to the stands, where she met up with the Weasleys again, standing between George and Ginny. The person behind them was a surprise, however.

“Good afternoon, Hermione.”

She had to blink a couple times to be sure whom she was seeing. She would have thought there would be a staff box. “Septima?” she said in confusion.

“Of course. I wanted to see you. I’ve been worried about you, Hermione. You showed up two days ago, and hardly anyone’s seen you since.”

“I was helping Harry,” she replied curtly.

“Right. I understand, although I’ve been hearing some rather disturbing rumours about you just now.”

Hermione shot a quick glare at Fred and George. Couldn’t they just pretend that hadn’t happened? She was probably going to get it from Madame Maxime later.

“I understand you wanting to help your friend, but this isn’t like you, Hermione. Are you alright?” Septima said, noticing the dark circles.

“Alright? Um…not really, Septima,” she snapped. She had a noticeable tic in her face by now, and the jitters were getting worse. “I crafted a potentially revolutionary new spell in under twenty-four hours. I haven’t slept in—” She checked her watch. “—oh, about sixty-two hours. I’ve basically been running on nothing but Pepperup Potion since yesterday morning. I’m wide awake, and I still feel like a zombie. Oh, and I’m terrified that my best friend is going to die today. So, um, no, I don’t think I’m alright.”

Septima was taken aback. “My goodness!” she said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise…You—you created a new spell for Harry to use in the Task?”

“Yeah.”

“You know, you never did tell us what that spell was,” George said, putting an arm around her shoulder with an ingratiating grin.

“Just wait. You’ll see.”

“Say,” Fred added, “we’ve been meaning to ask you, but we haven’t seen you: care to offer odds on the Task?”

“No, I will not,” she said indignantly. “I will not support this inhumane bloodsport.” The Twins both raised their eyebrows and backed off a bit. She stared down into the geodesic dome that now covered half the Quidditch pitch, idly wondering how it had been built. She had brought her Omnioculars out to record the Task and held them up for a closer look. The dome looked surprisingly modern: made of glass with a metal frame, and it had surely been enchanted to withstand a dragon. Precisely in the middle of the dome, she saw Charlie Weasley and several other handlers setting out a nest of dragon eggs. Most of them were a bright blue colour, indicating the Swedish Short-Snout, the smallest of the dragons, but one was pure gold, presumably the prize. There was something odd about the ring-shaped rock formations in the dome. They cut into pointed ridges in perfect circles, about eight feet high and five feet high at the edges, but flatter as they approached the middle, with large boulders dotted around randomly for cover.

Her hands were shaking—the stupid jitters again. There was no way she could keep the Omnioculars steady. Considering what to do, she climbed higher and leaned over the back railing, and, spotting a stick lying on the ground, she summoned it to her. Then, she transfigured it into a crude mount and used it to affix the Omnioculars to the front railing, looking into the dome.

“What’s that for?” Ginny asked.

“I’m recording the task for later analysis. It might be useful.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found a way to transfer Omniocular recordings to magical photos.”

Everyone’s jaws dropped around her, even Septima’s. She’d said it like it was trivial, but that was mostly the sleep deprivation talking. She brushed off the requests for photos and just said she’d think about it.

She didn’t know what was happening in the tent, but Bagman ran out to what was normally the teachers’ box and explained to the crowd that each of the Champions would be facing a mother dragon and would have to steal a golden egg from her nest. This sounded like a very bad idea, but most people didn’t seem to notice.

The Swedish Short-Snout was brought into the arena. It was indeed small for a dragon—about twenty feet long—but it was more dangerous than it looked because of its agility and its hot blue flame. The crowd cheered like a bunch of idiot _plebs_ when they saw it.

“Disgusting,” Hermione muttered. _“PANEM ET CIRCENSES!”_ she shouted. A few people, mostly fellow muggle-borns, had the good decency to look embarrassed, but not many.

A few seconds later, Cedric Diggory entered the area, having apparently been chosen first. Hermione’s heart had leapt into her throat. He had wanted to come up with his own strategy fair and square, which was fair enough. He was one of the most brilliant students in the school, after all, but now, she was regretting not pushing him to accept her help. She didn’t think she had ever seen a human being looking quite that green.

But then, something else happened. Something that no one had expected. Something that literally made her scream in horror.

The entire dome and the arena inside it lurched and started spinning anticlockwise.

“Oh no!” she cried. “No no no no no no no!”

“Hermione, what is it?” Ginny said.

“It’s spinning!”

“Yeah?”

“Coriolis forces! When Harry uses his Banishing Charm, it’s going to pull to the right!”

“Oh,” Ginny said, wide eyed.

“Yeah. Oh. This is bad. This is _really_ bad.”

The arena was spinning completely around once every fifteen seconds, as she timed it, faster than seemed necessary to simply give everyone a good view. The g-forces involved must be quite large. Some quick mental maths, and she realised that at the outer rim, the level ground must feel as steep as a staircase. Suddenly, the shape of the arena made sense. What looked like strange, angular trenches were actually a giant’s staircase, all perfectly horizontal and vertical under the centrifugal force. That was actually very clever, but she was more worried about her friend—crush—right now.

Cedric tried a number of spells to distract the dragon—bright, flashing lights, moving images, even transfiguring a rock into a dog and charming it to make a run at the nest from a different angle. All the while, Ludo Bagman was cheerfully commentating the whole thing like it was a great show. Idiot. She wanted to punch him even more than Malfoy right now.

Cedric’s luck looked like it had run out when the dragon caught up with him and finally got into flaming range. Hermione screamed and covered her eyes. There was a gasp, and she thought it was all over, but then, there was a cheer, and she looked up.

The dragon had missed.

It was close enough to singe Cedric’s robes, but it missed, and he ran out of range before it could fire again.

“Coriolis forces, of course!” she said and actually started laughing. The dragons couldn’t shoot straight either. The spinning was actually an advantage for the Champions, not the dragons, although it didn’t get Harry out of the woods. If his first shot missed, and the dragon exploded it, she would probably wise up to his strategy. Hermione’s heart was pounding through the entire battle. She wondered what were the health effects of excessive Pepperup Potion combined with extreme stress and whether she would be able to survive three more of these spectacles. She was shaking so badly that she had to hold onto the railing to stay standing. Worried thoughts crowded into her mind. Should she have told Cedric how she felt about him? If she’d been here all year, she was sure she would have. If she hadn’t been so worried about Harry this week, she was sure she would have. But she’d poured every spare minute into helping him, and she’d never got around to it. She prayed to whatever power was in charge of magic that Cedric—that both of them, for that matter—would get through this in one piece. As soon as she got a chance, she thought, she’d tell Cedric how she felt.

After about fifteen minutes, Cedric tried the dog trick again, and this time, it was successful. The mother dragon turned away from her nest to chase the dog away, and while she was distracted, he ran up and snatched the golden egg. The crowd roared, and then Hermione slapped her forehead. The dragon had noticed something amiss at the noise and spun around, charging towards Cedric. He ran, so fast Hermione was afraid he would tumble down the “stairs,” the deadly blue flame rushing behind him. He shielded with his wand, but some of the fire got through, searing him down his right side. He _did_ fall then, but he tucked and rolled, bouncing to his feet as soon as he hit the outer wall. The dragon handlers ran out to restrain the dragon, Stunning Spells flying, as Cedric made a quick dash to the exit. It was over.

“Oh, thank God!” Hermione gasped collapsing back into her seat. Her heart was racing so fast she felt like she could have been in the arena herself.

“That was wicked!” the three Weasleys said in unison.

“Yeah, wicked,” she replied weakly, but she didn’t think she meant it the same way they did.

The handlers replaced the Short-Snout’s nest with another one filled with green eggs while the judges released their scores. Cedric was given thirty-eight points out of a possible fifty. Then, the second dragon, a Welsh Green, was released into the arena. The Green was larger than the Short-Snout, and nominally tamer, but that didn’t make much difference with a nesting mother. Hermione braced herself, wondering how the order of the Champions was decided, and her heart started beating faster again when she saw Fleur Delacour enter the arena.

She wasn’t as close to Fleur as Harry or Cedric, but she had become a friend, and Hermione thought she was a good person under that prickly exterior. She really didn’t want to see her hurt either. Veela were fire resistant, so the quarter-veela ought to have a natural advantage in this, but it wouldn’t be easy.

Fleur put her _other_ veela traits to good use in this. She appeared to be trying to charm the dragon like a snake charmer, using spells and her natural animal magnetism to put it into a trance. It was really very ingenious, and it seemed to be working. The dragon slowed, relaxed, stumbled sleepily, and then ilay down in front of the nest, both eyes closed—no “half an eye open” like Tolkien had said.

“Now, everybody be quiet,” Bagman said in an amplified whisper. “We don’t wanna wake it up.” Wow, so he wasn’t a total idiot after all. Even more amazingly, the crowd obeyed. Fleur’s task was easy, then. She crept up while the dragon slept and snatched the egg right from under its nose. It was a brilliant move. Unfortunately, as she turned to go, the dragon snored, and a jet of flame lit her skirt on fire, but she put it out with a jet of water from her wand and ran for the exit.

After all that, Fleur received thirty-five points.

“What?!” Hermione yelled. That was completely unfair. She hated to admit it, but Fleur had done better than Cedric. The difference was completely down to Karkaroff, who was being blatantly unfair to both in his scoring, as well as blatantly sexist. (Or maybe anti-“half-breeds.” He _was_ an ex-Death Eater, after all.)

The third dragon was the Chinese Fireball, and Hermione didn’t feel at all surprised when Viktor Krum came out to face it. Harry was right; he’d got stuck with the biggest and meanest one. Krum didn’t evade the dragon like the others had. He attacked it head on.

How would Bulgaria feel if their national hero got eaten by a dragon in this contest? Hermione wondered idly. Maybe they’d declare war. Could she defect if they did? It might be an improvement.

God, she was getting loopy.

 _“Conjunctivitis_!” Krum shouted, and a sickly pink bolt lanced out and swung far to the right. He looked confused for a moment, but he realised it was the spinning and tried again. This time, it hit the dragon directly in the eyes. Wow, Krum had good aim. And now, she could see how well Remus’s plan would have done.

Not well, as it turned out. The dragon roared in pain and started stomping all over the arena—including directly on her own nest! That was sick! They were using real dragon eggs for this! They were an endangered species, and they were risking whole clutches! Not to mention how horrible it was to do that to a mother! Krum didn’t seem to care, though. He ran up and grabbed the egg while the dragon was stomping back to the outer rim of the arena on the steep “slope.” Thanks to his speed and Karkaroff’s favouritism, Krum got forty points, putting him in the lead.

Hermione’s heart started pounding again as another thought struck her: Harry’s plan wasn’t that much different from Krum’s. What if he used the spell, and his dragon got disoriented and _fell_ on her nest so he couldn’t get to it? But what else could he do? It was all he had. She clung to George for support, and Ginny clung to her for support as the fourth dragon was brought out.

* * *

Harry walked into the arena with his heart pounding in his throat. He vaguely heard the roar of the crowd, but he was more distracted by his opponent. He was going up against the strongest and meanest dragon in the world. Huge, black, and lizard-like, the Hungarian Horntail was as big as an elephant, spitting fire, armed at both ends, and roared even louder than the crowd. Halfway between them was a nest filled with five black eggs and one golden one.

He stepped forward, but as soon as he set foot on one of the strangely angled rocks, something happened that he hadn’t anticipated. There was a sudden lurch, and he was thrown back against the wall. It felt like the entire place had tilted on its side. Then, he looked up and saw why: the arena was spinning.

“And the spinning’s started,” Bagman called. “Let the game begin!”

Harry staggered to his feet and oriented himself. When he stood what felt like upright and looked down, the rough, rocky trenches suddenly looked like a rough, giant staircase. That was convenient. He looked “up” across the arena, a disconcerting sight that made it look like he was on a giant Tilt-a-Whirl. The dragon looked confused, but was also orienting herself again. She started climbing towards the centre.

He needed to move fast. He picked up a rock and set about transfiguring it into a pair of sunglasses—wraparounds that fit over his regular glasses. He didn’t want to be blinded in his peripheral vision.

The Hungarian Horntail reached the nest and loomed over it, her front claws on either side, glaring at Harry. She roared loudly, and when that didn’t make him go away, she shot a stream of fire at him. He was about eighty feet away from her, too far for even a Horntail to shoot flame, but it was intimidating.

“I’m not sure what Potter’s doing,” Bagman announced. “It looks like he’s enchanting something. He’s keeping his distance, but the Horntail’s not gonna like that.”

Harry just had the sunglasses finished when he looked up again. The dragon was barrelling towards him, and this time, she was close enough to breath fire. He wanted to run, but he felt rooted to the spot. Then, he heard a voice floating over the din: “ _To the right! To the right_!” It was Hermione’s voice, and he didn’t question it. He dove to the right at the same moment the dragon’s fire struck the wall a few feet to the left of where he had been. Harry didn’t know anything about Coriolis forces, but he could tell that the spinning was throwing off the dragon’s aim. The crowd gasped and cheered as he made his narrow escape. If anyone objected to Hermione shouting advice at him, they didn’t say it. He ran along the trench as fast as he could in the direction of rotation. It felt even steeper and more tilted that way, but he kept going. Behind him, the dragon lost her footing and stumbled “downhill” into the wall. That gave him a few precious seconds to scramble up the ridge and into the next trench, which, to his relief, was slightly less tilted. He ducked behind one of the large boulders and used Hermione’s first spell: _“Colovaria Fluctuabrevis_ ,” turning the sunglasses blue, and he slipped them on.

“Whoa, that was a close one,” Bagman said in his running commentary. “Potter’s still working. He’s…he’s wearing blue glasses? I don’t know if that’ll help, but we’ll see.”

The Horntail roared behind him, and he ran again, trying to get as far around the circle from her as he could. But she was faster, and he’d lost time fiddling with the glasses. Even through the blue filter, the fire looked vivid. She scrambled around the circle after him, and she was faster than he was. Another jet of flame lanced towards him. This one still missed, but it was close enough to set his cloak on fire. He didn’t know how to put it out, so he stripped it off and was about to throw it on the ground when another idea quickly came to him. He threw the burning cloak in the air, cast _“Depulso_!” with a quick jab of his wand, then ran and didn’t look back.

“Nope, he missed,” Bagman said. “Uh oh!” There was a chomping sound that indicated the dragon had eaten his cloak. “Feeding her his clothes? Not a good idea, I think. She might want another taste!”

Harry scrambled up to the next trench, which was only about three feet high, and kept running. He ducked behind the next boulder for cover, and quickly transfigured two pebbles into earplugs. Not waiting for the dragon to catch up, he took off and put the earplugs in his ears as he ran.

“Are those earplugs?” Bagman said. “I don’t know what he’s doing, but it’s gonna be big.”

That was the last that Harry heard clearly. If he could have heard, he might have noticed Hermione slipping on a pair of blue glasses herself and handing some to her neighbours, and people wondering if she knew something they didn’t. Instead, he was worrying about aiming. If he had had to dodge the flames to his right when he was facing the dragon, that meant that when he fired back, he need to aim…to the left…he hoped.

_CRASH!_

Harry’s world was shattered by pain as he was sent flying by the impact of the Horntail’s horntail in his chest. She had seen that she couldn’t aim properly with fire, so she had flanked him and lashed out with her tail. It was only his Quidditch skills and his natural wizard toughness that let him roll on the landing and stagger to his feet groaning. He didn’t hear Bagman call out, “Ouch, looked like that hurt,” so cheerfully that Angelina Johnson pulled her wand and tried to hex him.

It was definitely time to use Hermione’s secret weapon. He just needed to get a good shot. Fortunately, he landed closer to the centre of the arena, where the ground was flatter. The dragon was on his left, now, though, which was the wrong place to be when he needed to dodge. Still, he did the best he could to get across the circle from her and hid behind another rock.

It was now or never. He could hear the dragon roaring, stalking towards him like an enormous tiger. He leaned out from behind one side of the rock, concentrated as hard as he could, and waved his arm in a while circle whilst chanting, “ _Dialego Kathar Magnesia. Dialego Kathar Magnesia. Dialego Kathar Magnesia_.”

A dense cloud of metallic powder rose out of the ground in front of him. It was larger than anything he had attempted yesterday, maybe four or five feet wide. He could feel the drain of energy from the effort. He just hoped it would be enough. He had only seconds left. The dragon was nearly on him. Steeling all the courage he had, he leapt out from behind the rock, jabbed his wand slightly up and to the left, and screamed _“DEPULSO!”_ To his satisfaction, the cloud flew directly at the dragon’s head. The dragon drew a breath to shoot fire…

Harry didn’t hear Bagman say, “Potter is…he’s making a smoke screen? Interesting. Might help. Now he’s—he’s banishing—?” But he _did_ hear what happened next.

_BOOOOOOM!_

* * *

The noise shook the entire arena. Birds were set off flying out in fright all the way in the Forbidden Forest. The entire crowd screamed and covered their ears. The light was blinding, even at a distance, leaving people blinking in confusion. Even Hermione screamed at its brilliance. Harry had extracted a lot more magnesium powder than she’d expected. When their vision returned to them, they saw an awesome sight. The dragon was reared back on her hind legs, her great wings flapping, trying to get away from the painful stimulus. Not just blind, but deafened and disoriented, she wobbled, shooting flame in a wide arc all around her, hoping to hit her foe. The flame raked over the spot where Harry was, but he dove behind the rock again and was spared.

Then, the dragon toppled. She wasn’t stomping in pain like Krum’s. She was stumbling like a drunkard, and that surely saved her nest as she fell “down” towards the edge of the turning arena, striking the wall, where she twitched, thrashed, and growled, but was too off-balance to get up again. A shocked silence descended over the stands. People stared, awed and horrified by Harry’s (apparent) show of power. He hadn’t just slipped past the dragon; he had _beaten_ her.

Harry didn’t waste any time. He ran right up to the nest, grabbed the golden egg, and ran to the exit as if the dragon was still after him. And then it was over.

“YES!” Hermione screamed. Her ears were still ringing, and her voice was getting hoarse, but she didn’t care. She hugged George for all she was worth and screamed “YES! YES! YES!” over and over again. George and Fred looked simply awestruck, but they were grinning at Harry’s success.

“That’s our Harry!” Fred yelled.

“That’s our Hermione, you mean,” George yelled back. “Always coming up with something spectacular!”

She felt a hand wrench her away from behind, and was grabbed in a rib-cracking hug by Ginny. She thought Ginny might actually kiss her, she was so ecstatic. “Oh my God! Oh my God! You did it!” the younger girl squealed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Just doing what I had to,” she said.

Hermione felt another trembling hand on her shoulder, and she turned around and hugged Septima just as enthusiastically, still muttering to herself, “Oh, thank God it’s over.” But when she broke off, she saw Septima looking down at her with shock and, if she could believe it, a twinge of fear.

“Hermione…that was your spell?” she said. Hermione nodded. Septima’s mouth worked silently a few times before she continued, “What the hell _was_ that?”

“Chemistry. I created a spell that leeched magnesium from the soil. The dragon’s fire lit it.”

“Chemistry…? Magnesium…? So then…you _didn_ _’t_ discover a new explosive curse that can bring down a dragon in one shot?”

“Of course not. Do you really think Harry could cast something that powerful? It’s a simple matter of leverage. Apply a small amount of power in the right way to unlock a larger force. “ _Dos moi pa sto, kai tan gan kinaso_ ,” as the master said.”

“What?” the Weasleys said.

“It’s Greek. Archimedes. It means, “Give me a place to stand, and I will move the Earth.’”

* * *

Harry was led back to the Champions’ tent to congratulations from the teachers, although Hagrid had a concerned look on his face. Guessing what was worrying him, he said, “Don’t worry, Hagrid. Hermione said it’ll only stun her for a little while.” Hagrid grinned. Harry wanted to be angry that his huge friend was more worried about the dragon than him, but he just couldn’t bring himself to it. He was still in one piece himself, and caring for man-eating animals was part of Hagrid’s charm.

Professor Moody was there, too, and he was very interested in what had happened. “Mind telling me what that was, Potter?” he said. “I don’t like it when things blow up, and I don’t know why.”

“It was Hermione’s idea,” Harry told him. “It’s a spell that pulls magnesium powder from the soil or something like that.”

“Magnesium? You mean like in flash powder. Clever girl. Good to see you made it through, then.”

Madam Pomfrey had to patch Harry up a little; he had been knocked pretty hard by the dragon’s tail. But he was no worse off than the others. He got a rundown of what the other champions did and their scores from her, frequently punctuated by remarks about their injuries and how stupid this whole contest was. He quite agreed with her on that point.

Finally, his scores were shown. Madame Maxime gave him nine points, looking reluctant to do so, but after a spectacle like that, it was hard to argue. It was only getting hurt that kept him from a perfect ten. Dumbledore also gave him nine, as did Mr. Crouch. Mr. Bagman _did_ give him ten. And then, Karkaroff, who had conspicuously waited till last, raised his wand and produced a number three, triggering loud boos from the crowd and calls to have him suspended from the judges’ panel. Harry was tied with Krum for first.

“Forty points, Potter?” Cedric said. “How on earth did you pull that off?”

Harry grinned: “It was Hermione’s spell. She’s the one who really did it.”

“Hermione?” Cedric’s face darkened. “She didn’t say she was trying to help you _win_ it.”

“She wasn’t. She was just trying to—”

Harry was cut off by the arrival of several of Cedric’s Hufflepuff friends and a couple from other houses, notably including Cho Chang of Ravenclaw. Harry’s stomach flipped when he saw her, but she didn’t look at him. They said things like “That was brilliant, Cedric!” and “You should’ve won that,” and “That was worth more than thirty-eight.” Harry couldn’t get another word in.

A moment later, a series of boisterous shouts announced the arrival of the Weasleys. “Give me a place to stand, and I will move the Earth!” said one of the Weasley Twins—Fred, he thought.

“We knew you were brilliant, but even we’ve never seen a bang like that before,” George—probably—said.

“Okay, I might have got a little carried away about that,” said a timid voice between them. Then, Harry saw a brown-haired streak rush forward and slam into him. “HARRY! Thank God you’re alright,” she said. “You are alright, aren’t you? Are you hurt? It looked like you got hit pretty hard—”

“Hermione, I’m fine,” he cut her off. “Your spell was brilliant. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you so much.”

“I was just doing what I had to,” she said, blushing at the praise.

She stepped back and let Ginny hug Harry next (Harry blushed furiously), expressing her gratitude that he was still alive while Hermione turned to the other Champions. She needed to talk to Cedric while she still had a chance. “Cedric,” she called. “Cedric.”

“Back off Granger!” said a Hufflepuff girl whom she didn’t know with a virulence that she had only heard before from the Slytherins. “This is Team Diggory only, here.” A number of Cedric’s friends were glaring at her. And so was Fleur now that she noticed. It wasn’t hard to guess why. But she wasn’t going to back down now. “I need to say something to Cedric,” she said. “He’s my friend, too.”

“Then why weren’t you helping him out there?” another boy said.

“Hold on. Hold on, Zach,” Cedric said, and he looked at her. “She did offer to help me.” His friends were surprised by that. “I didn’t think Potter would win that, though,” he said. His expression wasn’t cold towards her, but it was definitely a lot less friendly than it used to be. “What did you want to say, Hermione?”

Hermione stared for a moment, unsure what to do. She wanted to pour out her heart to him. She wanted to tell him how much she liked and admired him and how she wished they weren’t separated between schools and now by thee Tournament. But her voice wouldn’t obey. Not here. Not in public. Not with all his friends glaring at her and the threat that any of this would get back to Rita Skeeter. “I wasn’t trying to help Harry beat you,” she found herself saying. “Or you, Fleur. I was just trying to help him survive the Task. I honestly didn’t think that spell was that powerful. I think this whole Tournament is far too violent and dangerous, and I don’t particularly care who wins. I would have shown you that spell if you’d asked me. Even you, Mr. Krum. And Cedric, my offer to help still stands.” _No, no, no! That_ _’s not what I wanted to say at all! Stupid Pepperup jitters! That’s not what I meant!_

But it was too late. Cedric gave her a look of seeming understanding—a small smile, even—but his friends weren’t so charitable: “Cedric’s brilliant, Granger. He doesn’t need your help.”

Almost at the same time, a voice called from behind her, “Hermione come here!”

“But—” she said awkwardly to both statements.

“Hermione!” Ginny hissed. She grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. Hermione started to get angry with her, but then she saw what Ginny wanted her to see: Harry and Ron were standing face to face.

“Ron,” she said and started towards them, but Ginny held her back.

“Wait,” she whispered.

Ron, to Hermione’s surprise, was as white as a sheet and looked almost as scared as she felt. “Harry…” he started, trying to find the words. “I’ve been an idiot.”

“Oh, you finally figured it out, then?” Harry said coldly.

Ron was silent for a minute, looking very uncomfortable, before he finally blurted out, “I’m sorry.” What surprised Hermione most was not that he said it, but that he sounded completely sincere. Ron really could be a good person when he tried. There was a loyal, serious side of him showing that she saw far too rarely. “I should’ve figured you didn’t put your name in the Goblet,” he went on. “I mean, we knew it was dangerous, but I didn’t realise…Well, I reckon there’s no way you would’ve put your own name down for that. Whoever did it must be trying to do you in.”

“Again,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah, again. That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen—well, no, the dementors were probably that, but still, when it got you with that tail, I thought you were gonna die out there…” Ron said. He was trembling slightly. He looked like he might cry, but he didn’t. “You asked me for help, mate, and I just told you to shove off when I actually could’ve maybe done something.”

There was another awkward pause. Harry wasn’t glaring anymore, but he was clearly weighing whether to press the issue. Hermione desperately wanted to join them, but Ginny kept a tight grip on her shoulder.

“That hurt, Ron,” Harry said.

“I know.” Ron lowered his gaze.

“And not just because you refused to help.”

“Er…?”

“Have you ever known me to lie to you?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then why was it so hard for you to believe me this time.”

“I was jealous, okay? I know I should be used to it with the Boy-Who-Lived thing, but with you getting all the attention—probably still get it after what you did to that dragon—but I was being stupid and getting mad “cause it was like I was getting left behind. I’m—I’m just glad you’re alright, mate.”

“I don’t deserve the attention,” Harry insisted. “That was all Hermione’s idea.”

Ron turned and looked at her. He could see at once what Harry hadn’t mentioned. She looked completely exhausted. This might have been the hardest week of her life, and that was saying something. “Yeah, well, good on you, Hermione,” he said. “You did a hell of a lot more than I could’ve. Harry, I’m there for you if you need my help again. I promise you that. I don’t know if I’m smart enough to do much you, but—”

At this, Hermione finally spoke up: “Honestly, Ron, you’re not that stupid. You get mostly good marks, you’re surprisingly good at Ancient Runes, and you’re a genuine prodigy at strategy. This Task just wasn’t designed for your strengths. Honestly, it wasn’t even designed for mine. I just got lucky to figure out that spell so fast. Harry’s got a clue for the Second Task, now, so maybe it’ll be better this time.”

“Yeah…hopefully,” Ron agreed. “So…” he turned back to Harry again. “Are we good?”

Slowly, Harry grinned: “Yeah, mate, we’re good.” They shook hands and then pulled into a typical man-hug.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. That was Harry—always so forgiving. She wasn’t sure she would’ve—

“And Hermione…” Ron interrupted her thoughts. He was suddenly standing right in front of her. “I was an arse to you, too, and I’m sorry. Are we good, too?”

Hermione worked her mouth a couple of times. She fought the urge to snap at him. It wasn’t easy in her present state. “It’s not going to be the same as it was, Ron,” she said slowly. “That hurt me, what you did, and I know it hurt Harry more. I can forgive what you did, but honestly, I can’t just forget about it until you’ve proved you can do better.” He stared at her uncomfortably. “But yes, we’re still friends,” she finished.

Ron smiled and gave her an awkward hug. “Ginny?” he said.

_Thwack!_

“OW!”

Ginny smacked Ron in the back of the head hard enough that she almost knocked him off his feet and said, “ _Now_ we’re good, you prat.”

* * *

“Hi, Colin,” Hermione said. She had caught the overexcited third-year just before dinner for a private chat.

“Huh? Oh, hi, Hermione. What’s up?”

The remainder of the afternoon had been busy. Hermione began to receive praise from the Gryffindors (albeit limited) and glares from the other houses as the story began to spread that it was her spell that had helped Harry tie for first. Luna Lovegood came up to her and hugged her, telling her she had scared off every nargle for miles, whatever that meant. Meanwhile, Harry ran up to his dorm and retrieved his communication mirror so he could assure Sirius and Remus that he had survived the First Task. They were immensely relieved, after which Sirius eagerly demanded a blow-by-blow account, which is what reminded Hermione to seek out Colin Creevey. After all, she probably wouldn’t have time later—not while she was awake, anyway.

“Okay, Colin, two things,” she said. “Number one, I’m not Harry’s girlfriend, and I never have been. We’re just friends, and I’m helping him with the Tournament.”

“Oh, sorry,” Colin replied. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Number two…” And here, she grinned. “Would you be interested in taking out a joint patent?”

“A joint patent?” he said in confusion.

“Did you see the Patented Wandless Potions Kits in the apothecary this summer?” she asked.

His face brightened at once: “Oh, yeah; that was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. I had an idea for another patent, but I think I need your help with it.”

“Me? What do you need my help for? You’re The Arithmancer.”

 _Capital letters again,_ she thought. She really could hear them. “I know, but you know way more about magical photography than I do. I saw you taking photos today, and I know you develop your own photos. Not many people do that anymore.”

“Well, sure. I always wanted to be a professional photographer, and now, I want to be a magical photographer.”

“Well, a photographer is exactly what I need. You see, I took an Omniocular Recording of the First Task today. Omnioculars are great for spectator events, but wizards haven’t figured out how to use them as actual video cameras yet. You can only play the recordings back through the glasses. But I took them apart to see how they worked earlier this year. The recording is on a pair of crystals, and I _think_ I figured out a way to take any ten seconds out of the recording and transfer it onto magical photographic film.”

Colin’s eyes grew wide. “You did? That would be awesome! What about with sound? Or stuff like television and computers?”

“They’re on my to-do list, but it’s a long list,” she said. “I don’t really have time work it out for myself, what with helping Harry with the Tournament, and I need someone who knows more about photography than I do to work out the details. Are you interested?”

“Are you kidding? That’d be great! If we have a full recording, we could probably get better photos out of it than the _Prophet_ , and we could sell them. And…and if we patent the process, we could make a whole business out of it. You’re brilliant, Hermione!” He jumped forward and hugged her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you mean _you_ could make a business out of it,” she corrected. “I’ve already got a business to run. Plus, keeping Harry alive is a full-time job. I’d be happy just being a silent partner.”

“Oh wow!” Colin said. “My own business! Say, would it be okay to get Dennis in on this, too? He’s getting pretty good.”

“Sure, if you think he can help. I’m fine splitting it three ways. I’m mostly interested in getting the photos off this crystal. I have to go back to France tomorrow, but I wanted to give you enough to get started.” She handed him the two items she had brought for him. “This is one of the crystals from the Omnioculars with the recording of the Task on it, and these are my notes on how to transfer the images to film. I’m hoping you can fill in the gaps. Write to me what you find out, and send me copies of the pictures when you’re done. Oh, and if you need help, ask Fred and George. I’ll explain to them what it’s about.”

“I will. Thanks a million, Hermione.”

* * *

There was a big party in the Gryffindor Common Room that evening, which Harry insisted Hermione attend. She reluctantly agreed, even though the Pepperup Potion was wearing off, and she felt like she was in serious danger of falling asleep on her feet. She also still thought it was somewhat in bad taste, given her dislike for the whole Tournament, and the fact that most people still thought Harry had entered himself, but Harry was too happy to be alive and to have Ron back as a friend to care. So, weary and yawning frequently, she went in.

Predictably, George and Fred (with the help of some kitchen elves, she was sure) had gone all out, and there were cakes, pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and fireworks galore. Shortly after Harry walked in, the Twins lifted him up on their shoulders and called, “Three cheers for Harry Potter, the Dragonmaster!”

To Harry’s credit, when the cheers died down, he raised his hand for quiet and said, “Thanks guys, but the real winner is Hermione. That whole thing was her idea. She invented the spells from scratch, and she taught them to me. I never could have done it without her.”

Hermione blushed at the attention, and before she knew what had happened, the Twins had put Harry down, and she yelped as they lifted _her_ on their shoulders and said, “Three cheers for Hermione Granger, the Great Arithmancer!”

“Give her a place to stand—” George added.

“—and she will move the earth!” Fred finished.

“George! Fred! Put me down,” she said when the cheering died away. She had had far too much excitement for one very long day— _three_ days—and she really wanted to go to bed.

Fortunately (for her, at least), the attention turned back to Harry and the golden egg he had won from the dragon, which was supposed to contain a clue to the Second Task.

“Open it, Harry!” Lee Jordan said. “Let’s see what’s in it.”

“You want me to open it?” he said. The crowd cheered. That was a surprise to Hermione. She had never seen him play to a crowd like that—well, sort of in Quidditch. He must be even more excited than she thought.

“You really want me to open it?” he repeated.

“Yeah!” the crowd yelled.

“Alright, then.” Harry twisted a knob on top of the egg, and it popped open, revealing…“A Rubik’s Cube?” he said. He lifted a multi-coloured block out of its setting and tentatively twisted one of the sides. “Yep, that’s a Rubik’s Cube.”

“What’s a Rubik’s Cube?” Lee Jordan said.

“It’s a muggle puzzle,” he said. “You twist the sides until they’re all solid colours.” He twisted it a few more times to demonstrate. His face fell a little. “Dudley had one of these. I fiddled with it for weeks off and on, but I never solved it.”

“Well, it can’t be that hard,” Fred said. Harry handed him the cube, and he started twisting with slowly growing frustration.

Hermione eyed the puzzle intently. It certainly wasn’t what she had been expecting. It wasn’t an _actual_ Rubik’s Cube, of course. It was about twice the size, seemed to be made of ceramic, and the orange face had been changed to purple to match the heraldic colours wizards seemed to love so much. Fred kept at it for a couple of minutes, but only succeeded in getting a few squares together. Eventually, he gave up and passed it to George. George didn’t fare much better, and he passed it to Ron, but even Hogwarts’ resident chess master couldn’t work it out. He actually got a whole face, but he couldn’t figure out how to get more pieces correct without messing that part up. It went through a couple of other hands before someone made the obvious connection: “I bet Hermione can solve it.”

There was vociferous agreement from the other Gryffindors, and Hermione said, “Alright, alright, I will save the day again.” She took the cube in hand and started twisting. It was a lot harder than she remembered. She’d lost interest in these sorts of puzzles a while ago, and she couldn’t focus nearly as well as usual. She had to go through some of the combinations of moves a couple of times to remember them correctly. Once, she nearly had it solved, and she wound up nearly scrambling it completely again, but it eventually came together. “Come on, come on, I can do this; I can do this…” she whispered to herself. “Got it!” she made the final move, solving the cube with an odd click, and it popped open.

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Hermione,” he said in awe, “you just solved that in, like, two minutes.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’m dead tired, and I’m really out of practice,” she replied.

There was some laughter. Harry had no idea how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

“Let’s see what’s inside,” she said. Wrapped around the mechanism of the cube in a way that ought to have been geometrically impossible was a folded piece of parchment. She took it out and unfolded it. The style was unmistakable: “It’s a pirate map.”

“A pirate map?” Harry said in confusion.

Hermione yawned and shook her head to clear it. “Well, that’s certainly what it looks like,” she said. “I assume it tells you where to find whatever you’re supposed to find in the Second Task. Say, Ron…” She yawned again. “This is, uh…This might be something you can help with. You know…strategy.” She handed the map to Harry and yawned again.

She could tell she was down for the count. She turned to her old roommates and asked, “Lav? Parv? Can I crash with you for the night?”

“Of course, Hermione,” Parvati said. “You look really exhausted. Take as long as you need.”

“Great…I’m gonna go to sleep now.” Hermione passed out on her feet and fell into her friends arms.

* * *

She woke the next day in her old four-poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. Lavender and Parvati must have carried her up the seven flights to their room while she slept. She’d have to be sure to thank them. The dorm was empty at the moment, and sunlight was streaming in through the windows. She checked the clock and was surprised to see that it was half past noon. It definitely hadn’t been a good idea to skip on sleep for that second night. She had slept for sixteen hours.

She really hoped she didn’t have to do that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supplanta: Latin for “trip.”


	72. Chapter 72

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter analysis. Radiation levels: negligible, except for the Rowling Rays.
> 
> Rest in peace, John Nash. I had the pleasure of meeting the man once and hearing about some of his more recent work on game theory. He was a fascinating individual and will be missed. As a tribute, the Second Task will feature game theory.

_“Typical Gryffindor stubbornness, that boy. It’s a good thing that mudblood of his is good for something after all. I shall have to keep a closer eye on her.”_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Are you feeling better? We_ _’re sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk to you after the First Task, but we didn’t want to wake you. We were worried about you. You looked so worn out. You told us back in first year to make sure you got enough sleep, and we hope you still are. That was a really brilliant spell, though. We’ve never seen anything like it. We have no idea how you came up with it, but it was good for Harry that you did. Are you going to help him with the other tasks, too? He probably needs the help, but try not to overwork yourself like that again._

_We saw Hagrid and Madame Maxime helping out the dragon handlers together. Do you know anything about that? A lot of people think Hagrid is sweet on Madame Maxime, but we don_ _’t know if there’s really anything between them._

_Lots of love,_

_Lav and Parv_

* * *

Hermione didn’t get everything in her life back on track until Monday. On Friday, Madame de Cotte pulled her aside and informed her she was receiving a detention. Hermione started to strenuously protest on the grounds that she had taken out her homework in advance and turned it in in a timely fashion, but Madame de Cotte stopped her and informed her that the detention was for punching Malfoy. Hermione was mortified. She’d never got a detention before. She’d ruined her perfect record, and for what? A sleep-deprived fit of anger? She needed to reevaluate a few things. She supposed she should count herself lucky that the penalty wasn’t worse. She didn’t know what she’d do if Madame Maxime revoked her travel privileges for the task. Even so, after pressing her for details, Madame de Cotte made her promise not to stay awake that long again, something to which she readily agreed.

The reactions from her fellow students at Beauxbatons were mixed after the Task, partly because of the press coverage. The _Daily Prophet_ , which was again delivered to the school, included a glowing piece on the First Task that was mostly about how Harry had beaten his dragon with one powerful spell. Harry had only given Rita Skeeter one word after the Task (“Goodbye”), but she had speculated (correctly) that Hermione the Arithmancer had invented it and wondered what else she was capable of. _Le Monde Magique_ wrote a more balanced piece, lingering on Fleur’s exploits. (And single-handedly putting a dragon to sleep was no small achievement.) As a result, some of the French students were mad at Hermione for upstaging Fleur, some had no quarrel with her and flocked to her to get a firsthand account, and more than a few were now afraid of her, which she didn’t particularly like.

Monsieur Oppenord, the Arithmancy teacher, asked Hermione if she had really invented the spell Harry had used, and when she said she had, said it was very impressive and asked her to explain it. She only gave him a brief overview, both because it was so complicated and because she really didn’t want it to be spread around too widely.

This awkward situation continued all week. She had never felt like she fit in as well at Beauxbatons as Hogwarts, although, with three years of history in Hogwarts, that wasn’t surprising. But now, she was decidedly less welcome at the French school, and her year didn’t seem to be going much better than the previous one.

On Friday, she received a letter from Harry that increased her worry further.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_We_ _’ve been working together on that treasure map. We tried to measure the distances, but we don’t have anything to measure with. It_ _ looks _ _like the treasure is going to be at the bottom of the Black Lake, though. There are some runes on the map, too, but Ron_ _’s still translating them. Do you have any ideas for how Harry can get a treasure from the bottom of the lake?_

_How are you doing? I hope you_ _’re feeling better. It’s usually a bad sign when you fall asleep on your feet._

_Your friends,_

_Harry, Ron, and Ginny_

 

Hermione didn’t have any ideas for Harry to get to the bottom of the lake and back offhand. He couldn’t very well rig up SCUBA gear with just his wand—at least she didn’t think he could. Maybe there was a spell to do it. Or maybe Sirius and Remus could help. Well, at least they had nearly three months to work on it. She mentally added it to her list of projects.

Her project to study the interaction of radioactivity and transfiguration wasn’t going well. The problem was getting enough radioactive material together to measure its decay rate. Oddly enough, the government made it rather difficult to get bulk radioactive material on the open market. Go figure. With only a cloud chamber for a radiation detector, none of her samples were strong enough to clearly show their radioactivity.

Her basic idea was to use potassium, which was one of the few elements that naturally occurred in a mix of stable and unstable elements. She wanted it to be in the natural mixture because she assumed that was what transfiguration replicated. She had a three and one-eighth ounce can of potassium chloride. Of that three and one-eighth ounces, one and two-thirds ounces was potassium, and of that, 99.988% was stable potassium-39 and potassium-41. Only 0.012% of it was radioactive potassium-40, and potassium-40 had a half-life of one and a quarter billion years. Do the maths, and that meant that the whole can underwent 1,462 radioactive decays per second, with a standard deviation of 38. If the sixth exception to Gamp’s Law was correct, then transfigured potassium chloride should contain no potassium-40 at all and should not register in the cloud chamber. The trouble was that 1,462 decays per second were too few to pick it out from the background radiation.

According to her nuclear physics textbook, background radiation came from potassium-40 in the human body (Hermione herself contained more potassium-40 than the salt can); uranium, thorium, and their decay products in rocks, plus radon in the air; and from cosmic rays. Ordinary nuclear radiation wasn’t a problem. Her cloud chamber couldn’t detect gamma rays, and alpha and beta particles could be blocked by thin sheet metal. (By the same token, she would practically have to put the potassium chloride inside the cloud chamber to see the signal.) Cosmic rays, on the other hand, were another story. The only way to get away from those was to go _deep_ underground, with many metres (she _was_ in France, after all) of rock between oneself and the surface. The dungeons alone weren’t enough. However, Monsieur Oppenord, when told of the importance of the project, agreed to give her supervised access to the drainage tunnels under the castle.

Now, he americium source from the smoke detector her parents had sent her was a tiny americium-plated button rated at one microcurie, or 37,000 decays per second. She could pick that out in the cloud chamber if she was underground. But americium would be ambiguous in terms of her project. If the sixth exception to Gamp’s law was correct, then it shouldn’t be possible to transfigure americium at all, and indeed Hermione couldn’t. But that might have been because of the alchemical challenge of transfiguring pure substances. Or maybe it was because americium was purely synthetic, and transfiguration had to be of naturally occurring materials. She really wished she had that uranium she wanted. That would be a lot easier than the potassium.

 _Say, how much uranium is there in soil?_ she wondered. _I_ _’ve heard of filtering heavy metals from seawater. Maybe…_

Fortunately, her nuclear physics book had a table of elemental abundances in the back. She checked as saw that uranium occurred at an average of about two parts per million in Earth’s crust.

_Well, that could work. If I adapt my spell to filter out magnesium to work on uranium, I good get three or four grams out of a cubic meter of soil. That would be plenty. Heck, I could probably even refine it if I wanted to—_

She stopped cold, then slammed the book shut and backed away. _Okay, I_ _’m going to pretend I didn’t think that—ever—before MI6 comes and gets me._

_…Although…given the critical mass of uranium-235, I’d need to filter through three point six million tons of soil to get enough weapons-grade material to make a bomb, so I don’t think I’ll be a nuclear proliferation hazard anytime soon._

She relaxed at that and opened the book again. Interestingly, the table showed that every naturally-occurring element was present in rock, and therefore in soil, at least at the part per billion level, and most at the part per million level. There were also a handful of other elements besides potassium that were made of a mix of both stable and long-lived, but unstable isotopes. Perhaps one of those would work better than potassium.

Suddenly, she was in motion, flipping between pages, looking at tables of elemental abundances, isotopic abundances, and half-lives to work out decay rates and radioactivity per unit weight of soil so she could calculate how much work it would take to isolate a detectable amount.

Rubidium? Very feasible, but the stuff burst into flames on contact with air, so that didn’t sound like a good idea.

Samarium? Just barely feasible, but it was an alpha emitter, so it would absorb most of its own radiation.

Rhenium? Far too rare. Completely infeasible.

Lutetium? Just barely feasible, and a beta emitter, but not a significant advantage over potassium, and it would take a lot of work.

So the potassium would have to do. And she would need to make some kind of metal shielding for her cloud chamber to block out the background radiation. She considered writing her parents for some sheet aluminium, but she’d already asked for so many supplies for this project that she would rather not bother them again. And she remembered that she had a ready source of pure (and thus guaranteed non-radioactive) magnesium.

Except that the magnesium was in powder form. She would have to melt it to make sheets, and magnesium melted at 650 degrees Celsius, but violently burst into flames at 473 degrees Celsius.

 _Maybe I need to start with something simpler,_ she thought. _Teaching myself metallurgy sounds like something to be very careful about._ Once again, maybe some other metal would work better. She considered the possibilities: it would need to be common, have a low melting point, be nonreactive, and be relatively non-toxic. _Of course, I need to work with tin_.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Rita Skeeter interviewed Hagrid today in Care of Magical Creatures. She asked a lot of funny questions about the Blast-Ended Skrewts. I don_ _’t know what she’s up to, but I have a bad feeling about it. You know she’s going to twist everything he said. Do you think Hagrid could get in trouble over them?_

_Harry_

* * *

Hagrid, she suspected, would be fine if he hadn’t _actually_ done anything illegal. Unfortunately, he was known to do that from time to time.

In the meantime, once she had worked out a spell to isolate one substance from soil, it was easy to modify it to work on others. Even her kludge to convert the magnesium ions back to their metallic form carried over, since few metals were found in their native form in nature. According to her chemistry textbook, only gold, silver, copper, and the platinum group metals could be mined in their pure form in commercially important quantities, and that certainly wouldn’t apply to filtering tiny amounts from soil. Within a few days, she had figured out a spell for isolating tin.

Granted, it wasn’t quite a substitution she could do in her head. She had to redo several blocks of calculations for the new spell, and those changes could propagate through the process to the wand movements, and of course, she needed to write a new incantation for each one, which was a complicated linguistic endeavour. The “magical name,” for lack of a better term, for tin was the Latin _stannum_ , so the incantation she wrote was just _Percolare Stannum._

For her first try, she collected the powdered tin an evaporating dish from her potions kit. Tin had about the same concentration in soil as uranium, so she would need to “strip-mine” hundred tons of soil just to get a few ounces, so she decided to split that work up over several days. Eventually she got enough to experiment on. Tin melted at just 450 degrees Fahrenheit, so she was able to use her wand to melt the powder—and cool it, for that matter. That quickly got her a lump of solid tin, for all the good it did her. The question was, could she shape into sheets usefully? Or mold it?

 _Hmm, a physical mold would be easy, but time consuming_ , she mused. _There might be a way to form a mold with magical fields using runes, which might be quicker for simple sheet metal. I_ _’ll have to look it up…if I ever have the time. I don’t know about other spells, though_. In fact, she could only think of two ways to shape objects with magic that she might be able to pull off—either a very complex shaping charm, like a modified Levitation Charm to make the liquid metal levitate into a certain shape, or a stripped-down Transfiguration spell to change the shape, but not the substance. However, that second one might not fix it in form; it might be vulnerable to untransfiguation.

“And that’s _another_ project for the list,” she said to herself. She was certainly developing enough ideas for a long research career.

In the end, she went for a quick stopgap solution. She poured the molten tin into a beaker from her potions kit to shape it into a disk for easy storage. Then, for good measure, she used a Gouging Spell to carve a large **Sn** symbol into it. That was a good start.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Professor McGonagall announced the Yule Ball today. You mentioned you wanted to know when she did._

_Ginny_

* * *

_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I just found out about the Yule Ball, and I was wondering a few things. Suppose a former student was home for the holidays and happened to be in the neighbourhood and happened to arrive at the gates of Hogwarts. Would she perhaps be allowed to stay a few days as a guest of the school, attend the Ball, and then maybe leave on Boxing Day? I_ _’d like to be able to come, and I’d really appreciate having that kind of flexibility._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger_

* * *

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Hogwarts rarely entertains guests, but we do have provisions for it. If you are home for the holidays and thus not under the care of Beauxbatons, then you will be free to come and go at Headmaster Dumbledore_ _’s discretion so long as you have permission from your parents._

_As for the Yule Ball itself, if we are to be technical about it, you would need accompanied by an authorised partner to attend, that is, a Hogwarts student of fourth year or higher or one of our official Beauxbatons or Durmstrang guests. If you arrive a few days before Christmas, I anticipate you will not have great difficulty finding an acceptable date._

_Best regards,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

* * *

Emma Granger sighed when she saw Hermione’s latest letter. She was proud of her daughter’s achievements, but it was so exhausting lately. She didn’t begrudge her frequent questions and requests for supplies as she rushed into uncharted areas of magic, but she did worry about Hermione’s well-being—her safety with all the danger she got into, her emotional health when she was forced to go to a new school, and the constant fear that she was overworking herself in her frantic enthusiasm for her assorted projects.

“What is it, Emma?” Dan asked.

“Apparently, there’s a ball at Hogwarts on Christmas.”

“Oh? For the Tournament?”

“Yes. That, and I think the stress is getting to Hermione.”

Dan frowned: “More than usual?”

“She doesn’t come out and say it, but if you read between the lines, you can tell how much everything’s weighing on her. Here, look.”

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_Hogwarts is holding a Yule Ball on Christmas Day as part of the Tournament. I know you wouldn_ _’t want me to be at Hogwarts all the way through the holidays, but I wrote to Professor McGonagall, and she said that if I’m home for the holidays, I could come and go anytime as a guest of Hogwarts, and I could attend the Ball if I have a date who’s a Hogwarts student. And I know I missed Christmas with you last year, but I’d really like to go. This is probably the only school dance I’ll ever have at the rate things are going, and I can still come home on Boxing Day._

_I_ _’d really like to spend the week before Christmas at Hogwarts, starting on Sunday, the 18th. I can probably convince Headmaster Dumbledore to let me go in and out multiple times, but it would be a lot easier if I could spend a week there, and it would be good to be able to spend time with my friends over the holidays._

_I_ _’m sorry to be asking for so much this year. I know you wanted to get me away from Hogwarts, and I know you have safety concerns with some of my research. And you’re right; Hogwarts has been very dangerous, and some of my research is a little hazardous and certainly expensive. I think it’s safe to say that nothing about my situation is normal, so I’m going to ask for some strange things from time to time. As for Hogwarts, well, I think we’ve been over that ad nauseum. I really appreciate that you’ve supported me in staying connected and involved to help Harry, and I’ve done my best to respect your wishes to keep out of trouble. It feels like I keep asking to spend more time there. Personally, I think the whole Tournament is unbalanced (to say nothing of being insanely dangerous). It only involves a small number of students from the guest schools and only one Champion from each school actually competes. It’s really unfair, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Anyway, in a perfect—well, more perfect—world, I would be at Hogwarts to be able to go to the ball, and I really don’t want to miss out, so I hope you’ll be willing to accept this compromise._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

“Goodness,” Dan said. “I hope she doesn’t think she’s becoming a burden or getting too demanding.”

“I think that’s part of it,” Emma replied. “Hermione’s basically been forced to become more self-sufficient the past three years. It’s got to be hard to admit she needs help. But I really, I think it’s the stress of being pulled in all different directions—needing to respect our wishes while trying to stay close to her friends and then working on her own research, and it’s too much to deal with. It’s the same problem she’s always had in a different form—not being able to spare the effort to take care of herself properly.”

“Plus, now, she doesn’t have the support network she’s built up over the past three years,” Dan said.

Emma raised an eyebrow in surprise: “Yes, I suppose there’s that, too…And you know, I think she’s scared. She knows she was pushing her luck for so long to stay at Hogwarts, she’s scared of pushing too hard and crossing that line again.”

“Especially when it isn’t a life-or-death thing this time,” Dan observed. “Not as important, you know.”

“Yes, could be…” Emma said, seemingly lost in thought. “Do you think it would be too much trouble to let her spend a week at Hogwarts?”

Dan smiled weakly. “I’d rather she didn’t, but I think I can accept it. And if she’s right about the arrangements, we can go and get her if there’s any trouble. I don’t want her thinking she can’t trust us or something.”

“I know. We’ve all worked so hard to hold together as a family through all this, I don’t want to lose that.” Emma smiled back: “And besides, I think our little girl deserves to have some fun.”

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_To be honest, your last letter worried us a little. We absolutely don_ _’t want you to feel like you can’t come to us when there’s something you want or need. If it worries you, we don’t think you’re being too demanding about your research projects. We’re a bit concerned about how you’re going about it, but we trust you to be responsible, and if it yields as many new results as you think it will, all of the books and equipment we’ve sent will be a worthwhile investment in your future._

_We_ _’re perfectly happy to let you go to the Yule Ball. Don’t worry about Christmas. We can put off our celebration for a day. You’re right that we would have rathered you not spend any time at Hogwarts this year, but we can certainly compromise for your peace of mind about Harry, especially considering how much you’ve helped him, and we can do the same for such a rare opportunity as a ball. Magical schools do seem to suffer from an alarming lack of social activities, don’t they?_

_From Mum: Woman to woman, I think you left out the most important part of why you want to go. After all the hard work you_ _’ve been doing for your friends and for your academic work, this is something you want to do just for you. You know how you get when you’re overworked, and I don’t think you can deny that you’ve been working harder than you really should this year—and you don’t have your old friends around to keep you grounded. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a chance to kick back and have some fun. So go ahead, dress up (we’ll even buy you a dress the night you get back), dance, have fun, and maybe even kiss a boy. Just try not to worry about anything at all for just one night._

_Mind you, we_ _’ll want you to come home if there’s any trouble during that week. Also, if you have anyone at all you feel you can confide in at Beauxbatons, especially your roommates, we think you should talk to them about your problems and ask them to help make sure you get enough sleep and don’t overwork yourself._

_We miss you every day, and we can_ _’t wait to see you. Even if we only get one week this year, we’ll be thrilled to have you at home. Remember that you’ll always be our little girl, and we’ll always worry about you, but we can also see that you’ve become a brilliant and beautiful young woman who is learning to be her own person and can already do things we never dreamt of. We’re so glad that you’ve made the effort to stay close to us, and the least we can do is to support you in any reasonable thing you want to do. Please don’t hesitate to write us again if there’s anything else you need._

_Love from,_

_Mum and Dad_

 

Hermione was in tears as she read her parents’ letter. It was amazing to her. They were always so supportive in almost everything she did. She was well aware that she had pushed probably well beyond the bounds of sanity to stay at Hogwarts for three years, and she couldn’t thank them enough for letting her keep visiting this year. It made her feel guilty again that she was abusing their trust to get that extra few days before each of the tasks. She considered asking them outright and putting it on the level after this letter, but she found she couldn’t quite make that leap. She set that aside for now—or that’s what she told herself—to write the other letters that she needed to write. She had to write Professor McGonagall, of course, as well as several of her Hogwarts friends to give them a heads-up. She was so happy that she barely knew where to start. Without really thinking about it, her first letter came out:

 

_Dear Cedric,_

_Great news! I wrote to Professor McGonagall and my mum and dad, and we arranged it so that I can spend a week at Hogwarts after the end of term, and I_ _’ll be able to go to the Yule Ball. I’m really excited to see you and everybody else at Hogwarts. I know it’ll be a lot of fun being back there when classes aren’t in session, and I know the ball will be really great, too._

_I hope everything is going well with you. I know you must be busy with the Tournament. Have you figured out the clue for the next task yet? I_ _’m sure you can get it with arithmancy, but if you’re having any trouble, just ask any of the muggle-borns. They can tell you more about it._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

There was one very big problem with Hermione’s transfiguration project: she had very little idea of how to transfigure potassium chloride—certainly not enough to be sure she had exhausted all the possibilities with regard to radioactivity. Reading up on a theoretical level showed that any route to try it would blur the lines between transfiguration and alchemy, and alchemy was an advanced-level class. If she could overcome that hurdle, she _thought_ she good get even data from analysing the magical fields to prove arithmantically that it was impossible to transfigure the radioactive potassium-40, leaving the stable potassium-39 and -41. (Not wanting to touch isotopic separation, she could probably figure out the isotopic ratio by carefully measuring the density.) However, she would need someone who was very familiar with both the theory and practice of transfiguration to get to that point, and she doubted Professor McGonagall would have the time. She’d have to ask Septima for advice when she got back to Hogwarts.

Of course, even that wasn’t the full story. Her nuclear physics book said that practically all heavy metals were theoretically unstable to spontaneous fission, even if no decays had ever been experimentally observed, so it couldn’t be a simple matter of stable versus unstable energy states. But that was a matter for later.

On the bright side, she had managed to beat her samples of tin crudely into shape—literally. She simply heated the metal until it was soft, but not melted, and beat it with a hammer. It didn’t look very good, but she made it into a box that could contain the cloud chamber and potassium chloride. Pretty good for a complete novice tinsmith, she thought.

 _“So I can see the beta radiation from the potassium chloride by putting it in a layer under cloud chamber. I just don’t know how to replicate it with transfiguration,”_ she explained to her roommates over breakfast just before the end of term.

Adèle and Hildegard nodded patronisingly. “Well, it sounds like that’s a start, at least,” Hildegard said. Hermione knew she might as well have been speaking English for all they understood her, but she appreciated their patience in letting her bounce ideas off them.

 _“Oh, Hermione, I think you got a package,”_ Adèle interrupted.

Hermione looked up in surprise. She wasn’t expecting anything, but a large owl she didn’t recognise swooped down to her, dropped off a small box and a large envelope, and snapped up a rasher of bacon before she could stop it. Shaking her head, she looked at the return address.

 _“Oh, wow, it’s from the Creeveys,”_ she said excitedly.

 _“The ones who outed you as Harry Potter’s girlfriend?”_ Hildegard teased.

_“I’m not his girlfriend. And they may be clueless, but they’re good photographers, both of them. I asked them to develop some photos I took of the First Task.”_

That got some attention. Everyone at the table got up and clustered around her. They hadn’t seen many really good photos of the task. She opened the envelope, and four glossy photos, a letter, and what looked like a flip-book spilt out. Each photo showed a high-quality recording that looped ten seconds of footage. The first showed a dragon chasing a dog while Cedric grabbed the golden egg, and then it turned and shot flames at him, all as the arena spun around. The second showed a dragon drifting off to sleep while Fleur sneaked up to the nest. Hermione passed that one around. The third showed Krum firing his Conjunctivitis Curse and the blinded dragon stomping on the nest. It was too bad there wasn’t a magical RSPCA to send that one to. Maybe she would start one if she was ever not fiendishly busy. And the fourth photo was developed as perfectly as possible, but it still came out a little off. It started the moment Harry banished the cloud of magnesium powder at the Horntail’s head. The dragon began to breathe fire, and then there was a flash that turned the entire image blank white. The glare subsided, showing the dragon rearing back, staggering, and falling, rolling to the edge of the spinning arena, but that part was washed out with distorted colours.

 _“Mon Dieu! You say that was your spell, ‘Ermione?”_ one of the girls said.

 _“Oui, but Harry overpowered it,”_ she replied. They really were good photos. She let her friends take a closer look while she read the letter.

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_We figured it out! These are all the photos we extracted from your Omnioculars crystal using the Creevey-Granger Process (patent pending). Sorry it took so long. We wanted to get the patent application in before we revealed it. We asked the Weasley Twins to help us there. You were right. We could turn any ten seconds of the recording into a photo, even if they overlapped. We took the most exciting parts of the task and put them back to back to make a flip-book. That_ _’s the closest we could come to a real video._

_We sent the crystal back to you in the box so that maybe you could put the Omnioculars back together, but we think the explosion damaged it. Everything after that looks overexposed. You might need a new pair for the next task._

_We tried to sell the photos to the Daily Prophet, but they bought the one of Harry for two galleons, and that_ _’s it. We sent you half in the box since you took the recording. We can work out business details the next time we see you._

_Your friends,_

_Colin and Dennis Creevey_

Hermione looked at the flip-book. It really was almost like a video. She was starting to think she had underestimated the Creeveys. Sure, they could be a little obnoxious, but it looked like they had a head for business. “Creevey-Granger Process (patent pending)’? That sounded more professional than she’d expected. The real question was what kind of volume they could process.

 _“Wow, this is really good work,”_ Adèle said. _“Are you going to be doing more of this?”_

Hermione smiled. _“I think so,”_ she said. This looked like it would be a very promising partnership.

* * *

The train from Beauxbatons to Paris was an hour faster than Hogwarts to London, and Sirius had arranged an International Portkey from the French Ministry to the British Ministry to get her home faster, so Hermione made good time. (Mum and Dad had insisted on paying for that one, since it was for their personal use.) None of the Grangers had had much direct contact with the Ministry, so they all felt a little lost. The arrival room looked a little like how a wizard might design a train platform where there were no trains, and Mum and Dad were standing in a marked off area by the door. Hermione smiled when she saw them and rushed to them, stopping in front of them as they stared at each other awkwardly.

“Oh, come here,” Mum said and grabbed her in a hug.

That was enough. Hermione broke down crying, letting go of the tension of the last four months. “Mum, Dad, I—” she started.

“Shh,” Mum whispered to her. “It’s okay.”

“I—Thank you,” Hermione sobbed, not entirely sure what she was thanking them for. “Thank you so much.”

Dad pulled both of them close. “We meant what we said, Hermione. We want you to be happy, and you deserve a chance to relax and have a good time. And if you have a quick way out, we’re okay with you doing that at Hogwarts.”

“It’s just been so hard this year—” she murmured.

“We know. We wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Mum said. “Just try not to worry so much about it this week.” She held her daughter at arm’s length and smiled: “Come on, we have a dress to buy you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percolare Stannum: Latin for “filter tin.”


	73. Chapter 73

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Potter, Sage, Rowling, and Thyme.

Hermione arrived at Hogwarts castle on Sunday morning with a beautiful new dress safely stowed in her trunk. They’d bought it in the muggle world, but it still looked like something a witch might wear. It was made of many layers of sheer, periwinkle-blue silk, and she’d fallen in love with it at once. If she dyed her hair blond, she could probably pass for Cinderella in it. When she mentioned that to Mum, Mum had half-jokingly insisted on adding a blue, silk headband to complete the ensemble. She’d never been one to dress up or generally be “girly” but she was surprised how much she enjoyed it.

Hagrid let her in the front gates with a smile. The huge man was still trying to dress fancier than he used to, presumably to impress Madame Maxime. He certainly put a lot of effort into tending her Abraxans, from what he told her.

“You know, that Rita Skeeter came and talked ter me twice last week,” he mentioned at one point.

“I heard,” Hermione groaned. “You didn’t tell her anything incriminating, did you?”

“Course not—er, not that there was anythin’ ter say. Nope,” he said. “She asked about the Skrewts some, but she was mostly int’rested in Harry.”

“Oh, of course she was.”

“Well, I told her we was good friends since I fetched him from the Dursleys, and he was a good boy. She didn’t like the angle. Wanted me ter call him a troublemaker, but she won’t hear that from me. So, yer goin’ ter the ball, Hermione?”

“Yes, I just need a date,” she said.

“Well, I’m sure a nice, smart girl like you can get one, no problem,” Hagrid said.

Hermione turned a little pink and retorted, “So what about you, Hagrid?”

Hagrid turned a lot redder than she did. “Me? Oh, uh, yeah, I though’ I might look in on it. Should be a good to-do.”

Hermione just smiled. Hagrid was definitely still sweet on Madame Maxime. It was too bad they didn’t make suits in his size, she thought. For that matter, how would anyone go about making a suit that big? And for _that_ matter, where did Hagrid get the clothes he had already. Maybe he made them himself. It wouldn’t surprise her.

She had caught the Knight Bus early to come in for breakfast, so she quickly grabbed a seat with her friends. A change had come over Hogwarts besides the usual Christmas decorations. The girls were all looking very excited about the ball, while an unusual air of nervousness had fallen over the boys. She hadn’t thought a ball would cause that much anxiety, but then, she didn’t have much experience herself.

“Hi, Hermione,” Ginny said brightly as she took her seat. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Ginny,” she replied. “Ron, Harry, Fred, George.”

“Hi,” the boys said.

Hermione saw that Ginny was sitting conspicuously close by Harry’s side. She looked at the redhead and flicked her eyes towards Harry. Ginny shook her head almost imperceptibly. _Boys_ , Hermione thought.

“It’s so great that your folks let you come back for the ball,” Ginny said.

“And Headmaster Dumbledore,” Hermione agreed. “I just hope I’m not getting too late a start.”

“No, you should be fine. Fred asked Angelina yesterday, but he’s the only one of us who has a date yet.”

“I told George he should ask Alicia to go with him,” Fred piped up. “All of you better hurry up before the good ones are taken.”

“I can get my own date, Fred,” George said with noticeable annoyance. “You just worry about not tripping over Angie’s feet.”

“I resent that. I’m an excellent dancer, and you know it.”

Harry shook his head dejectedly. “What I want to know is why girls always travel in packs,” he said. “You can never get one alone.”

“Strength in numbers, I should think,” Hermione said. “It provides moral support and, if necessary, physical backup to a girl who wants to refuse an invitation. That and more gossipping opportunities,” she added. She wisely opted not to ask Harry about whom he wanted to ask for now and changed the subject.

As for herself, Hermione really wanted to see Cedric. She hoped he was willing to talk to her after the mess at the First Task, but she wasn’t sure. She decided to try to recruit Alicia Spinnet and Roger Davies to talk to him and make it a meeting of their Arithmancy study group for old times’ sake. That was successful, and it worked well, since they were able to commiserate in the library over their respective classes.

“So how was Professor Vector’s end-of-term exam?” Hermione asked to break the ice.

“Ugh, it was awful,” Alicia said at once. “N.E.W.T.-level Arithmancy is a lot harder than I thought.”

“Well, it’s called ‘Nastily Exhausting’ for a reason,” Cedric said.

“It gave me a headache,” Roger said. “I don’t think anybody did well. Well, I’m sure _you_ could’ve Hermione.”

“I don’t know,” she countered. “It’s not as easy for me as it used to be, either. Of course, I’m in an accelerated program this year, but still.”

“But you still invented that spell to fight a dragon,” Alicia said. “I never could’ve done that.”

 _Maybe,_ Hermione thought, though she felt like they could have worked that out given more time and even a rudimentary exposure to group theory and number theory. Still, she was reminded how far ahead of the curve she was when she found herself trying to explain her radioactivity project to her friends. A large part of it probably went over their heads, although they got the gist of it.

“Wait, you said a sixth exception to Gamp’s Law?” Roger gasped. Hermione nodded. “Bloody hell, Rebecca’s gonna be so jealous!”

Hermione bit her lip: “Er, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that to her. I don’t want to cause trouble about it right before the ball. I mean…we’re all just here to have fun this week, right?”

“Oh, right, I guess,” Roger said. “As long as she doesn’t bring it up or anything. I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t want my date to be mad that night.”

“Oh? You’re going with her?”

“Yep, we’re still together. It’s going great. What about you? You have a date yet?”

“Not yet…” Hermione said slowly, wondering if she could nudge closer to Cedric without being too conspicuous.

“Well,” Cedric said, seemingly oblivious, “I asked Cho Chang to go with me yesterday.”

Hermione froze. “Oh?” she said, trying to sound merely interested, though her traitorous voice squeaked a little. “You did?”

“Uh huh. Should be a good time.”

“That’s…nice…” She turned to Alicia just so she wouldn’t have to look at him any longer.

“No one’s asked me, yet,” Alicia said without elaborating. “Hermione, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” But she excused herself not long after that and fled from the library because she couldn’t keep from crying anymore. She made her way to the Room of Requirement, where she could vent her dismay in private, and she stereotypically collapsed to her knees.

 _Why?_ she thought. _Why did this happen? Why did Mum and Dad have to pull me out this year, of all years? I finally found a boy I like, and they go and make me miss the boat! If I could have been here this year, maybe he would_ _’ve actually noticed me!_

She didn’t want to blame Cedric. He was the last person she wanted to blame, for obvious reasons. Part of her wanted to blame Cho Chang, but he was the one who had asked her. Her parents were easy targets, but as she silently raged against them, it only made her feel guilty. They had been so supportive of her this year—this week especially. More than she felt like she deserved, the way she kept lying to them by omission, both this year and last. They were being so generous letting her come to the ball at all.

 _It_ _’s that bastard who entered Harry in the Tournament!_ she thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that she might not be here at all if it weren’t for that. _He_ _’s ruining Harry’s life, and now he’s screwing with mine, too! If he hadn’t driven a wedge between Cedric and Harry, I could’ve talked to Cedric ages ago._

But that thought only made her turn on herself: _Why couldn_ _’t I have just talked to Cedric before? Why couldn’t I just suck it up and tell him I like him before he up and went with some other girl? And of course, it had to be the pretty girl. Even Harry has a crush on Cho, and he’s definitely behind the curve emotionally. I used to be a Gryffindor! Why couldn’t I just bloody well say something?_

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, the logical train of thought didn’t end with beating herself up, and her mind, ever logical, kept following it. Even as she saw the realisations coming, no matter how much she wanted to, she was powerless to stop them.

 _But I_ did _say something,_ she remembered. _I sent him that letter. I sent a letter to him personally that I would be back for the ball, and I didn_ _’t do that for all my friends. I all but told him outright that I liked him. I specifically told him I would be back for the Yule Ball a week ago, and he only asked Cho yesterday. Then, if he wanted to ask me, he had plenty of time, and he (No no no!)…just didn’t want to._

She curled up on the sofa and under the blanket the Room had provided, tears leaking from her eyes again, her insides feeling like lead. _Did I do something wrong?_ she wondered. _Should I have actually told him that I like him? Or would it not have made a difference? Did he always just see me as the smart little girl in his class? Cedric_ _’s always been nice to me, but was that all it was?_

 _Merlin_ _’s beard, why does it hurt so much? It’s only a crush! I’m not supposed to be one of these girly girls who’s devastated when her crush blows her off. I’m not Ginny! I’m certainly not Lavender or Parvati! Why do I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut?_ She had no idea know what to do. Maybe it was just because Cedric was the first boy she really _liked_. Maybe it was because she’d had her heart set on him for so long. Maybe it was because she didn’t have a clue what she was doing. She was new to the romance game at fifteen (and setting her sights on an older boy), when a lot (though far from all) of the students had started at thirteen. Or maybe she just didn’t have as strong a constitution as she thought. All she knew was that it had been a long time since she had so wished to have her mum there with her.

She wasn’t sure how long she was trapped there in her dark thoughts when, to her shock, the door opened.

“Hermione?”

“Eep!” She reflexively drew her wand and pointed it at the door.

“Whoa! Whoa! It’s me!”

She lowered her wand: “Harry?”

“Hi. Are you okay?”

“Um…” She really didn’t want to answer that. She quickly wiped her eyes. “How did you find me?” she demanded.

“Alicia told Fred and George that you ran off and looked really upset. She asked them where you were, but I have the Marauder’s Map, now, so they asked me.”

“This room isn’t on the Map,” Hermione interrupted.

“I know,” Harry replied. “When I didn’t see you on it, I assumed you were here.”

“Oh…of course…Um…have a seat, then.” Of course, the elves’ quarters weren’t on the Map, either, but he wouldn’t have had too many places to check.

He did. “So…are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m…fine.”

She could see that even Harry, as naturally clueless as he was, could see through that. “Why did you run off, then?”

“Never mind about me,” she snapped. “So, do you have a date to the Ball, yet?”

He sighed and lowered his gaze. “No,” he said. “I want to ask Cho Chang, but I can never get her alone.

“Ohhh…” Hermione groaned. “Don’t bother. She’s already going with Cedric Diggory.”

Harry let out a choking sound, and when she looked up him, _he_ looked like he’d been punched in the gut. She felt guilty, then. She was taking her problems out on Harry because he was the closest available target. She felt a brief twinge of satisfaction that he was feeling the same pain she was, but all it did was make them feel miserable together.

“Sorry, Harry,” she muttered. “If it helps, I’m not having any better luck than you are.”

“You aren’t—?” he started in confusion. “You mean…? Oh my God, you like Cedric?”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Um, sorry, it’s just, you…didn’t seem the type?”

“Ugh, story of my life, apparently. I must not have seemed the type to him, either.”

“So that’s why you—?” Hermione stared at him, and he trailed off. Harry was silent for a minute, unsure of what to say. He finally settled on, “Well, this is a mess, isn’t it.”

“Yep.”

“Why does everyone expect the boys to ask the girls, anyway?” he griped. “It just makes it that much harder for us.”

“You mean no girls have asked you?” Hermione said in surprise. Of course, Ginny was such a romantic, it _would_ be just like her to wait for Harry to ask her.

Harry blushed: “Erm…actually, I’ve had three girls ask me.”

“And you turned them down?”

“I didn’t know any of them. I’ve never even spoken to any of them before.”

“Oh. So they only wanted to go with you because you’re famous,” she reasoned. “Actually when you put it that way, I’m surprised there aren’t more. But then again, they all think _we_ _’re_ together, don’t they?”

Harry blushed harder and changed the subject back: “I mean it. Girls expect boys to ask them, and then they travel in packs. It’s so intimidating.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Boys_ , she thought again. “That sounds like a test of will to me,” she teased. Harry glared at her. “And don’t think we girls have it easy. We have to worry about, is the boy we like going to ask us, and what do you do if someone else asks us first? Do you turn him down and keep hoping, or do you accept since it’s a bird in the hand, and you’re kinda friendly with him—”

She stopped as Harry was staring at her in bewilderment. “If there’s a guy you like, why don’t you just ask him?” he said. “ _We_ don’t travel in packs.”

 _That_ _’s what I’ve been asking myself all morning._ It was strange how strange and pointless some customs seemed when you stopped to think about them. It was the nineties, wasn’t it? “I don’t know. You know I’m not the best person to ask about girl stuff.”

“But you _are_ a girl.”

“Yes, but try asking Lavender; you’ll get a _real_ earful. Look, girls are expected not to ask boys because…I don’t know. It looks desperate or something. That’s just the way the social roles are. We’re expected to drop hints instead.”

“Hints?”

“Yeah, like smiling at one boy in particular, or doing little favours for him, or going out of our way to talk to him or give him a compliment…Or something like that. I’m new at this.”

She looked again and saw Harry staring at her with a very worried look. “Hermione…” he said nervously, “are you trying to get _me_ to ask you to the ball?”

“What?” she squeaked. “Me? No! I was thinking you should ask Ginny.”

“Ginny?”

“Oh, come on, Harry, you _know_ she likes you. And I’ve seen the way you are with her.”

“Umm…?”

“You know. I saw how much you enjoyed teaching her to fly your Firebolt last year.”

At that, there was an amazing transformation as the most carefree smile came over Harry’s face that she had seen on him all year. Hermione laughed.

“Always wear your emotions on your sleeve, don’t you Harry? Ginny told me you’ve been helping her with her Arithmancy homework, too. And I could see how much you appreciated her support with the First Task.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty nice,” Harry agreed, still smiling a little. “I just never thought—”

“Well, you were crushing on Cho, weren’t you? Maybe you were so hung up on her that you never noticed you had something special right in front of you…something you were completely taking for granted…Anyway, I think you two would be good together.”

“Huh…Maybe you’re right,” he said. “I don’t know if Ron’ll like it, though.”

“Don’t worry about Ron. Ginny will set him straight if he gives you any grief.”

Harry laughed. Ginny could definitely do that. He paused, leaning back and imagining taking Ginny to the ball instead of Cho like he had been picturing all week. Amazingly, he found himself smiling again. Ginny was a good friend; she was always there for him, practically as much as Hermione this year. They got along well, and she was a lot of fun to be around. She took after the Twins that way.

Hermione could easily guess what her best friend was thinking. “There, you see?” she said. “You should go ask her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I will,” he said. He stood up and stopped. “What about you, though?”

She sighed. All this effort helping Harry, and it didn’t help her with any of her own problems…or did it? Had _she_ been so hung up on Cedric like Harry was on Cho? Had it simply been that she let herself get caught up in the fantasy that it hurt so much? And was it her native stubbornness that made it so hard for her to accept that he wasn’t interested. And most importantly, was she missing that she had something special right in front of her whom she was taking for granted? It could be…

“Don’t worry about me,” she told him. “I think maybe I need to take my own advice.”

Harry gave her a questioning look, but he slipped out and left her in the Room.

Hermione started really thinking about the friends she had around her—the ones who had been supportive of her, and whom she enjoyed being around. And it didn’t take long to realise that there was one boy who had always been kind to her and was always happy to help her, who truly appreciated her gifts, who showed a particular concern for her, even more so than his brothers, who went out of his way to cheer her up when she was having a hard time, and who could always make her laugh, even when she was most miserable.

 _And_ who, as of this morning, didn’t have a date yet.

 _Now, what can I do to get his attention?_ she thought, but she stopped that line of thought in its tracks when she realised it the same trap as before. It was amazing how strong social conditioning could be. And yet, as she thought about dancing and mischief, she got a brilliant idea for a hint that he couldn’t possibly miss.

 _And if that doesn_ _’t work,_ then _I_ _’ll come out and ask him._

* * *

If Hermione had wanted to do a nice, clean, professional-looking job with this, it would have taken her all day, but as it was, she could make a quick-and-dirty job of it in under an hour. The hardest part was moving the phonograph into the Common Room. To do that, she asked Colin Creevey to give her a hand after lunch with the promise of some great new Omniocular photos.

She hadn’t been sure what she’d do for music at first, but she soon remembered that she was sitting in Hogwarts’s own local junk shop. She popped outside and asked the Room for waltz music and got exactly what she needed. After that, it was just a matter of moving it, scrawling a few runes and charging them, and getting Ginny to distract her brothers for a little while.

After dinner, Hermione and the Creevey Brothers ran up to Gryffindor Tower to make sure they were the first ones into the Common Room. They asked what this was all about, but she just said it was a surprise. Hermione sat in a chair near the door and pretended to read a book while the Creeveys played a half-hearted game of Exploding Snap. They all flicked their eyes up each time someone came in the portrait hole.

It took a while. The Common Room was about half full before the prank was activated. Then, Lavender and Parvati came in, followed by—

“Oh, no! Padma!” Hermione said.

“Well, nice to see you too—Whoa!”

Hermione hadn’t accounted for Padma coming up to visit her sister, but it was too late. Her runic chain had activated. The detection runes triggered when they sensed that two people who were identical in appearance passed over the threshold. They triggered the next rune, which released a stored spell: a _Finite_ that cancelled the Hover Charm on the needle of the phonograph. The needle dropped, and the _Blue Danube Waltz_ began playing. They, then final pair of runes activated with a flash of light, releasing two more stored spells: two copies of Hermione’s _Waltzing Matilda_ Jinx from last year.

The Common Room laughed as Parvati and Padma grabbed hold of each other and started waltzing around the floor to the music. The Omnioculars on Hermione’s side-table were already recording.

“Hermione!” Parvati yelled.

“What the hell?” Padma said.

“Sorry! Sorry!” she said, jumping up and flicking her wand. “ _Finite Incantatem_.” The two girls stopped dancing.

“What was that?” Parvati and Padma demanded in unison.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here, Padma,” she said as she reset the phonograph. “I set the spell to trigger on twins—any twins. _Levioso_.” The needle levitated again, and she hurriedly recharged her runes: “ _Finite Levioso Potentia. Waltzing Matilda Potentia. Waltzing Matilda Potentia._ Phew! There, it’s reset. Just don’t go near the door until it activates again.”

“How long will that take?” Padma asked.

“It shouldn’t be long.”

Sure enough, Harry, Ron, and Ginny came into the Common Room at that moment, closely followed by the correct one of the two _other_ pairs of identical twins in the school. With a flash of light, Fred and George Weasley began waltzing around the Common Room to the _Blue Danube._ Despite the Patils giving away the prank, people laughed even harder at that sight. Everyone loved it when someone pulled one over on those two.

“Bloody hell!” the boys yelled in unison.

“Where’d this come from?” Fred demanded.

“Hang on, I know this spell,” George said. “Hermione?”

Hermione was doubled over, laughing.

“Damn, she got us fair and square, didn’t she?” said an impressed Fred.

“That she did, brother,” George said.

“And I’ll have the photos in time for Christmas,” Hermione called, patting her Omnioculars and wiping a tear from her eye.

They stared at each other, still waltzing. “Wow, she _really_ got us,” George said. “We’ll need to get her back.”

“Yes, that deserves some payback,” Fred replied. Just then, Angelina laughing uproariously, leaning against the wall. At that, the Twins got mischievous grins on their faces. They pushed apart, and in a flash, Fred grabbed Angelina, and George grabbed Hermione, and there were two couples waltzing around the floor.

Hermione’s eyes went wide. Somehow, she hadn’t anticipated this to develop so quickly, but fortunately, she _did_ know how to dance. She giggled as she and George spun around the floor, and she ended with a spin-out and a flourish, drawing her wand in perfect time and casting, “ _Finite_!” The Common Room applauded while Angelina managed to similarly extricate herself from Fred.

“Now _that_ was a good prank,” George said.

“I’ll say.” Fred agreed. He found her wooden rune over the portrait hole. “Hmm, elegant and simple. Say, do you think you could turn this into something we could sell, Hermione?”

“Sell?”

“Of course, we’d give you a generous cut if you would license it out,” George said.

“Well, I suppose I could,” she said.

“Brilliant!” he said. He hugged her impulsively, and then hesitated, pulled back, and stared at her thoughtfully. “Hermione…will you go to the ball with me?” he asked.

Hermione grinned ear to ear: “Yes, George, I’d love to.”

She only remembered that they had an audience when she heard gasps from the onlookers, and she wasn’t sure whether to turn white as a sheet or red as a beetroot. Another thing she had failed to anticipate was George asking her so publicly, even though she really should have.

“Hermione, are you nuts?” Ron gasped. “You’re going with _George_?”

“And what’s wrong with that?” And Hermione finally chose red over white when she and George said it at the same time. Harry, she noted, said nothing, but his eyebrows had vanished into his mess of hair. Ginny was suppressing mingled shock and laughter.

“But—but—you’re _you,_ and he’s… _him_ ,” Ron stammered.

“And what’s that supposed to mean, Ronniekins?” George said.

“Well, you’re a giant prankster and Hermione—”

“Just pranked us?” Fred cut in.

“Face it, Hermione hasn’t been innocent and harmless since her first year,” George said.

“ _Thank you_ , George,” she said.

“But you’re always about being nice and following the rules and stuff,” Ron protested. “I mean, when there’s no dark wizards around.”

“Only by choice, Ronald. Child of dentists, remember?” she said, flashing a wicked grin at Ron, who paled at once and decided not to question her choices further.

Even Fred shuddered at the sight. “And on that note, Georgie, are you off your nut?” he turned on his twin.

“Probably,” George answered. “But you know what, Freddie, I think it’s going to go well.”

Hermione blushed even as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Boys could be so ridiculous sometimes, but she supposed that was what she got for associating with the Weasleys.

“Well, I don’t think anybody saw _this_ coming, Hermione,” Ginny summed it up, approaching closer so she could speak without being overheard. She herself had been grinning all afternoon, but coyly refused to explain why to anyone when asked. “But I’m glad to see you lightening up for a change. I think you might both do each other some good.”

“Thanks, Ginny,” Hermione said quietly. “I don’t think I saw it coming before today myself, but George always _has_ been a good friend.”

“I believe it. People don’t really notice, but the Twins are both really good guys. I’m happy for you…I _am_ surprised you went for a boy with so few O.W.L.s, though,” she added slyly.

“Well, I’m sure you know both of them really are pretty smart,” Hermione said. Ginny nodded knowingly. “If they were smart and didn’t apply themselves at all, I don’t think I’d be interested, but they actually _do_ apply themselves. It’s just not in a traditional way.”

“Exactly! Just try telling that to Mum, though. She thinks a Ministry job like Percy’s is the only way to go. Anyway, thank you so much for talking some sense into Harry.”

“It was the least I could do. He can be so clueless sometimes.”

“Yeah. _Boys_ ,” Ginny giggled. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell my brothers. I want to surprise them.”

Hermione smiled. “That I think we can do.” She sighed happily. “I think I’ll take a walk. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, have fun.”

Hermione climbed out through the portrait hole and strolled down the hall happily, going nowhere in particular. It was hard to believe it had been such a roller coaster of a day. She’d been in tears this morning, and now she felt almost irrationally cheerful. Had she really just waltzed with George Weasley in front of all of Gryffindor? Yes, yes, she had. And had he publicly asked her to the Yule Ball. Yes, that too. She was _way_ outside her comfort zone, and yet she was still smiling. She’d never realised until now how much she liked George, but he really was the most important one (besides Harry) who was always there to help her.

She wandered through the corridors, generally enjoying the evening, until she heard a high, distant voice singing:

 

_“Are you going to Scarborough Fair?_

_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme._ _”_

 

Hermione quickened her pace and moved towards the voice, going around one corner and then another as the sound echoed through the halls.

 

_“Remember me to one who lives there,_

_For he once was a true love of mine._ _”_

Hermione turned around the next corner and saw the source of the voice: a small girl with long, blond hair skipping down the corridor.

 

_“Tell him to make me a cambric shirt._

_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme._

_Without no seam nor needlework._

_Then, he_ _’ll be a true love of mine.”_

“Hello, Luna,” Hermione called, and the girl turned around.

“Oh, hello, Hermione,” she said. “You’re certainly looking happy and nargle-free tonight.”

“Um…sure, right. I just got a date to the ball.”

“That’s nice. Who is it?”

Hermione looked back and forth as if it were a secret and said, “George Weasley.”

Luna tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “I can see that,” she said after a moment.

Hermione started laughing. Luna frowned, but she explained: “You’re the only one who’s said that.”

“Really? I would have thought it was obvious.”

“Luna, someday, you’ll have to explain how you can be so perceptive. So, are you going?”

“No, no one’s asked me. Third-years have to go with an older student. But I don’t like dancing much, anyway.”

“I can’t believe that,” Hermione insisted. “You’re—well, you.”

“Well, I _do_ enjoy some dancing, but not many people know the dances I know.” Luna demonstrated by doing a strange dance that looked like she was swatting at insects over her head whilst spinning in a circle.

“Erm, right.” Hermione privately suspected Luna might just be in denial over not being asked. The girl was hard to read, but she’d known her long enough that she thought she could recognise a sheen of disappointment. “You sing beautifully.”

“Why, thank you, Hermione. I love _Scarborough Fair._ It’s so delightfully absurd.”

“It’s very _you_ , Luna. I’ll see you later. Be sure not to miss curfew.”

“Good night, Hermione,” she said, and she started singing again:

 

_“Tell him to make me a cambric shirt._

_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme._

_Without no seam nor needlework._

_Then, he_ _’ll be a true love of mine.”_

 

“Heh, a seamless shirt,” Hermione said to herself. “Delightfully absurd. Definitely Luna…How would you even make a seamless shirt? A circular loom, maybe? Of course, we have magic, here. You could probably join pieces of cloth magically…”

That would be an interesting charm, she thought. She wondered how she might do it. Probably create a charm to unravel the seams and re-weave them. Or maybe, with the way the threads themselves were made…Well that was a lot like the spells she’d made for dealing with her hair, just on a different scale, wasn’t it? She started calculating some of the spell elements in her head.

She stopped. That could work. That could actually work, and it wouldn’t be too difficult, either. She _could_ make a seamless shirt—she was pretty sure, anyway. That could make a lot of tailoring-type things easier. She’d tried a spot of magical knitting for fun a while back, and it was abysmal, but with this, she could make just about anything if she had existing cloth and a pattern. Why, she could even weave together custom clothes that were, say, twice the normal size.

Oh, this was _good_.

There was a certain tendency of girls who were already paired up to want to play matchmaker, and Hermione found she had a bit of that streak herself. That, and she had a new spell idea that she wanted to try out. This could be fun. She already had a couple of little charms to show off at the ball. But she couldn’t pull this one off on her own. She made a quick trip to the Room of Requirement to see what supplies of cloth it could produce. She wasn’t sure if there would be much in good condition, and there wasn’t much time to order anything, but she was pleased to find there was enough that she thought they could work with it. Then she ran back to Gryffindor Tower.

Conveniently enough, Hermione had arranged to stay in her old dorm room for the week. Less conveniently, Lavender and Parvati were eager to talk to her about something completely different.

“Hermione!” they squealed when she got back.

“When did this happen?”

“Seriously? George Weasley?”

“It’s official. Our Hermione has gone insane.”

“Three O.W.L.s, class prankster, always causing trouble, constant danger of suspension—”

“And _I_ could defeat a dragon without breaking a nail,” Hermione interrupted. “What of it?”

That made her friends draw back nervously.

“Thank you,” Sally-Anne said from her bed. “Some of us want to sleep sometime soon.”

“We just didn’t think you were the type, Hermione,” Parvati said apologetically. “I mean, still, George Weasley.”

Hermione shrugged: “He makes me laugh.”

They smiled at that. “That _does_ sound like a good start,” Parvati admitted.

“Plus, I suspect in a few years, he’ll actually be a successful businessman,” Hermione added. “Anyway, I had a question for you.”

“What?”

“Lav…Parv…How would you feel about doing a _big_ makeover project?”

Lavender gasped: “You’re finally gonna let us do your hair?”

“ _No_ _…_ Well, maybe. But I was actually thinking about Hagrid.”

Lav’s and Parv’s eyes grew to saucer-sized, and they turned and stared at each other.

“If we could make him presentable—” Lavender started.

“—him and Madame Maxime—” Parvati continued.

“—that would be so romantic!”

“He’ll need a real suit, though.”

“And we’ll have to do _something_ with that hair.”

“We won’t have a hope of _that_ without magic.”

“Girls?” Hermione interrupted. They turned to look at her. She raised her wand and swirled it to uncurl her own hair. “I’ll supply the spells. You do the rest.”

Both girls squealed again and threw their arms around her. “One of us! One of us!” they chanted.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”


	74. Chapter 74

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Rowling’s Second Law states that you do NOT talk about Duelling Club—oh, wait, wrong story.
> 
> Wow, I’m amazed by the very positive response to Hermione/George. While not universally accepted, nearly all of the reviewers approved, and I’m glad you see the potential the same way I do.

“So that’s the situation,” Hermione said.

Septima Vector had listened patiently while Hermione explained her progress on her transfiguration project. It was not going as well as the girl had hoped, but the fact that she even had a plan was stunning. It looked like she had the arithmantic side pretty well sewn up. She just needed to connect it with transfiguration theory to complete the proof. Septima didn’t fully understand the group theory techniques, yet, although she was sure she could with more work, but the outline looked surprisingly convincing.

“Do you think Professor McGonagall would be able to help out?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I certainly think she would be willing,” Septima said. “Of course, Minerva has other obligations. To be honest, I don’t know how she manages a full teaching load, head of house, _and_ Deputy Headmistress as it is, not to mention the Tournament this year.”

“That’s what I was worried about…Quite frankly, Septima, there have been times when I felt like she wasn’t able to give her full attention to her students.” _There is no danger to the Philosopher_ _’s Stone; now go away before I take points_ came to mind. “In most muggle schools, the Deputy Head is a separate position. That might be something worth considering.”

“Hmm…perhaps, although I don’t know how well she would take it. In any case, I do see a couple problems with your outline.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, the first is the potassium chloride. You know about the technical problems with transfiguring a pure substance like that. It’s really closer to alchemy than transfiguration. But you could cut through some of those problems by using a more common and ‘classical’ form of the element such as lye or saltpetre.”

Hermione smacked her forehead: “I can’t believe I never thought of that! I should be able to get saltpetre without much trouble.” She scribbled some notes. “That will definitely simplify things. What was the other problem?”

“Not so much a problem; it’s just that I’m not sure Minerva is the best person to help you in the first place.”

“Why not?”

“Because Minerva is very gifted in transfiguration, but she focuses on more conventional aspects of the field: animation, conjuring, that sort of thing, and more on practical application than theory—it’s an advantage for a teacher. In order to work with pure substances and heavy theoretical work, you would need to talk to either the Headmaster or…”

“Or whom?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I happen to know one student who is very gifted and is probably more than Professor McGonagall’s match at alchemical theory. And I think she would be interested in helping you if you asked nicely.”

“Really? Who is it?”

* * *

Hermione took a deep breath and said, “Hello, Rebecca.”

Rebecca Gamp looked up from her book. She was studying with some of the seventh-year Arithmancy students, having also skipped a year in the class. Her eyes narrowed. “Hello, Granger,” she said.

Hermione suppressed a sigh. She really wished they could be cordial about all this. There was a reason she hadn’t wanted to bring this up before the ball. “Rebecca, Professor Vector recommended you to me, and I wanted to ask for your help,” she said.

“ _You_ want _my_ help?” the older girl said incredulously. “Why?”

“Because I’m working on a new project that I can’t finish alone.”

“Oh, you finally found something the Great Arithmancer can’t do on her own?”

Hermione tried not to grumble. Rebecca’s jealousy had been a thorn in her side all last year, and she had a feeling she would try to make this unpleasant. She really hoped she wouldn’t act like that herself if their positions were reversed. “Yes, I did, Rebecca, and Professor Vector said you were the best person to help me.”

“Huh…Nope, not interested,” Rebecca said, flipping her hair and returning to her studying.

“You didn’t even listen to what I’m doing yet,” Hermione protested.

“So?”

“So, aren’t you interested in what amazing breakthrough I’m about to make—that I want to bring you in on the ground floor.”

“Not really.”

“But—”

“ _I_ am doing fine here, Granger. I think I’ll just let you keep your own little project and see how you can make out with it.”

 _Why am I doing this, again?_ “Hmph,” Hermione said, crossing her arms. She walked on, as if intending to continue deeper into the library, but then, at the last moment, she turned around and stood behind Rebecca’s chair, where she bent down and whispered something in her ear, before walking away.

Rebecca’s eyes flew wide open. After only a moment’s consideration, she stood up and followed Hermione without a word, leaving her study group saying, “What? What is it? What did she say?”

Hermione had gone to a secluded corner at the back of the library and waited for Rebecca to follow. After all, she knew that Rebecca Gamp couldn’t resist the five little words she’d whispered in her ear: “ _Sixth Exception to Gamp_ _’s Law_.”

Sure enough, the Ravenclaw was right behind her. “Alright, Granger, you’ve got my attention,” she said.

“Good. I’m in need of someone with an excellent knowledge of transfiguration and alchemy theory.”

“To prove a sixth exception to Gamp’s Law?” Rebecca clarified.

“Yes. I assume you’re familiar with the major theories?”

Rebecca took a deep breath and seemed to resist making a cutting remark. She nodded.

“I believe I can prove that radioactive materials are not transfigurable.”

“Radioactivity? That’s, like, the most esoteric one—well, besides love. How can you prove that?”

Hermione pulled out her notebook and held it open for her. “I’ve been working with some advanced maths called group theory, which relates to the muggle understanding of radioactivity. I just don’t have the knowledge of transfiguration to do an exhaustive search for a solution. I was hoping you could figure out that part of it. Look, here are the magical fields for some assorted radioisotopes. We need to show that—”

“That they’re not valid fields for the substance terms of transfiguration spells as a class,” Rebecca finished. Hermione gave her a surprised look. “Give me some credit, Granger. I told you I know my family history. I know all about the exceptions to Gamp’s Law. I could recite the proof for the non-transfigurability of gold in my sleep. It’s generalising that to all precious metals that’s the hard part. Now, if I understand your work here, we need to construct analogous arguments to both of those proofs to demonstrate the non-transfigurability of radioactivity. But what’s this here about saltpetre?”

“Saltpetre is the simplest test case.”

“How’s so?”

“Saltpetre contains potassium, and natural potassium is 0.012% radioactive. I have a muggle device that can detect whether the radioactive component is present.”

“Are you serious, Granger?”

“Completely.”

“So you have a substance that’s partly radioactive,” Rebecca reasoned. “Then we should only be able to transfigure the part of it that’s not…and if we compare the magical fields to a control substance that’s _all_ transfigurable…Morgana’s locks, we could really do this! This could be the discovery of the century! I mean, Wenlock Prize _and_ Gamp Prize. Maybe even Order of Merlin, Third Class.”

“Don’t count your owls before they’re delivered, Rebecca,” Hermione said with a smile. “So are you in?”

Rebecca paused. “Will you give me first author?” she asked.

She rolled her eyes at her: “Can you do group theory?”

“Can _you_ do alchemy?”

“Probably better than you can do group theory, at this point.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“I’ll guarantee you second author,” Hermione said, “above Professor Vector and anyone else we have to bring in. _But_ you have to start calling me Hermione.”

“Fine…” Rebecca offered her hand. “Er, Hermione, you have a deal.”

* * *

Joining two threads together was fairly simple, Hermione determined. Wool, which was what the Hogwarts uniforms were made of, was composed of sheep’s hairs, twenty to thirty microns in diameter and a few inches long. She wasn’t sure about other fabrics, but she assumed they were similar. Large numbers of these hairs were spun together to make thread, the combined friction of the many fibres rubbing together giving it its strength. All she needed to do to join two ends of a thread was to fray the ends out into their component fibres and make them all spin together into a single thread with magic. That didn’t take long at all, and when she was done, she could join threads together into impossible loops and tangles with no ends that looked like they’d been manufactured that way by some non-Euclidean spinning wheel.

It was actually a little creepy.

Still, when she tested the loops, they didn’t preferentially break where she’d joined them, so it looked like her spell worked as intended. The hard part was to make an entire seam of fabric with both warp and weft do the same thing, especially since it involved several inches of material. In the interest of time, she decided to simplify it by making a spell to join strips of fabric that were cut along the diagonal.

Lavender and Parvati were getting into it, too. They were monopolising one of the coffee tables in the Common Room that evening, sketching out Hagrid’s new look with an intensity usually reserved for major military operations. Hagrid wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Hi, Hermione,” a voice greeted her as she ciphered.

She looked up. “Oh, hi, Neville. How are you?”

“Alright. What are you working on? It’s holidays.”

“This? Just a little surprise for the ball. Are you going?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Gran’s expecting me to go. I’d just as soon skip it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t have a date, for one.”

“That’s no reason not to go, Neville. You can have plenty of fun just going on your own. And you still have time to ask someone, anyway.”

“I guess…” he trailed off.

“Did you, er, have someone you wanted to ask?”

Neville turned bright red and averted his gaze, and she got a good idea what the answer was.

“Oh,” she said. Actually, that was pretty brave of him, considering everyone thought she was with Harry before this. _That_ had got the rumour mill going.

“I, uh…I might’ve asked Ginny, too,” he quickly moved on, “but I think she’s also spoken for.”

Hermione frowned. Ginny had wanted that kept a secret. “Is it that obvious?”

“I think everyone in our dorm but Ron knows it. No one’s been brave enough to tell him so far.”

“Figures. Saturday’s going to be interesting. Anyway, you shouldn’t worry so much, Neville. There really shouldn’t be so much pressure for a school dance, anyway.”

“Tell that to Gran. It’s a social obligation thing for her.”

“How so?”

“Gran’s really…traditional. Lots of stuff about family lines and such.”

Hermione stared blankly.

“Like last summer, she asked me if I had a girlfriend, and when I said I didn’t, she started making _suggestions_.” Lav and Parv looked up and giggled from their table. Hermione glared at them. “I swear, if I’m still single when I graduate, she’s gonna start setting me up on blind dates with third cousins,” he said. The other girls giggled more.

Hermione’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, you mean _that_ kind of traditional,” she said.

“Yeah, she wants me to get a serious date, but I really only want to go with a friend.”

“Hmm…What about Luna? You seem to get on with her pretty well, and I know she’d be thrilled if you asked her.”

“Really?”

“Sure. She hides it, but she’s sensitive about not having many friends, and I know no one’s asked her yet. She’ll be over the moo…Wow, I walked right into that one.”

Neville chuckled and reflected on the idea. “She _is_ really nice,” he said. “She never makes fun of me when I screw up or anything.”

“Luna doesn’t make fun of people,” Hermione said. “Not maliciously, anyway. And she knows how to tell a good friend and treat them properly. She might never say it, but she really appreciates that you never make fun of her for saying all the weird things she does.”

“Alright, I’ll ask her then,” Neville said confidently. “And Gran might flip when I tell her, so that’s a bonus—”

_SLAM!_

“Why did I do it, Harry?”

Everyone in the Common Room jumped and stared as Harry and Ginny pulled a moaning Ron in through the portrait hole.

“Because she’s a quarter veela, and you let your guard down,” Harry said. “I think she turned up the charm for Diggory.”

Ron looked dizzy and a little green. Harry and Ginny dropped him onto one of the chairs with a soft thud.

“Ron?” Hermione said, getting up. “What happened to you?”

“He just asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball,” Ginny said.

“What?” Hermione gasped covering her mouth.

“Kind of shouted it, actually,” Ginny said. “It was a little frightening.”

“Oh my God! What did she do?” Hermione knew Fleur didn’t suffer hormone-addled boys lightly.

“She just looked at me like I was a sea-slug or something. Didn’t even answer. Then I, uh, kinda ran for it.”

“Oh. It’s probably good you did, then,” Hermione. Ron looked at her like she was from Mars. “If you’d stood your ground, she might’ve hexed you in places you don’t want to be hexed,” she explained.

Ron paled and subconsciously crossed his legs. “This is mad!” he said. “All of you guys have dates already—well, except Neville.”

“Hermione’s setting him up with Luna Lovegood,” Lavender quipped from across the room.

“Oh come on!”

“Calm down, Ron,” Ginny said. “You’re the one who’s only asked one girl.”

“Well, before, I thought maybe the four of us—” He stopped short, and Hermione’s eyes grew wide.

“You mean me and you—” she started. Did Ron _like_ her? She paused and chose her words carefully. “Ron, we’re friends and all, but do you really see that ending well?”

“Better than you and George?” he countered.

“Hey, there’s more to George than people think,” she said defensively. “I could say the same for you, honestly, but I don’t think I’m your type.”

“Definitely not,” Ginny agreed.

“Excuse me! I think I’d know my type better than you lot.”

“Then find a girl who _is_ your type and ask her. _Politely_ ,” she shot back.

“But you—grrr, fine.” Ron surveyed the room, seemingly lost in thought. “Hermione, d’you know if Lavender—”

“Going with Seamus.”

“Oh…Parvati?”

“She hasn’t mentioned a date, which for her means she definitely doesn’t have one. Sally-Anne and Lily both do, but they won’t say who.”

“Great…” Ron stood up and stopped, frozen on the spot.

“Do you need Harry to go with you as backup?” Ginny taunted.

Ron marched over to Parvati at once.

* * *

Hermione had one other project to work on during her busy week at Hogwarts, and that was to take another look at the Marauder’s Map. Since she had completed her map of Beauxbatons, she had set aside the one hour a week for researching magical map-making. This week, though, she had the original on hand, so she asked Harry to bring it along with his communication mirror to the Room of Requirement for a chat. Sirius and Remus refused to tell her how the Map worked outright, but she could still try to pick their brains about her own work.

“So what have you done so far, Hermione?” Remus asked.

“Well, I have a pretty detailed map of Beauxbatons that’s pretty much to scale—about as close to scale as you can get in a magical castle. But, the main feature of the Marauder’s Map is that it can track anyone in the building, and I’m lost there. I mean, I found all sorts of tracking charms in the library that can be used to trace people. I know it has to be something strong that can track people who didn’t want to be found. And it has to locate them precisely in three dimensions, not just a direction, so it can plot their location on the map. On the other hand, it only has to cover a limited area, so there’s some flexibility there. So once I had done a pretty thorough search—I convinced Monsieur Oppenord to let me peruse the Restricted Section in the library there—I did a few small-scale experiments.”

She laid out a rough sketch of a block of bedrooms she had drawn. “This is a map of the girls’ fourth-year dorms at Beauxbatons,” she explained. “The Homonculous Charm seemed to work best. It links the girl it’s cast on with the representation of her on the Map. Everyone I cast it on, their name and location automatically shows up when they’re in the dorm. Hmm…it doesn’t seem to be working from outside the country, but it was working before.”

“Homonculous Charm?” Sirius said with interest.

“That’s what I heard,” Remus agreed.

“Well, I’m impressed, Hermione,” Sirius said. “It took us ages to figure that part out.”

“You mean the Homonculous Charm was right?” she said in surprise. Both men nodded in the mirror. “But…but…I can’t even figure out how to get untraced people to show up on the map, let alone identify them. And then there’s the fact that the Marauder’s Map even registers the changes to the structure of the castle itself over time, and how it can see through invisibility cloaks, and—”

“Have you looked at the original Map, then?” Remus asked.

“Well, that’s why I brought it. Harry? Could I see the Map, please?”

“Hmm,” Harry said, looking at the Map intently, oblivious to their conversation. “Barty Crouch is meeting with Moody. I wonder if they’re close to figuring out how my name got in the Goblet.”

“Maybe. That’d be nice,” said Sirius.

“Could I see it, please?” Hermione repeated.

Harry handed the Map to Hermione, who began casting diagnostic spells. With her new knowledge of experimental spellcrafting, she could pull back some of the layers of magic partway and peek underneath. She had to be careful to avoid upsetting the Map’s defence mechanism, which would wipe everything and leave her trying to talk her way past the teenage Marauders, but it didn’t seem to trigger for a light examination. She was pretty sure if she dug down into the hidden rune layer and tried to hack its “programming,” though, it would be another story.

She had only got one good look at the mechanics of the Marauder’s Map before, and she could glean a lot more now than she could then. Thinking about it in terms of computer programming, there was a whole “program” of mixed spells and runes. The “kernel” was composed of a core of high-powered spells that detected information about the castle and passed it to the hidden runes, which did the “data processing” to turn it into a readable form. Another, simpler set of spells plotted the “output” of the runes on the parchment. And there was another group of subroutines that she guessed generated the Marauders’ responses.

The odd part was that the largest chunk of the kernel was something that looked like the Homonculous Charm, but if it was, it wasn’t being used normally. It infused the entire map—every line, and every dot, not just the people.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “It _looks_ like you’re using the Homonculous Charm for everything, but I don’t see how it can track the movements of the castle and people the Map doesn’t know. I mean, I had a few ideas for how to do it in principle, but it involved using detection spells on the physical rooms.”

Sirius and Remus grinned. “You’re on the right track, Hermione,” Remus told her. “Everything you need is already there.”

“It is?” She took another look at the Map and thought harder. It was hard to look at it in really great detail. Everything was so small. She’d want a zoom function on her map, if she could manage it. The Homonculous Charm was seemingly everywhere. The Map kept track of everyone in the school and seemingly got their names from an outside source. Plus, it also knew when the staircases and even the layout of the castle changed.

 _Everything you need is already there,_ she thought, and with a start, she realised there was one explanation that resolved all of those things: “Oh my God, you cast the Homonculous Charm on the castle itself!”

“You win a biscuit,” Sirius said. “Clever, isn’t it?”

“Merlin…I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure you’d have to do that from the anchor stones. That means you—at minimum—sneaked down to the anchor stones of the castle, cast the spell, and maybe even carved a few runes of your own in to feed information to the Map. And people’s names? You get those from the castle wards?”

“Exactly,” Remus confirmed. “They’re old and powerful wards that can cut through almost any attempt at disguise, although there were a few complications. Something like the Marauder’s Map can only really exist in a place like Hogwarts. Sure, you could make something that _looks_ similar almost anywhere, but only at Hogwarts is it going to be that powerful.”

“Wow. This changes everything. I don’t even know where—well, the practice stone circle behind the Clock Tower is what they use for this sort of thing, isn’t it? I could test a few subroutines there. Of course, I’m just getting started on the runes. I might need Ron for that and the Twins to help with the Charms work, but…Thank you, Sirius, Remus, I think this will be a big help.”

“No problem,” Sirius said. “It’s the least we can do after all you’ve done for Harry, and I’m sure the Marauders’ secrets are in good hands.”

* * *

“Okay, we have Hagrid’s measurements,” Lavender said, “but how are you actually going to make the suit?”

Hermione smiled: “I have my ways. Can you two keep a secret?”

“Of course,” Lav and Parv said.

Hermione’s gaze hardened: “I mean _actually_ keep a secret.”

“Hey just because we like to keep abreast of all the goings-on around here doesn’t mean we can’t keep things quiet,” Parvati insisted. “Have you heard me say who Padma’s going with to the ball?”

“I…guess not. Sorry, it’s just…anyway, just remember that only my closest friends know about this. Follow me.”

Hermione led them to the seventh floor, where she paced back and forth past the dancing trolls three times. The other girls gasped as a door appeared in the opposite wall, and it opened to reveal what was basically a secondhand tailor’s shop. There were large amounts of fine fabric everywhere, used sewing machines, spools of thread, and buttons of all sorts—everything they needed to make a giant suit. Granted, the fabrics weren’t quite the usual materials. The white cloth appeared to be bed sheets, but they _were_ pure white and in good condition. The black seemed to be drapes and the leather was upholstery. She had checked with Dobby and the other elves to be sure she wasn’t stealing from the school, but he insisted that the Room only contained things they didn’t need, left over from their once-a-decade bouts of redecorating and similar sources.

“Bloody hell, what is this place,” the other girls said together.

“It’s called the Room of Requirement. It’s basically a magical storage room, but it can turn into anything you need if you ask it right. I asked it to give us things we need to make a suit for Hagrid.”

“This is incredible,” Parvati said.

“Yes, _but_ a limited resource. It only has stuff that’s been put in here.”

“I can see that,” Lavender said. “This isn’t the best material for making clothes. It’s going to look cheap, and it’s not going to hold up to heavy wear.”

“I suspected as much,” Hermione agreed, “but we’re only doing a quick job here. And to be brutally honest, how often does Hagrid need to dress up, anyway?”

“More than this if he and your Headmistress start dating,” Lav giggled, “but point taken. So we have a pattern that we can make from this. How do you want to do this?”

“Well, I’m sure you two know a lot more about formal wear for wizards than I do. Let’s just say you make the patterns and cut the cloth, and I’ll weave it together. You’ll have to do it a little differently than normal, though. I need you to cut wide strips diagonal to the weave as much as possible.”

“Why?” Parvati asked. “And how are you going to weave cut strips of cloth?”

“At least without leaving ugly seams?” Lavender added.

Hermione smiled and said, “Watch and learn. Hold this, please.” She pickup one of the bedsheets and bid them to hold it by the corners. With a quick “ _Diffindo_ ,” a diagonal rip was opened in the sheet. “I call this the Scarborough Charm,” she said, and she touched her wand to one end of the rip and slowly drew it down the fabric whilst chanting, “ _Unasiwod. Unasiwod. Unasiwod_.” To the girls’ amazement, the edges of the rip frayed into fluff and then spun themselves back together into new, intact threads, completely closing it.

It was harder on linen than on wool, Hermione had noted. She was pretty sure that was due to longer fibres. Once she got the spell working, she had tested it on different fabrics to be sure it worked. One of her muggle-manufactured cotton shirts was easiest to repair, as it seemed to have shorter fibres than wool. Polyester and nylon were both about the same difficulty as wool, and linen was more difficult.

“Hermione, how did you do that without a Mending Charm?” Parvati demanded. “Fabrics are one of the things that magic doesn’t work well on. Aren’t clothes one of the exceptions to Gamp’s Law?”

“Yes, which I suspect is down to the structural complexity of most fabrics, but I didn’t conjure or transfigure anything here. I just went to the most basic level of complexity and made the individual fibres spin back into thread. It’s almost the same way I do my hair.”

“Hermione, do you know how much magical tailors would pay for this spell?” Lavender gushed.

She shrugged. She thought the real market, if it were allowed, would be with muggles. She could make a fortune fixing runs in nylon stockings. “Not really. I can’t see there being much of a market for seamless clothes, and the Mending Charm is still easier. And also, it doesn’t work on silk.” She had ruined a silk scarf whilst testing the spell, only realising too late that silk was a continuous filament and thus not spun in the same way as other threads.

“Well, maybe not, but you could…” Lavender countered, but she stopped. “Well, there’s still…huh, I don’t know…” she admitted. “But still, this is great. Hagrid’s going to love this.”

“I sure hope so.”

* * *

Christmas morning came, and the castle was abuzz with excitement. Normally, Hogwarts was nearly empty on Christmas, but with the ball, more than half the students were still there. Everyone was up early and opening presents, although Hermione didn’t have so many because she would be celebrating with her mum and dad tomorrow, but after breakfast, Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati were girls on a mission. They had decided to go down to Hagrid’s hut in the morning to drop off his clothes and try to do something about his hair. They wanted to go early in case there were complications.

“Happy Christmas, Hagrid!” the girls said as he greeted them at the door and saw them carrying an enormous wrapped bundle between them.

“Happy Christmas, yeh three,” Hagrid rumbled with a smile. “Come in. Come in. I made fruitcake.”

Given Hagrid’s normal standard of cooking, his fruitcake would probably be hazardous to one’s health, so they politely declined and insisted he unwrap his present instead.

“Well, yeh didn’t have ter get me anythin,’” he said as he opened the bundle. “But I do appreciate—” Hagrid’s small, beetle-black eyes grew unusually large when he saw what was inside. “Blimey, this is…amazin. I’ve never seen one o’ these even close ter my size before. Oh, I can’t accept this, girls. This must’ve cost a fortune ter have tailored.”

“It didn’t cost us a knut, Hagrid,” Hermione assured him. “We did it all ourselves.”

“Yerselves?” he said incredulously. “But how—?”

“Our fashion sense and Hermione’s spells,” Lavender beamed.

“To be honest, we weren’t sure if you’d like it,” Parvati said. “It’s kind of all made of cheap linen.”

“Are yeh kiddin’? I love it! No one’s ever made me dress robes before. Best gift I’ve got in years. Bet it’ll look smashin’ tonight.”

“I think it’ll look pretty good,” Lavender agreed. “Speaking of which, we really need to do something about your hair.”

“My hair?” he said questioningly. “What about it?”

“Well, be honest, Hagrid; is the ‘wild man of the forest’ look really the one you want to wear tonight?”

“Well, I, uh, s’pose not…But I’ve never really done nothing with my hair. Just grows that way.”

“Don’t worry. I had the same problem,” Hermione said. “I invented a couple of spells to help me with mine. Do you want to try it?”

Hagrid thought for a minute.

“I bet Madame Maxime would appreciate a well-cultured gentleman with great hair,” Lavender teased.

“Eh, alright, why not?”

“Excellent,” Hermione said. She circled around to the back of his head. “Now, hold still… _Micronima Isiazolia_.”

One small strand of Hagrid’s huge mass of bushy hair straightened itself.

Hermione frowned and put more power into the spell: “ _Micronima Isiazolia. Micronima Isiazolia_.” Still, she only got a weak response. “Hagrid,” she gasped.

“What?”

“I think your _hair_ is magic-resistant.”

“Oh, right, I s’pose it is.”

“But why? How?”

“Well, er, I’ll trust yeh not ter spread it around, but that’ll be the giant’s blood.”

“ _What?_!” Lavender and Parvati gasped and took a fearful step back.

“What?” Hermione said in confusion.

“You’re part-giant?” Parvati asked fearfully.

“Yeah. Me mum was one. Like I said, I’d appreciate yeh didn’t tell anyone.”

“Of course, if you don’t want,” Hermione said, but she stared at her friends, who were looking pale and edging for the door. “What? What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?” Lavender squeaked. “Hermione, giants are…” she looked up at Hagrid fearfully.

“Oi, I know they don’t have a good reputation, but giants can be decent folk. Me dad wouldn’ta fallen for me mum otherwise.”

Hermione _really_ didn’t want to think about how the mechanics of that worked.

“I always thought it was just an overdose of Skele-Gro,” Parvati said softly.

“Or an Engorgement Charm gone wrong,” Lavender added.

The two of them were almost at the door and looked to be on the verge of making a run for it, so Hermione put a stop to it: “Oh, honestly, you two, what’s your problem? He’s still the same Hagrid. You’ve never had a problem with him the past three and a half years. Why should you worry now that you know who his parents were? And more to the point, I can’t manage magically-resistant hair on my own, so are you in or out?”

That speech and the prospect of a cosmetic challenge was enough to shame them into staying. They both muttered apologies to Hagrid and put on determined looks as they tackled his hair. It took an hour of casting, both to straighten and de-frizz (including Hermione teaching them the spells) to get his hair and beard under control. Hermione wondered whether it would be faster to rig up a physical straightening iron to do it and whether they could pull it off without setting him on fire. Still, they managed it, and the resident fashion-mongers debated what to actually do with it.

“He looks like Karkaroff’s big brother with it hanging limp like that,” Lavender said.

“We could add some braids, maybe,” Parvati suggested. “They don’t look too bad on men with long enough hair.”

Hermione shook her head at that idea: “He’ll look like a giant Viking.”

“Well, what do you think?” Lavender asked her.

“I don’t know. I’d suggest adding some wave, but it was hard enough to get it like it is.”

“Hmm…we could tie his beard, like Dumbledore does.”

They tried that. It was a definite improvement, but he still looked like a seventeenth-century throwback, and even in the wizarding world, that wasn’t great.

“Maybe tie the hair back, too?” Parvati said.

They tried it.

“I think we have a winner,” Lavender said.

Hagrid looked completely different with his hair tied back, but oddly, it seemed to work. “Yeh know, I think it does look pretty good,” he agreed.

“Alright then,” Hermione said. “I think you’re set, now. Just keep your hair dry until the ball, and you should be fine. We’ll see you tonight.”

“Will do. See yeh tonight. And thanks again.”

* * *

Hermione hadn’t had a chance to visit the elves this week, so she squeezed that in after lunch, convincing Ginny, Harry, and Ron to go with her. She had brought some trinkets to give her two favourite elves for Christmas, but she wasn’t expecting to walk in on an argument.

“Dobby, you knows better than this,” squeaked an indignant young elf with blond hair and cobalt-blue eyes. “Is being very bad form for an elf to give an elf clothes.”

Dobby was standing before Sonya in his Christmas best, holding out a long strip of cloth. “Miss Hermione says scarves is not clothes, Sonya. They is accessories, like your belt.”

Sonya looked down at her simple tool belt that she always tied tight enough around her tea towel to show off her admittedly modest curves. The younger elf may not have cared for clothes, but she did know a thing or two about fashion.

“That’s right,” Hermione spoke up. “You’ll never find scarves in with the clothes in a muggle store. They’re always with the belts and handbags and such.”

Both elves looked up. “Miss Hermione! Happy Christmas! It is good to see you!” They stared at each other when they said it in perfect unison.

“Hello, Dobby. Hello, Sonya. Happy Christmas,” Hermione said, and then she added, “That really is a beautiful scarf, Sonya.”

“Really? Well…I guess Sonya can takes a look…” Sonya tentatively took the scarf in her little hands. Hermione wasn’t exaggerating. She knew Dobby liked to knit, but she’d never imagined he was working on something like this. The scarf he’d made for Sonya was twice as long as her height, about six inches wide, and coloured with many random stripes of faded red, gold, green, blue, purple, tan, and brown, with multicoloured tassells at each end. Hermione also hadn’t realised Dobby was paying that much attention to muggle television. Sonya looped the scarf around her neck so that it hung low over her chest, and it still trailed to her feet. She didn’t look too certain about it.

“It is being the scarf that the Doctor wears,” Dobby said proudly.

“Doctor? Doctor who?”

Hermione started giggling and turned around to try to hide it. Her friends were still behind her, and Ron and Ginny were giving her a blank look. Harry also started sniggering, which confused them even more.

“You two get hit with a Laughing Jinx or something?” Ron said.

“No. Muggle joke, sorry,” Hermione choked out.

“If this is being a prank…” Sonya squeaked angrily.

“No, no, Sonya. It looks really good,” she insisted. “I know all the muggle-born students will like it if they see it. Probably some of the half-bloods too.”

Sonya blushed a little and adjusted the scarf again. “Well, then, er, thank you, Dobby,” she said.

“Dobby!” an irate and slurring voice squeaked. “Go away! You is corrupting the other elves!”

Hermione turned, wide-eyed, to a horrible sight. “Winky?” she gasped.

Winky looked a lot worse than the last time she had visited her, at Halloween. The brown-eyed elf’s large, red nose looked inflamed, but that was probably the Butterbeer. Her tea towel was stained and burnt in several places, and there was soot and dirt on her skin. The only part of her ensemble that looked clean was Barty Crouch’s necktie, still looped around her neck like a scarf, but even that was looking faded and worn, not like anything the perfectly proper Mr. Crouch would actually wear.

Winky hiccoughed when she saw Hermione. Her admonition to Dobby might have been more effective if she hadn’t been falling-down drunk.

“Winky, what’s happened?” Hermione said in horror.

“Miss Hermione Granger, miss!” she gave a stumbling curtsy. “Winky is— _hic—_ trying to help the other elves not to be making Winky’s mistake.”

“I is only wishing my friends Happy Christmas,” Dobby insisted.

“You is a— _hic_ —bad elf, Dobby! You is leading other elves wrong. Sonnitt shoulds not bes— _hic_ —wearing scarfs. You is looking disgraced like that, Sonnitt. You is looking like…like…” Suddenly, Winky burst into tears and fell on her face, clutching the necktie like a security blanket.

“Winky!” Hermione said in alarm. “Winky, please get up!”

“Winky!” another, sterner voice called. It was Tilly. “Winky, you shoulds not be disturbing the guests,” she admonished. She lifted her up with an arm around her shoulders and dragged her back towards the fireplace.

“Tilly?”

“Hello, Miss Hermione Granger. Please do not mind Winky. She is still very disturbed.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?”

Tilly shook her head sadly. “No, miss. Tilly has said some elves can’t adjust to being dismissed. There is not being anything you can do.”

Hermione watched them go sadly, wishing she could help. It looked as it the other elves were just ignoring Winky’s problems, but what could she do? Even after three years, she didn’t fully understand elves, and they were around Winky a lot more than she was.

Hermione went outside to clear her head after that sight. She watched Harry and the Weasleys get into a massive snowball fight, which the Twins eventually roped her into. She had to admit it was a lot of fun, even as a mad free-for-all, but the boys protested when she and Ginny left at six to get ready for the ball.

What the boys didn’t understand was that Hermione wanted two hours to get ready for the ball not because _she_ needed it, but because her roommates would be hogging the bathroom. Of course, she might have wanted three hours if she still had her old, unruly hair, but they didn’t need to know that.

Hermione quickly changed into her dress and consented to let Lav and Parv do her hair. They did a good job, she had to admit—putting her hair up in an elegant knot with a few curls hanging free so that it didn’t look all business. Hermione insisted on doing her own makeup, though, because that was where her other little surprise came in. She applied it very lightly, by the others’ standards—just enough to give her skin a smooth, unblemished look, and then, she cast her spell. It worked like, well, a charm, but she twisted her wand to tone down the effect until it was just barely perceptible. As Mum had said (and Hermione trusted her mum much more than her roommates), less was more when it came to makeup, and anything more would just come off as gaudy or gimmicky. Besides, the spell would last longer this way.

“Okay, what do you think?” Hermione asked a little nervously as she exited the bathroom.

Her roommates stared at her. They could definitely tell something had changed, and for the better, but they couldn’t quite put their fingers on it.

“Wow, Hermione, you, uh—you look great,” Lavender said, eliciting a smile. “You clean up even better than I thought. You are _glowing_.” Then, she leaned closer to her and squinted. “I mean, you are _literally_ glowing. What did you do?”

Hermione smiled wider. Now that they were looking for it, her roommates could see that her skin was glowing with a very faint, soft, white light. “ _Sanctitatis Apparentia_ ,” she said. “I came up with it a few months ago, but I thought it should really be saved for special occasions.” Actually, the spell was her best attempt to replicate whatever the Ministry had used to make the stadium glow at the Quidditch World Cup. This application was just a bonus.

“Wow, I can’t believe we never thought of that,” Parvati said. “George isn’t gonna know what hit him.”

Hermione blushed. A part of her was definitely hoping that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unasiwod: Old English for “unsewed.”
> 
> Sanctitatis Apparentia: Latin for “appearance of holiness.”


	75. Chapter 75

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Can you dance like a hippogriff? JK Rowling can.
> 
> Trelawney says that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die. This (probably) came true in three cases, but not at the Yule Ball, where four champions, four dates, and five judges ate at the High Table. Dumbledore, not Cedric, rose first.

There was a custom, of sorts, of boys waiting anxiously for their dates to appear, not having any clue how they would look. In the case of the Yule Ball, everyone had bought their robes last summer, so there was no chance to coordinate colours if your name wasn’t Malfoy or Parkinson, so the boys were even kept in the dark about that. This was a custom most strictly enforced at weddings, but it apparently extended to school dances, much to the boys’ dismay. A more charitable person might say that it was just because girls took longer to get ready, but the boys knew better. It was because girls loved to play on their nerves. And it was succeeding. For all of the boys waiting for their dates to come down the stairs to the Common Room, especially those who had never dated before, it was extremely nerve-wracking.

Harry Potter really wished didn’t have to wait with three of his date’s older brothers, especially the Twins. That they didn’t yet know with whom he was going didn’t seem to help matters.

As it happened, his date was the first to descend the stairs. Ginny Weasley was dressed in the simplest ensemble of the girls: light sea-green robes with pink trim and not much makeup or jewelry. Harry knew that was as much because of the cost as her age, but he would never say it, and she still looked really nice. He hadn’t really noticed her looks much before, but he could appreciate them. Her brothers gaped when she made a beeline for Harry. “Hi, Harry,” she said. “You clean up pretty well.”

“Thanks. Er, you look, uh, very nice, too,” he replied, and after a moment’s thought, he awkwardly offered her his arm.

“Ginny?!” Ron blurted.

“Yes, Ronald?” she said with exaggerated sweetness.

“You’re going with Harry?”

“Why are you so surprised? I seem to remember you suggesting that very thing a few days ago.”

“Yeah, but—” Ron stopped, unable to retort.

“Blimey, how did we not see that coming?” Fred said.

“I don’t know,” George answered. “And now, we didn’t even get to have a talk with Harry first.”

“Funny how that worked out,” Ginny said with a grin.

Harry was now more nervous than ever, and not just about the Twins. With his childhood, he didn’t have a clue about dates or dances, and he had a bad feeling he was going to bollocks this up somehow. However, Ginny kept a tight grip on his arm, which he felt like it kept him from passing out.

Angelina was next down the stairs, wearing a long dress robe of midnight purple. Fred immediately took her hand and twirled her around before giving her a kiss on the temple and saying, “Come away with me, milady.” Angelina giggled.

A little while later came the fourth-year girls, a group who turned out to be full of surprises. First, Lily Moon and a very-nervous-looking Sally-Anne Perks drew stares and whispers as they exited the staircase hand in hand—not as many as they would have got in the muggle world, but the fact that they were roommates wasn’t ignored. Then, Lavender, easily the most ostentatious of the group, sought out Seamus, and Parvati gracefully strolled up to Ron.

Ron’s jaw dropped. While he was half-voluntarily lusting after Fleur, he hadn’t noticed how pretty Parvati was, but now, she stood out in bright pink robes with generous amounts of gold, including braided into her hair. Ron really wished he had better dress robes than his eighteenth-century throwbacks. She frowned when she saw the frayed remains of the lace collar and cuffs he had removed, but she said nothing.

“Wow, y-you look…good,” Ron stammered.

“Thank you, Ronald. Shall we go down, then?” Parvati replied.

“Er, yeah.”

Meanwhile, George was staring in amazement at Hermione. George had known in an abstract way, even before she had “fixed” her hair and teeth (though he had thought her old look had a certain charm), that Hermione was a fairly pretty girl under those curls, but when she actually took the opportunity to dress up, the effect was staggering. She had put her hair up—not just tamed it, but done something fancy with it and wore a blue headband in it that matched her dress, whose floaty, many-layered silk looked like something out of Beedle the Bard. And her face—he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something different about it. It didn’t look like anything in particular had changed, but it was almost like she was glowing. She caught his eye, and she stood with as much confidence as she could muster and flashed him a nervous smile.

“Wow, Hermione, you look…beautiful,” he said.

“George, I take back what I said about you being nutters,” Fred whispered to him.

The makeup and her charm hid her blush, but Hermione suspected some of it was still showing through. She had never been called beautiful by a non-family member before, nor had she really expected to be, especially at fifteen. _Pretty_ , she could manage, but beautiful was a high bar. “Thank you, George,” she said breathlessly, trying to ignore the stares from the rest of the group. “Shall we go?”

George shot the other boys a smug look behind her back and escorted her out of the Common Room. He may have got some ribbing for asking her place, but they weren’t laughing, now.

The group went down to the Entrance Hall, where those who had dates in other houses met up. Neville generated even more buzz and a few malicious whispers when he took a beaming Luna Lovegood by the hand. Luna had taken the Yule in Yule Ball to heart and was dolled up in eye-popping red and green robes with a metallic cast that would have made more appropriate dress robes for a Christmas elf, but she did look pretty good, and Neville smiled as he escorted her into the Great Hall.

The Slytherins came up from the basement—Malfoy and Parkinson together, Crabbe and Goyle both on their own—at least, they didn’t show any signs of being together. The bookends _were_ wearing proper dress robes, though, which made them look eerily like mafia thugs. Pansy Parkinson gaped at Hermione when she saw her. Hermione remembered how she had laughed at Rita Skeeter calling her “stunningly pretty” and smiled broadly when she couldn’t think of an insult.

“Champions over here, please,” Professor McGonagall called.

George and Hermione watched as Harry and Ginny joined the other Champions. Cedric and Cho were there, looking like a storybook couple, and then Fleur and Krum walked over with their dates.

Fred and George couldn’t believe their eyes. Fleur Delacour’s date was their roommate and frequent prank victim, Kenneth Towler. He glanced at them with the smuggest grin they had ever seen on him as they stared with their mouths hanging open.

“Why that little…”

“He just _pranked_ us!” they said.

But Hermione wasn’t paying attention to them. She couldn’t believe _her_ eyes when she saw Viktor Krum’s date. It was Padma.

Padma was dressed much like her sister, but in turquoise instead of pink, and she could almost have been glowing under her own power to be with Viktor Krum. Hermione had a feeling she would upstage all of the other girls (except Fleur, of course). Lavender squealed at a frequency that really shouldn’t be anatomically possible and grabbed Parvati away from Ron, demanding to know why she hadn’t told her. Padma just smiled and mouthed “Thanks,” to her sister before Krum escorted her into the Great Hall.

The Great Hall had been decked out in record time since lunch, and it was one of the most beautiful sights Hermione had seen at Hogwarts. Instead of the common red and green, it was all in green and silver—but not the Slytherin colours. It was the dark green of ivy and Christmas trees against the white-silver of frost and icicles that covered the walls and ceiling in shimmering light. Instead of the long house tables, there were many small, round ones, each seating about a dozen and lit with lanterns.

The judges were all there, dressed up as well, except for Mr. Crouch. In his place was Percy Weasley, much to his siblings’ shock.

“I’ve been promoted,” he explained to a put-out-looking Ginny. “I’m now Mr. Crouch’s personal assistant. I wanted to surprise all of you. He’s not as young as he once was, sadly—been feeling under the weather.”

“He still calling you ‘Weatherby’?” Ginny asked. Percy turned red and gave her a cross look, but didn’t answer. “Honestly, Perce, he’s Dad’s cousin, and he can’t even remember your name. Why do you put up with that?”

“Mr. Crouch is your dad’s cousin?” Harry said in surprise.

“Yeah, didn’t Sirius tell you?”

“No.”

“Our grandmother and Mr. Crouch’s mother were sisters,” Percy explained, “daughters of Arcturus Black and Lysandra Yaxley…”

He was about to explain more, but he was interrupted by gasps coming from massed crowd, and all eyes turned to the entrance where they saw a sight so unbelievable that it overshadowed all the others.

Rubeus Hagrid was in full evening dress—white tie, tails, and all. His hair was straight and styled, and his normally inconspicuous eyes were wide and shining. He stood up straight at his full height and strode forward with an uncommon confidence straight towards Madame Maxime. No one dared speak. Then, Hagrid bent down and kissed her hand, and said, in a surprisingly good French accent, “ _Bon soir, Madame. Voulez-vous accepter ces fleurs_?” He pulled out a corsage made out of a full dozen orange roses. Clearly, Lavender and Parvati had been busier than Hermione had thought. They could make some good money in the muggle world with advertising like this.

Madame Maxime gasped and laid a hand to her chest, clearly overwhelmed by the man’s improvement. “ _Monsieur_ _‘Agrid_ ,” she said, “ _Je serais honor_ _é_.” She took the corsage and pinned it to her dress robes.

There was a sound of clapping. Harry had started applauding. Soon, half the Hall had joined in. Hermione beamed to see her hard work had paid off. When the applause died down, and the High Table took their seats; only Dumbledore remained standing. “Thank you, Hagrid, for that excellent opening,” he said with a smile. “And now, let the feast begin.” He sat down and said to his plate, “Pork chops.”

That was a clever system, and right up the house elves’ alley, ordering the food up like that. It gave the dinner a fancier feel, as if the decorations weren’t enough. Hermione and George sat with their friends, and Hermione, Lavender, and Parvati excitedly explained about Hagrid’s makeover. Even the boys were duly impressed. They chatted about this and that through the dinner as time went on, and the champions and their dates looked to be having a good time at the High Table, too.

Once dinner was over, Dumbledore stood and cleared away the tables with a wave of his wand, and conjured a stage for the evening’s entertainment.

Somehow, the Weird Sisters were exactly what Hermione expected a wizard rock band to look like. They had a definite goth look to them, despite the dress robes, and the usual guitar and drums were mixed with lute, cello, and bagpipes. The bagpipes actually fit in surprisingly well. Ginny pulled Harry over to the middle of the dance floor, and the champions opened the dancing. The Weird Sisters started out with traditional waltz music, but Hermione suspected that would change shortly.

“Well, then, shall we dance?” George asked.

“Yes, let’s,” Hermione said, and they took to the floor.

Hermione definitely preferred a proper dance to her Waltzing Jinx prank, and she was pleased to find that George was a good dancer, even without the jinx. Fred and Angelina were twirling around with reckless abandon, but George kept a statelier pace for her sake. Harry and Ginny were slowly revolving in place, and Ginny was whispering something to him as they tried to go into a more proper turn. Hermione suspected she was giving him an impromptu dance lesson. It wouldn’t surprise her if Harry didn’t know how to dance at all.

Harry was doing better than Neville, though. The round-faced boy was tragically clumsy, and his partner didn’t seem to know what dance they were doing. Neville was trying to stumble through a waltz, while Luna was doing some kind of tap dance.

 _Wait a minute_ _…_ Hermione thought. She watched the couple closer for a little while and was amazed when she saw it. Luna was sidestepping Neville’s feet with preternatural skill every time he was about to tread on her toes—in time with the music, without even looking, and smiling at him the whole time as if it were perfectly natural. Luna must be either a brilliant dancer or a Seer, she thought. That girl really was full of surprises.

Sure enough, the waltz music soon changed to more typical rock numbers like “Do the Hippogriff.” It wasn’t Hermione’s cup of tea, but she kept dancing off and on. Once the champions were released from the opening dance, Harry and Ginny joined the rest of the Weasley Clan, and they switched off partners for a couple of dances.

“Not much of a dancer then?” Hermione asked Harry when she found herself slowly revolving in place with him.

He shook his head: “Sorry. I wasn’t about to learn it from the Dursleys. I know my aunt and uncle went to galas once in a while for Grunnings, but I can’t picture them actually dancing…makes me a little sick, actually.”

Hermione giggled in spite of herself.

“You look really great, Hermione,” Harry said. “What did you do with your face?”

“Just a little charm. I think George is still trying to figure it out.”

“Well, it looks good. You look kind of like Cinderella, actually.”

“Oh, you recognised it?”

“Hey, I wasn’t a complete shut-in growing up.”

Hermione just giggled again and thanked him for the dance. After that song, the boys went to get drinks, leaving the girls to talk amongst themselves.

“Having a good time, Ginny?” Hermione asked.

“Oh, yes, it’s wonderful! Sirius really should have taught Harry to dance, though. All the fancy purebloods do it.”

“Well, we both know Sirius isn’t exactly normal.” Both girls giggled at that.

Meanwhile, and the punch bowl, Fred and George were having that conversation with Harry they had missed earlier.

“Just remember, Harry—” Fred said.

“—if you hurt our baby sister—” George continued.

“You will face—”

“—the prank war to end all prank wars!” they finished in unison.

Harry shuddered involuntarily. Ginny’s temper was bad enough on its own. Being on the receiving end of the Twins’ wrath was something he didn’t want to contemplate. In desperation, he grasped for a comeback, and he found one. “I’m still not as worried as George should be,” he said.

George cocked an eyebrow: “How do you mean?”

“Well, I only have to worry about Ginny’s six older brothers, all of whom are brilliant at some form of magic or other, plus her being a crack shot with a wand, herself. George has to worry about _Hermione_.”

George’s grin was replaced with a frown, and his eyes slowly widened as he considered the implications.

“Merlin’s pants, you really _did_ draw the short straw, George,” Fred teased him. “Harry doesn’t even have to threaten you himself.”

“Well, I still get whatever’s left when she’s done,” Harry warned. “Hermione’s done more for me than I could ever pay her back, and I expect her to be treated right, but more importantly, so does she.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to do that,” George said nervously.

“Hey speaking of being treated right, I think Bagman’s going to be free in a minute or two,” Fred added.

George looked over and saw Ludo Bagman dancing with Professor McGonagall, of all people. He grinned. “Better get back to our business partner, then,” he said. The boys returned with the drinks to find the girls huddled together and whispering.

“Er…Hermione?” George said worriedly, wondering what kind of conspiracy they were plotting.

“Oh, hello, boys,” Hermione said. “Say, I’ve been wanting to show you something. _Lumos Atra_!”

The tip of Hermione’s wand glowed an almost impossibly brilliant deep violet—like nothing shaded so far violet should give off that much light. It was a colour that most of the group had literally never seen before in its pure form. Under its light, her dress glowed with a soft, pale, blue light.

No one else’s did.

“Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Hermione, your teeth!” Ginny cried.

“Oh, are my teeth glowing?”

“Yes. What did you do?”

“You invented a magical black light?” Harry asked.

“Harry! _Your_ teeth!”

“Yes, I’d expect that,” Hermione said. “Anyone else’s?” The rest of them all showed their teeth, but none of theirs were glowing. “Ah, that’ll be the muggle toothpaste, then.”

“Muggle toothpaste—?”

“—How’re you doing that?” the Twins demanded.

“I modified _Lumos_ to give off ultraviolet light. It’s the same thing that causes sunburn, but not as dangerous. It makes some substances glow in the dark. It’s _supposed_ to make white clothes glow, but I forgot that wizards have no reason to use fluorescent laundry soap. It’s the same with teeth. Harry and I are the only ones who brush with muggle toothpaste. It’s too bad. I worked hard on that spell. I think I need to study up on partial differential equations to make better light and sound spells—wave mechanics, and all—”

“But why would you care if your laundry soap does that?” Parvati asked.

“Because it makes white clothes look brighter in sunlight.”

Parvati was left to digest that revelation when George said, “Say, Hermione, I think we have an opening with Bagman over there. Care to join us?”

Hermione looked and said, “Alright, then.”

Professor McGonagall managed to extricate herself from Bagman’s dancing just as the trio arrived. “Oh, uh, hello, boys, girl,” he said nervously when he saw them.

“Hello, Mr. Bagman.” Fred started.

“We believe we have some business to attend to,” George finished.

“Hey, hey, if this is about that World Cup thing, still, I told you that was a complete misunderstanding. I just have a few things to balance on my books, and then—”

“Hah, yeah, right,” Fred interrupted.

“What—?”

“Look, Mr. Bagman,” Hermione said, “you really can’t pretend the leprechaun gold thing was a mistake at this point.”

“Yeah, if you’re not good for the money, just say so,” George agreed.

“Well, I never said _that_ ,” Bagman protested.

“Certainly looks that way,” Fred countered.

“Well, cash flow can be…irregular…” he stammered.

“That sounds like a fancy way of saying you’re not good for it,” Hermione said. “In fact, George, Fred, you’re a lot more invested in this than I am. What do you think? If we just get our initial stake back, can we let this whole thing go?”

The Twins glanced at each other and seemed to hold one of their telepathic conversations, and they nodded to each other. “We can go for that,” Fred agreed.

“Well, like I said, cash flow…look you’ll all be here for the other Tasks right?” Bagman said. Hermione nodded. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he said vaguely. “Oh, look, better go chat with Potter.” He walked briskly away before they could protest.

“What was that?” George demanded.

“Sounds to me like he even lost what we gave him,” Fred answered.

“I hope not,” Hermione said. “That was all your savings.”

“Yeah. We’ve made a bit back, but it’s slowing us down,” said George. “It’s one thing to bet it all, but this is highway robbery.”

Hermione sighed. She could tell this wasn’t going to be a very productive line of attack. “Come on, George,” she said, “let’s just dance.”

They danced for a while longer, but as the music started dying down, many of the couples started wandering in and out to the gardens to cool off or take a walk (and probably _other_ activities for some, but Hermione merely suggested that they take a walk).

The exterior of the castle had also been altered for the occasion. The area just past the Entrance Courtyard, where the stairs led down to the boathouse, had been turned into a lovely multi-terraced rose garden, giving couples plenty of room to move around in private. She hoped they would keep it that way. It would be a wonderful addition to the art-starved school. If there was one thing she appreciated about Beauxbatons, it was its artistic side.

Severus Snape was clearly not an art-lover, though, as he was blasting apart rosebushes to ferret out couples engaged in those _other_ activities, plus any eavesdroppers to his conversation with Igor Karkaroff, of all people. That was both suspicious and needlessly destructive. Hermione and George caught something about Karkaroff being afraid of something “getting clearer” and Snape derisively suggesting that he flee, but they couldn’t get too close for fear of provoking Snape’s ire, so they had no idea what all that was about. Eventually, though, they found a secluded corner with no one else in it and no teachers nearby where they could speak in private.

“So, Hermione,” George said, “there’s something I’ve been wondering all week.”

“Oh? There has?” she said nervously.

“Yeah. Back on Sunday, with that waltz prank, we you _trying_ to get me to ask you to the ball?”

She gave him a nervous laugh: “Well, maybe not in public, but…yes, I was.”

He smiled at her: “Well…actually, I was kinda trying to work up the nerve to ask you already, so I figured I’d better go for it before I changed my mind.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “You _already_ wanted to ask me?” she said in disbelief.

George was blushing faintly, now—an amazingly rare sight on either of the Twins—at least when it wasn’t related to an experiment. “Yeah, I did. I mean, you’re the most brilliant girl I’ve ever met. You’re one of the few people who can keep up with Fred and me. You know how to have some fun, and you’re not afraid to get in a bit of trouble for a good cause. And you’re always so kind and caring…” Hermione was blushing a lot more than he was, now. “I was scared to ask you, if you can believe it,” he said.

Hermione opened her mouth to say she _didn_ _’t_ believe it, but she stopped herself. If it had been Fred, she wouldn’t have believed it, but George…he might surprise her.

“Really,” he continued. “For starters, I could tell you had a crush on Diggory, and he’s a pretty intimidating guy, but even after he got another date, I was thinking, “How could a girl as smart as her ever go for a guy who almost flunked out his O.W.L.s?” But when you pulled that prank, I thought it might mean something, so I just grabbed you and started dancing, and when you didn’t hex me, I was pretty sure…but you see, there was already one other thing—a silly little thing, really—but when I noticed it, I thought that _maybe_ you liked me, too.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione said, confused.

“This past summer—you started calling us ‘George and Fred’ sometimes instead of ‘Fred and George’.”

“So?”

“So, no one has _ever_ called us ‘George and Fred’ before. Not even Mum and Dad.”

“Never?”

“Hey, if you’re calling both of us together, why bother switching it. Why did _you_?”

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t really even notice it. I think it was just the ‘Gred and Forge’ thing throwing me off.”

“Well, _I_ noticed,” he said. “It’s not like I mind taking second billing most of the time, but when you switched it around, it was like you actually noticed me _over_ Fred, and it felt…well, really good. That…that doesn’t happen very often.”

Hermione gave him a half smile. “And why not?” she said. “Let’s be honest; I don’t think Fred is as thoughtful as you are. And he’s definitely more reckless. I don’t mean to talk against him—” she added quickly.

“No, I get it,” George said. “Most people think we’re completely interchangeable. Hell, I don’t think our own brothers realise we’re two different people half the time. But you never get us mixed up. I can’t remember one time you have. Even Mum doesn’t always get our names right.”

“Only because you actively try to confuse her. If you tried to mess with my head like that, I’d probably screw it up, too.”

“Well, there’s that. I mean, we’ve practised our whole lives to be able to finish each other’s sentences. But still, hardly anyone outside our family ever notices, but you…you didn’t have any trouble with it. You said you saw it a year ago.”

“I did?”

“Basically, yeah. You said Fred’s the evil twin, and I’m the ‘less evil twin’.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do. What—? Hang on.” He stopped and reached towards her face. Hermione stiffened, but he only fiddled with her hair for a moment. “You had a beetle in your hair,” he explained.

“Ew.”

“Yeah.” He flicked the bug away, and it flew back up towards the castle. “But yes, I remember, Hermione. You actually cared about us enough to learn that we’re not the same person. And then, you started paying attention to me, specifically. We both know Fred’s the more outgoing one. Better with girls, too. But you paid attention to me, instead.”

Hermione had barely noticed that they were standing closer together than they were before. “Is that when you started to like me?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Maybe. Maybe before that. It kinda of crept up on me. It might’ve been when you found the kitchens on your own and helped us fight Peeves with a meat fork, or maybe even the very first night when you threw the Sorting Hat for a loop.” Hermione blushed intensely. She couldn’t imagine her quiet, little, eleven-year-old self attracting that much attention. “I dunno, maybe that was just appreciation of the cute kid causing mischief,” he said. Then he smiled: “I think the thought first crossed my mind two years ago when you told us you robbed Professor Snape. I thought, “This is a girl who could cause trouble like we never could.’”

She chuckled a little. She still didn’t like breaking rules, but that had been one of her most successful endeavours.

“So what about you?” he asked.

“I…” She thought about it for a minute and said, “I didn’t really think about it before last Sunday. I think it’s been coming for a while, though. I’ve always appreciated your magic skill, even if you mostly use them for pranks. And I can see you have more sense than you get credit for, with your store plans. And last year when you told me how you worried about me enough to look for me in the Room of Requirement—I never told you how much that meant to me…but no, I didn’t consider other options until after Cedric turned me down,” she admitted. “I’m really glad I did, though,” she added quickly, with a smile.

George grinned as she stared up at him. He took a half step closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder. Fred would have gone for it right then. Actually, with almost any other girl, George would’ve, too, but he remembered how reserved and too often lacking in self-confidence Hermione was, socially. “Hermione…may I kiss you?” he asked.

She gasped softly and felt her heart start racing. She almost panicked and said no, but she remembered her mother’s words and reconsidered: _have fun, and maybe even kiss a boy._ In any case, all she could command her tongue to say was, “I…I…I…okay.”

George, more a gentleman than she had dreamed, gently held her chin with one hand as he leaned down, and she stood on her toes to meet his lips. All thought fled from Hermione’s mind for several seconds—an impressive feat for her—but far too quickly, doubts started to creep in again. She didn’t quite pull away, but she ended it sooner than she’d wanted to, and she started muttering, “Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.” under her breath—and not in a good way, George noticed.

“What? That bad?” he grimaced.

“No, no! It was good!” she said at once. “It’s just—I’m sorry—It’s just…where are we, now?”

George blinked: “In the rose garden?”

“No, you prat, I meant you and me.”

George frowned. “I don’t know,” he said. “The kiss was good. And I think we had a really nice date…Er, where do you want us to be?”

“That’s just the thing. I don’t know. I’m going home tomorrow. I’ll only be here twice more this year, and probably frantically trying to teach Harry how to not die the whole time. Then, I don’t think I’ll be here at all next year. The year after that, I’ll turn seventeen, but you’ll have graduated by then, so we’ll only be able to see each other over holidays…”

“Oh. The classic separation problem. Well, I think that’s up to you, Hermione. Um, if you want to try the long-distance thing, I can—”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, given the future prospects,” she interrupted.

“Ah. Or…we can just say it was a very nice date, and we both move on, no strings attached one way or the other.”

Hermione took a deep breath that turned into a heavy sigh. “That’s probably for the best,” she said. “I don’t think I’m ready to get that serious yet…I’m sorry, George. Maybe if things change, but—”

“No, I understand. It’s a weird situation, and you’ve got enough to deal with already. Just be sure to keep us posted on your research.”

“Of course.”

“Alright, then. No strings attached,” he said.

“No strings attached,” she agreed. Then she hugged him. “Thank you so much, George. It really was a wonderful date.”

“You’ve been brilliant, too, Hermione,” he replied. “Come on, I think there’s time to catch the last dance.” He kissed her again, but on the cheek. “Say, there’s something else I’ve been wondering.”

“There is?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure until we came out here, but…your face is glowing.”

Hermione giggled and explained about her charm as and they climbed back up to the castle.

The last song, “Magic Works’ was so perfect for muggles and wizards alike that it made Hermione wish for the first time that the Weird Sisters sold CDs. She found herself disappointed that she and George weren’t to have a second date (to her own surprise), but she was still smiling wistfully as she climbed back to Gryffindor Tower, and she slept more soundly that night than she had in a long time.

* * *

“So, Hermione, how was the ball?” Mum asked on their way home from London the next day.

“It was wonderful, Mum,” Hermione said. “Thank you so much for letting me go.”

“Were glad we could make you happy, dear,” she said. “So, did you kiss a boy?”

“MUM!”

“Emma!” Dad said.

“Oh, she’s turning unnatural colours, Dan,” his wife teased. “I think that’s a yes.”

Dad grew very quiet. “Hermione?” he said worriedly.

“It was Mum’s idea.”

“Emma!”

“Calm down, you. Our daughter is fifteen and has very discerning judgement.” Mum reminded him. “So, who was it, Hermione?”

“Mum, do we really have to—?”

“Of course we do, you have to tell us about your big night.”

“You sound as bad as my roommates.”

Her mother gasped in mock indignation. She knew enough about her daughter’s roommates. “Now, that’s just not fair. I think we at least deserve to know who you went with…It was _your_ date you kissed, wasn’t it?”

“No, Mum, the international Quidditch star came in and swept me off my feet,” Hermione said with perfect seriousness. She saw both her parents giving her very worried looks in the rear-view mirrors, and she started laughing. _Game, set, match_ , she thought.

“For God’s sake, Hermione, don’t do that to us,” her mother said, though she started laughing, too. “I don’t think your father can take it.”

“Oi!” Dad said.

Hermione had to calm down before she could speak again, and she immediately said, “Honestly, Mum, I’m not that kind of girl. I went with George Weasley.”

“George Weasley?” Mum repeated.

“Isn’t he one of those twins who’s always causing trouble?” Dad asked.

“Yes, only three O.W.L.s, class clown, and constant detentions for pranks; that’s him,” she said defensively, and the words came pouring out before they could question her further: “But, honestly, there’s a lot more to him than that—both of them, really, but especially George. He’s kind and considerate. He’s dead clever, a lot of fun, and he’s got better prospects than everyone thinks.”

“Okay, we understand,” Mum said. “We weren’t disapproving, you know…Well, maybe your father was—”

“I’m right here, you know.”

“But it’s good to hear you think so highly of him. You sound pretty smitten with him.”

Hermione squeaked. “Um…no, I don’t think…We agreed not to take it any further,” she blurted.

“Oh? Why not?”

“Different schools. Being away for ten months of the year. Plus, he graduates in another year. We might pick it up after I finish, but I wasn’t ready to commit to that, and I really don’t think he was, either.”

“Oh, honey, that’s too bad. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, even if she gave a slightly sad sigh. “We both agreed it was for the best.”

“Alright, then…I hope you got photos.”

“Of course I did. There was a photographer there last night.” She pulled two glossy prints from her handbag and passed it up front to her mother. One was of just her and George, and the other was all four Weasleys and their dates.

“Oh my goodness!” Mum gasped. “You looked beautiful, Hermione. Even more than I imagined when we bought your dress.”

“Well, I had help with my hair. And a tiny bit of magical makeup.”

“It’s lovely. And George doesn’t look too bad, either. Don’t you think, Dan?”

Dad could only afford a quick glance while he was driving, but he smiled when he saw it. “You’re a beautiful young woman, Hermione,” he said, carefully evading his wife’s question.

“Thanks, Dad.” She smiled back at him. “Oh, I’ve got a photo of how I caught his attention to ask me, too.” She handed up the photo of George and Fred waltzing together, and Mum laughed hysterically. “Wow, you really can still surprise me,” she said between gasping for air.

“I _am_ still surprised you went with George, though,” Dad continued cautiously when she calmed down. “You mention Harry and Ron a lot more in your letters.”

She shook her head: “No, I don’t think either of them would work out. For one, Harry and Ginny are a much better match than Harry and me. I think Harry has only two speeds: clueless and scarily intense, and I think Ginny’s better prepared to handle that. Plus, she likes him a lot more that way already. And as for Ron…”

“Yes?” Mum pressed her.

“I don’t know. I actually might have considered Ron before he had that big fight with Harry. It’s like there’s two sides to him. If you get him on something that interests him, he’s amazingly driven. And brilliant. Brave, too. You can always trust him to have your back in a genuine fight. But most of the time, all that just doesn’t come through. He’s nice enough, but honestly, he’s really lazy, more than a little immature, short-tempered, and he’s got a massive inferiority complex. He can’t take the heat socially. He’s been better since we gave him a good talking-to after the First Task, but I don’t know if I could ever date him after what he did.”

“Then it’s good you figured that out early,” Mum assured her. “And as for George, I think all you can do is play it by ear.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“It’s good to have you home, Hermione,” she added after a pause. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy Christmas.”

* * *

“Oh, how wonderful!” Molly Weasley said as she examined the post from her daughter the next day. “Ginny sent us photos from the Yule Ball.”

“She did?” Arthur said excitedly. “Let’s see. Let’s see.”

“Alright, alright,” Molly replied. The snuggled side by side on the sofa to look through them. “There’s Ginny and Harry. Oh, they look so adorable, don’t they?”

“Yes, they certainly do, Mollywobbles,” he said, setting aside his protective father instincts for the moment and admiring how lovely his daughter had become and how happy she and the boy who was as good as his son looked together.

“And there’s Ron and…” She checked the name. “Parvati Patil. She looks like a nice girl.” They didn’t look like they were getting on as well as Ginny and Harry, but they seemed friendly enough. “And here’s Fred…I think that’s Fred…yes, Fred and Angelina Johnson—oh, from the Quidditch team. I’m sure they had a lot of fun. And the last one is…” She stopped, and her eyes grew wide when she saw the last photo.

“Is that who I think it is?” Arthur said.

“It looks like her, but…” George stood there with his date, his arm around her shoulders, she leaning into his side, both of them smiling broadly, and yet Molly still couldn’t believe her eyes.

George had taken Hermione to the Yule Ball.

 _George Weasley_ had taken _Hermione Granger_ to the Yule Ball.

George Weasley, if she didn’t miss her guess, had _kissed_ Hermione Granger.

And Hermione hadn’t hexed him into next week.

Molly had honestly thought there might be something between Ron and Hermione before the mess this year, but _George?_ She loved George as much as the rest of her children, but she couldn’t imagine what a girl like Hermione saw in him. She was always so serious and studious, and George…wasn’t. Only three O.W.L.s and that Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes nonsense—never applying himself, like his brothers did. Even if she wasn’t fond of her two oldest living overseas, they were successful and fulfilled, while the Twins only seemed to care about clowning around. For Hermione to go out with George just didn’t make sense.

And for that matter, the Twins had surprised her, too, with their choice of dates. She always assumed that Fred and George would either manage to rope in another set of twins, like the Patil girls, or double date the girls from the Quidditch team or something like that. But no, Fred had taken the athlete, and George had taken the academic. Yes, she knew they weren’t the same person. She could even (usually) tell them apart at a glance, but it was a shock to see them that far apart on anything.

“Well, Molly, maybe she’ll do him some good,” Arthur suggested.

“That would be nice,” she agreed, “but I think I’m more worried about how he’ll corrupt her.”

* * *

Molly might have been more worried about Hermione’s influence on George if she’d know that Hermione, at that moment, was hard at work on a whole list of new hexes for Harry. First up: the Tooth-Drilling Hex.

On second thought, maybe she would save that one for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lumos Atra: based on the Latin for “black light.”


	76. Fourth Year, Spring Term

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling is worth equal to some really ridiculous amount of bronze. Sadly, I am not she.
> 
> If anybody has a better alternative to the Bubble-Head Charm that Harry could realistically cast as a fourth-year, I would like to hear it.

The only notable event of the remainder of Hermione’s holidays, aside from a very pleasant time with her family, was a visit to Ollivander’s. One of her side projects that she still devoted an hour a week to was wandcraft. Wands with plant-derived magical cores similar to the toy wands sold to children under eleven didn’t set off the Trace and thus allowed her to practice magic on holidays, like many of the purebloods did, since the Ministry would look the other way. Mr. Ollivander had been delighted to see her taking an interest in the subject last summer, although he had warned her against being too brazen about it.

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander,” she called when she entered the shop. However, she surprised to find a much younger man, albeit one who still looked like the old wandmaker, standing at the counter.

“Hello, miss, may I help you?” the man asked.

“Um…I’m sorry, are you new here?” Hermione asked. She didn’t know Ollivander had any assistants.

“Oh, no, miss, I’ve worked here since I finished school,” he answered, “although I suspect you’ve only seen my father here before. He always insists on manning the counter when the new students buy their wands.”

“Your father?” she said. What was it about Ollivander that made her surprised to learn he had actual family in his family business? And yet, he certainly presented himself as a solo worker.

“Of course,” the man said. “Gerald Ollivander, at your service.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Likewise, Miss Granger. How may I help you today?”

“Well, I told your father last summer I was trying my hand at some basic wandcraft—”

“Did I hear Hermione Granger?” She was interrupted as the elder Mr. Ollivander, clad in a work apron and with his wild hair flying, came out of the workshop to see her. Behind him was a young man who looked about Bill Weasley’s age—his grandson, she could guess.

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander, er, Senior,” she said.

“Hermione Granger. Vine wood and dragon heart string, ten and three quarter inches— _and_ an interest in wandcraft,” the old man said. “Excellent combination. I heard about your contribution to the Triwizard Tournament. Very impressive.”

Hermione blushed at the compliment.

“Wait, you mean she’s _that_ Hermione Granger?” the youngest Ollivander said.

“I’m surprised I’m this well known,” she said. “I thought most of the attention was on Harry.”

“Well, you _are_ Harry Potter’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“What?” both her parents said in shock.

“Oh, that.” She rubbed her forehead in frustration. “No, I’m not his girlfriend, and I never was. Some gossip columnist got that into her head and never got it out again.”

“Oh, lovely,” Dad said.

“Anyway, I had a couple of new homemade wands that I’d like you to take a look at, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah! Most definitely,” old Mr. Ollivander said. “It’s been years since I’ve seen a new original style.” He considered and said, “Garrett, why don’t you take a look at them?”

The youngest Ollivander stepped forward and held out his hand. Hermione pulled one of her prototypes from her handbag and handed it to him. He examined the wood closely. “Hmm…beech wood,” he identified correctly. He measured it with the span of his hand and said, “Nine and a half inches.” He hummed and held it in his hands, running his fingers along its length. Hermione frowned when he held it to his nose and _sniffed_ it. “The core is dittany, I believe.”

“Yes, very good,” his grandfather said.

Garrett examined the shaft closely. “No compensatory runes,” he said. “No runes at all, in fact, but the wood is good quality. And the potions treatment is better than anything you’ll find in the toy store. This is surprisingly good work for your age and for not having any training, Miss Granger.”

“Indeed,” his grandfather agreed. “I do believe I have never seen anyone pick up the craft so quickly who wasn’t raised with it.”

“How much use do you think I could get out of it?” Hermione asked. Her goal was to produce something that could stand up to an entire summer of casting like she did at school without it burning out. It was a tall order compared with the toys, but if she could produce something that was a hundredth as tough as an Ollivander wand, it would be plenty.

“Oh, probably a week or two if you use it the same as most people your age,” the elder Ollivander said. “Less if you keep experimenting like you have been.”

“Which I’m sure she will,” Mum said. “And we expect to have our house still in one piece at the end of the summer, dear.”

“Don’t worry, Mum, I’ve been very careful about my experiments. Now, here’s the other one I wanted you to look at.” She handed over another wand to the young man.

“Well, this is a…wait a minute—”

_SQUAWK!_

The wand turned into a tin parrot.

“Sorry! Sorry! That was one of Fred and George’s stupid trick wands. One of these days, they’re really gonna get it.”

“You mean the Weasley Twins? Those troublemakers?” Garrett asked. She nodded. “I’m surprised they haven’t been expelled yet. They were in first year when I was in seventh. Convincing wand, though. Nearly fooled me.”

“That’s good for them, I suppose.” She inspected the next wand, just to be sure. “Here’s the right one.”

The second wand was very similar to the first—made from the same batch of materials. The difference was that she had added some runes. Nothing complicated—the number of malfunctions and failures had skyrocketed when she started adding runes, so at this point, she was only adding a few simple clusters for durability and resilience to magic. She wouldn’t be surprised if that was the most difficult part of wandmaking—the part that really had to be passed down from generation to generation to become world-class wandmakers like the Ollivanders.

“Beech wood again,” old Ollivander said. “A good choice. It makes a good match for a witch of wisdom and learning.”

“Really? I was just using what was at hand. I tried ash and hazel, but the ash didn’t work very well, and the hazel backfired and shattered.”

“I’m not surprised. Hazel is emotional and temperamental; it is difficult to make it bind well to a core. And while you could probably find a piece of ash that agrees with your personality, ash is stubborn and resists working with anyone but its chosen master.”

“Huh. You know, it’s odd; when I used nonmagical wood, it barely made a difference what kind I used, but it seems like the more magical it is, the more finicky it is with failing.”

“Well, of course,” Garrett said. “The more magic you put into a wand the harder it is to make it bind together well. Multiple magical components interfere with one another. This is good craftsmanship, but you’ll definitely want to work up to a N.E.W.T. in runes if you want to pursue this professionally.”

“I don’t know about professionally. This is more of a hobby thing for me. But how strong would you say the wand is?”

“Oh, strong enough for fourth-year spells,” he replied. “You could probably get a few months out of it with light use.”

“Thank you. That’s good to hear.” She wasn’t restricting herself to light use _or_ fourth-year spells, but that meant her next-generation prototype would probably be good enough for her purposes.

“Happy to help, Miss Granger. Was there anything else?”

“Um…actually, there was. Fleur Delacour.”

“Yes?” old Ollivander said.

“She said that her wand has one of her grandmother’s hairs for its core. I didn’t know that was even possible. How does that work?”

“Ah, now that’s a tricky one. I was actually surprised it would work for her. Hairs from any sentient creature are temperamental to work with because they don’t like to work with anyone but their owner—at the very least being kept in the family—and they’re harder to bind to the wood. They can make very strong heirloom wands, but more often, they simply don’t work at all.”

“Hmm.” Now that was the kind of new world of possibilities that Hermione loved. She’d only heard snippets about heirloom wands, binding the core to the wood, or hairs from “sentient creatures.” And for that matter…“Wait, _any_ sentient creature?” she asked. “So would it be possible to use my own hair?”

Even her parents’ eyebrows shot up at that. It was an intriguing possibility for personalised wands, and they were all surprised they hadn’t heard of it before, if it was possible. But they got some hint about the root of the matter when all three Ollivander men started looking at her nervously.

It was Gerald, the middle one, who answered her: “That is even more difficult, Miss Granger. Human hair—from witches and wizards, that is—is, er, similar, but not as magical as veela hair—not powerful enough to make a professional quality wand. It also at least as difficult to bond to the wood, and…well, the way it works, it’s no good as an heirloom wand. It will only work for its owner.”

“Oh, alright, then,” Hermione said, masking her confusion. The Ollivanders were being oddly cagey about this subject, but she assumed it had to do with the fact that she was already skirting around the Ministry rules on magic use. Maybe she could ask Fleur about it the next time she saw her.

* * *

Unlike her holiday, Hermione’s first day back at Beauxbatons was surprising eventful.

 _“How dare she?!”_ These words were repeated a number of times around the Great Hall.

 _“How dare who what?”_ Hermione asked.

 _“The newspaper!”_ Hildegard said. _“It’s bad enough when your people upstage Fleur, but when they go after our headmistress, it’s an insult to us all.”_

 _“Our headmistress? What’s this about?”_ Hermione said. She looked at the front page of the imported _Daily Prophet_.

 

_DUMBLEDORE_ _’S GIANT MISTAKE_

_By Rita Skeeter_

The article was mostly about Dumbledore’s controversial staff appointments, Moody and Hagrid, and the mishaps and missteps that had occurred in their classes, like Moody turning Malfoy into a ferret and all the trouble Hagrid had caused with his Blast-Ended Skrewts, which it turned out were an illegal hybrid of fire crabs and manticores.

 _“EW! GROSS!”_ Hermione exclaimed. _“Manticores are sentient!”_

 _“Seriously?_ That’s _what you_ _’re worried about?”_

_“Hello? Manticores are mammals. Fire crabs are reptiles. How would you like it if someone started breeding humans with turtles?”_

Most of her classmates winced, but a muggle-born first year named Phillipe nearby piped up, _“Cool! It’d be like the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!”_ Hermione slapped her hand to her forehead.

 _“Just read the rest of it,”_ Adèle said.

 

_Hagrid is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, was none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown._

_“Those traitors!”_ Hermione yelled. _“I can’t believe they told! Hagrid trusted us with his secret!”_

 _“You knew?”_ her classmates said in surprise.

_“He let it slip at Christmas when we were getting him ready for the ball. Only Lav, Parv, and I knew. I never should’ve trusted those gossips.”_

_“Send them a Howler,”_ Hildegard suggested. _“I can’t believe they outed him like that. And slandering Madame Maxime, too.”_

Hermione hadn’t got to that part yet.

 

_If his antics with his students are any indication, Fridwulfa_ _’s son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. This also leads us to worry about the children in Beauxbatons and we urge the parents of magical France to investigate the background of their school’s Headmistress, Olympe Maxime. Given the woman’s enormous size and close association with Hagrid (Witnesses saw them spending most of the Yule Ball together.), she may also share in his violent ancestry._

 

 _“This is ridiculous,”_ Hermione complained. _“Why should anyone care who Madame Maxime’s parents were? She’s a good Headmistress. She has a proven record.”_

 _“Plus, Madame Maxime doesn’t have giant blood,”_ Hildegard snapped.

_“She doesn’t?”_

_“I don’t know,”_ said Michel from Arithmancy class. _“I’ve always wondered about her, and she’s never actually said she doesn’t, has she?”_

 _“Oh, don’t tell me_ you’re _buying into this,_ _”_ one of the older girls said.

_“Hey, I’m with Hermione. I don’t care as long as she’s a good headmistress.”_

_“You’re being very disrespectful—”_

_“Why do you say it like it’s such a bad thing?”_

The conservation degenerated after that and turned into a rift in the school that quickly grew as bad as the divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor at Hogwarts. A narrow majority of the school refused to believe that Madame Maxime was part-giant. A minority said she was, but they didn’t care, and a small fraction did care and wanted her sacked. Hermione found her caught in the middle more because she was British than anything else. It was really aggravating.

She didn’t send Lavender and Parvati a Howler. With all due respect to Mrs. Weasley, she liked to think she was classy enough never to do that (except maybe as a prank on the Twins). She did, however, right a harsh letter chewing them out about blabbing Hagrid’s secret. However, this only made her feel worse when their reply came back:

 

_Dear Hermione,_

_You have to believe us. We didn_ _’t tell anyone about Hagrid, not even Padma. He trusted us not to get him in trouble and we wanted to prove ourselves to him. We realised you were right after we thought about it. Hagrid’s lessons may be screwed up, but he’s always been nice to us, and he’s never intentionally hurt anyone in class. He doesn’t deserve to get in trouble like that. He’s taking it pretty hard, too. They had to bring in a substitute to cover his classes. (She’s pretty good. She even showed us a unicorn.) But no one’s seen him outside his hut this week, and Harry and Ron sound worried about him._

_Please believe us, Hermione. Ron_ _’s already not talking to Parv because he thinks we talked, but we didn’t. We don’t know how Rita Skeeter found out his secret, and we never said anything about Madame Maxime, either. (We hope that’s not giving you too much trouble.)_

_Your friends,_

_Lav and Parv_

That led to Hermione writing a heartfelt apology to Lavender and Parvati for suspecting them, a letter to Ron to tell him to quit being a jerk about it, and (for good measure) a letter to Hagrid asking how he was doing and promising that she hadn’t told anyone, either. Meanwhile, word got back that Madame Maxime was deeply offended by the article and swore that she had no giant’s blood in her, although she didn’t really explain how she had got to be eleven feet, six inches, so Hermione wasn’t sure she believed it. However, a letter from Harry, Ron, and Ginny revealed that Hagrid had confronted Madame Maxime about it after the Yule Ball, and she had denied it to his face.

As if things weren’t bad enough, things turned weird and downright frightening on Saturday morning when about a dozen owls mobbed Hermione at breakfast, not one of them carrying a letter from anyone she knew. She opened the first one in confusion, and her heart started racing. Receiving a letter filled with words cut out from the newspaper would do that to anyone. For a wild split second before she read it, she thought her parents had been kidnapped and held for ransom. But the actual words quickly turned her fear to confusion:

 

_Do us all a favour and stay in France, you wicked muggle girl. Harry Potter deserves better._

 

 _“What the…?”_ she said. She opened the second letter a little more cautiously. This one was handwritten, but read along much the same lines:

 

_How dare you treat Harry Potter like that? He can do much better than the likes of you. Good on him for getting even where it hurts. I hope he can find a proper pureblood witch who will treat him right, now._

_I_ _’m glad to see Harry Potter got away from your clutches. Anyone who would two-time the Boy-Who-Lived with a loser like that must be a complete slag. I have never seen such a disgusting mudblood chav._

_“What in Merlin’s name are they_ talking _about?_ _”_ Hermione gasped.

“Mudblood?” Michel asked from across the table. _“Does that mean—”_

_“Sang de bourbe, oui.”_

_“Those bastards! What is all this?”_

_“I honestly have no idea.”_

It was only in one letter near the bottom of the stack, after a couple that threatened to send her curses by mail (she would be turning those over to the Deputy Head), that one letter finally explained what the whole mess was about.

_I read in Witch Weekly how you_ _’re playing Harry Potter false. He’s better off without you. That boy has enough hardship in his life as it is, and I’m glad he got revenge._

In addition to the letter, an actual cutout of the _Witch Weekly_ article in question fell out of the envelope. Hermione groaned when she saw the byline.

 

_HARRY POTTER_ _’S SECRET HEARTACHE_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend, the brilliant muggle-born arithmancer, Hermione Granger. Even in the face of a long-distance relationship, Miss Granger having transfered to Beauxbatons this year, their relationship seemed strong, as she was able to swing multiple visits back to Hogwarts to see her beau. Little did Harry know that he was about to be betrayed in the worst way possible._

_Dear readers, it seems that even the Boy-Who-Lived was not enough to satisfy Hermione Granger_ _’s roving eyes._ Witch Weekly _can reveal exclusively that for some time, Miss Granger was nursing feelings for Harry_ _’s rival champion, Cedric Diggory. Could this be the real reason why she has been visiting Hogwarts?_

_Mr. Diggory eventually went to the Yule Ball with Hogwarts student Cho Chang (see page 42), but Miss Granger did not take this as a sign that she should return to Harry. Instead, she made a very public show of manipulating another boy in Diggory_ _’s year to ask her to the ball, one George Weasley, a close personal friend of Harry’s. Mr. Weasley is one of the infamously troublesome Weasley Twins and a near-dropout from Hogwarts who nearly failed his O.W.L.s last spring. Yet despite the academic difference between them, anonymous sources claim that Miss Granger has also had her eye on Mr. Weasley for some time._

_“What!”_ she shouted. _“That’s impossible! How could she possibly know that?”_

 _“You mean it’s_ true _?_ _”_ her friends said, aghast.

 _“What? No, not the part about two-timing Harry. We were never together. But the part where I’ve had my eye on George for a while…”_ Her cheeks turned intensely pink. _“The only person I told that to was George, and no one in his family would have spread it around.”_

 _“Maybe someone else suspected it and told,”_ Adèle suggested.

_“No, it couldn’t be. Everyone thought it was ridiculous for the two of us to go together except Luna Lovegood, and she doesn’t seem the type.”_

_“Maybe she’s just speculating,”_ Michel said.

 _“Maybe, but based on what? Most of her lies came from twisting things people say.”_ Hermione gave up and kept reading.

_But take note, dear readers. Harry Potter doesn_ _’t get mad. He gets even. For at the Yule Ball, Harry himself showed up with George Weasley’s younger sister, Virginia._

* * *

_1,200 Miles Away_

“Oh, for the love of—MY _NAME_ IS _GINEVRA_!”

* * *

 _“Did you hear something just now?”_ Hermione asked.

 _“No_ ,” her friends said.

_“Huh. I must have imagined it.”_

 

_We can only hope that Miss Weasley is more honourable than her brother and is a worthier candidate for young Harry_ _’s heart than his treacherous ex-girlfriend._

 

 _“This is completely absurd! The only reason she’s even saying we were together is because of what_ one _person told her who doesn_ _’t even know us that well. And the worst part is, it’s not even libel. She didn’t write anything_ she _believes is untrue. It_ _’s just tabloid journalism at its worst giving everybody the wrong idea.”_

 _“It’s alright, Hermione,”_ Michel said. _“We all know the truth, and I’m sure your friends at Hogwarts do, too.”_

_“Yes, but someone’s going to get hurt. If I got hate mail here, who knows what’s going to happen to George?”_

* * *

_1,200 Miles Away_

“Ow! Is this bubotuber pus? Yeowch!”

_BOOM!_

“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR STEALING HARRY POTTER’S GIRLFRIEND!”

“A booby-trap _and_ a Howler? We can’t take that lying down, George,” Fred yelled.

“Oh, no, we can’t. This Gladys Gudgeon is going to get it.”

* * *

 _“Mon Dieu, what’s going to happen to the people who_ wrote _the letters_?” Hermione said. _“This is too far. If I ever get my hands on that Rita Skeeter woman…”_

 _“Hermione, don’t worry about it. It’s not your responsibility,”_ Michel insisted.

She took a deep breath: _“I know, Michel. I just wish the wizarding world had some journalistic integrity.”_

_“Is the muggle world any better?”_

_“…Not really, for a lot of it.”_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Ron finally finished translating that map for the Second Task, and we worked out pretty well where it_ _’s telling Harry to go. The location points to the bottom of the Black Lake, right in the middle. We’re pretty sure there’s a merpeople village down there. The runes were a poem that we think explains what he’s supposed to do:_

_Come seek us in the water,_

_Where we all sing and laugh and play,_

_For not by foot or trotter_

_Will you get back your prize today._

_We_ _’ll take your greatest treasure,_

_The one that you_ _’ll most sorely miss,_

_And hide it at our pleasure,_

_Before you know what is amiss._

_An hour long we offer_

_For you to come and get it back_

_Before it joins our coffers,_

_Forever hidden in the black._

_Release will test your teamwork,_

_But in escape, no honour show._

_The traitors first leave the murk,_

_Unless all make each other slow._

_Will you all work with honour,_

_Or will you be the one who breaks?_

_Make your choice, but be warned, friend:_

_——You have not seen the stakes!_

_It sounds like all of the champions will have to get back one of their possessions from the merpeople in an hour, but there_ _’s some kind of trick where they have to work together, but only for part of it, or something like that. None of us really understand what to do about it, if that’s even what it means. Also, Harry still needs a way to breathe underwater for an hour. Knowing a few more hexes wouldn’t hurt, either. Do you have any ideas to help with any of that?_

_Your friends,_

_Harry, Ron, and Ginny_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I want to say that I am very proud of the work you_ _’ve been doing in your Arithmancy Class at Beauxbatons. From what both you and M. Oppenord have said, you’ve done an amazing job of catching up with the faster program, and I hope you aren’t overworking yourself with all of your hobbies._

_With that in mind, I checked with the Wizarding Examinations Authority, and since you_ _’ll be at Hogwarts for the Third Task, it would be possible for you to take the N.E.W.T. examination in Arithmancy while you are here. I believe the N.E.W.T. is slightly harder than the French N.M.A. exam, but I am confident you could pass with flying colours. You may wish to take the N.E.W.T. instead of or in addition to the N.M.A. for a couple of reasons. There are others who believe, as I do, that it is a stronger qualification. You expressed your concern with your ability to complete a quality mastery at Beauxbatons, and if you choose to pursue a degree by another route in an English-speaking country, it would be more widely recognised. And finally, the exam would be in English, and while your French is very good, you would still be better off taking it in your native tongue._

_I do caution that taking the N.E.W.T. would mean more work for you this term, similar to what you did last term to catch up, and I know you are still trying to help Mr. Potter with the Tournament, so if you feel you would not be able to keep up, I suggest you put it off until next year. I will of course be available to speak with you about it during your visits._

_Sincerely,_

_Septima_

* * *

_Dear Harry, Ron, and Ginny,_

_I asked around about breathing underwater. Not many people wanted to help Harry, but my friend, Michel, said that the best way is probably the Bubble-Head Charm, but he said it_ _’s an upper-year charm, and it might be hard to cast, and Harry should test it to make sure he can make it hold for_ _ at least _ _an hour. He said anything else he could think of, like self-transfiguration, would be even harder._

_As for me, I could probably work out a spell to extract oxygen from the water pretty quickly, but it wouldn_ _’t be able to run continuously, so it would be almost impossible to use in the field. I’m sorry I don’t have anything better, but I’ll keep thinking about it._

_The clue was confusing. I think you_ _’re right about it in broad terms, but they’re definitely being vague about it. It sounds a little like the Prisoner’s Dilemma to me, in which case the solution would be to work together all the way through. The fact that it talks about making a choice about it seems to support that. The last line worries me a little since they’ve already told you the stakes. My best guess is that they’re going to try to tempt you into not working together somehow._

_I wish I could be of more help. I might be able to figure out more when I get back to Hogwarts._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Did you know that the spell to encode secret messages with a pass phrase is surprisingly simple?_

 

“What’s a Prisoner’s Dilemma?” Ron said. “Is that some muggle thing?”

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well, what good is that?”

“Hey, she told us the answer, didn’t she?” Ginny said. “Working together. What’s the P.S. about, though?”

“I think I know,” Harry said.

Ron and Ginny knew about the Marauder’s Map from Sirius, but they didn’t know all the details, so Harry waited until he was alone to reveal the hidden part of the letter, just in case. He tapped his wand to the parchment and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” and more words were revealed on the page:

 

_Dear Harry,_

_You should be able to figure out the riddle pretty easily. I wanted to use a bit more private means to tell you about the hexes I invented. It_ _’s probably not a big deal, and it’s not so much about the Tournament in particular, but I figured you get in so much trouble that it might be good to have a few tricks up your sleeve. I’ll leave it to your judgement whether to share them with the other champions. I’ll send you more as I create them._

_And Harry, if you happened to use one of these on Rita Skeeter the next time you see her, I wouldn_ _’t complain._

_(See back side for details on casting. Write me back if you have trouble.)_

_Dazzling Jinx, Dasask Cohaerens. Shines a rapidly-moving green laser beam to temporarily blind the victim. It should work underwater at close range._

_Iambic Pentameter Curse, Iambos Quintapod_ _ ès Metronés _ _. Forces the victim to speak in iambic pentameter._

_Taser Hex, Didumosa Tacheia. Fires a jolt of electricity that causes the victim to briefly experience pain and spasms. DO NOT CAST UNDERWATER!!!_

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

 

Hermione was slipping, Harry thought. None of those seemed very useful at the moment, and even he could tell that she was mixing languages, which was considered bad form for spellcrafting. They were also longer than usual: five, ten, and seven syllables. He hoped the stress wasn’t getting to her.

* * *

_“Divlizo Kupros. Divlizo Kupros. Divlizo Kupros.”_

Copper was one of the more common elements in nature. A cubic metre of soil contained about a hundred grams of copper, which was about what Hermione needed. As she cast the spell, a cloud of ruddy dust rose from the ground, and with a swirl of her wand, she collected it into a pile in an evaporating dish.

 _“Hermione?”_ a voice called.

She looked up. _“Oh, hello, Michel,”_ she said.

_“What are you doing out here?”_

_“Just working on one of my side projects. I’m teaching myself how to forge bronze.”_

_“Um…why?”_

_“Well, mainly because I need to work up to the more refractory elements. You can do fascinating things with things like tungsten.”_

Michel stared at her for a minute and decided to pass on delving deeper. _“Could I talk to you for a minute?”_

_“Sure. I was just going back inside. Did you want to do some studying?”_

_“Er, not exactly.”_

Hermione set a brisk pace walking back to the castle and then down to the potions labs as they talked.

 _“Aren’t you studying ahead, anyway?”_ Michel asked awkwardly.

 _“Yes, but I could still use practice on the experimental aspects,”_ she answered. _“You’re really good at that part, you know.”_

 _“Thanks,”_ he said, sounding a little surprised. _“I can help you out with it, then…Um, why are we going to the potions lab?”_

_“Well I said I’m working on forging. This won’t take long. I just need to put it on the heat.”_

The Bunsen burner, along with other gas-air burners, was easily the greatest advance in potions brewing of the nineteenth century and maybe even the twentieth. It burned reliably about two hundred degrees Celsius hotter than a wood fire, and more evenly, cutting brewing times dramatically and improving quality. It was ironic that it was a muggle invention, something few wizards knew.

A Bunsen burner flame was also hot enough to melt copper, while a wood fire usually was not. Hermione set up the burner and measured out one hundred grams of copper powder into a crucible above it. To this, she added fourteen grams of tin powder and let it sit before turning her attention to Michel.

_“So what did you want to ask me?”_

_“Right, I was wondering—There’s a visit to Baton Vert coming up on the eleventh of February. Would you like to come with me?”_

Hermione stared at him in surprise. A seventh-year, and one she didn’t think she knew all that well, was asking her on a date. _“Um, alright, then,”_ she said, almost without thinking.

 _“Great.”_ He smiled at her. She smiled back, but she blushed and quickly turned her attention back to her work for lack of an alternative.

The metallic powder melted and began giving off green fumes. She was a about to cast a charm to disperse them, but the charms on the lab itself took care of that. Taking the crucible in fire tongs, she carefully poured the molten metal in a clay mold she had prepared—a quick and dirty setup, since magic and the purity of the source materials could make up for her lack of skill. The smallish amount of bronze cooled quickly, and she picked it up with the tongs again while it was still soft and laid it flat on the stone tabletop. She hit it with a hammer to flatten one edge into a cutting edge. She was probably making four thousand years’ worth of bronze smiths roll over in their graves, but it was just a proof-of-concept.

 _“Frigideiro,”_ she cast, cooling the blade down to room temperature. She was just about done, now. She wedged the butt of the blade into a piece of carved wood she had prepared and cast, _“Epoximise,”_ fixing it with the strongest Sticking Charm she knew. Michel just watched with bemusement, wondering how she had prepared all of this. Finally, the Sharpening Charm (got to love wizards simplifying tedious tasks): _“Exacuere.”_ A quick chopping test proved that she had produced a usable bronze knife about six inches long.

 _“Great,”_ she said _._ _“I now possess the technology of 2500 BC.”_

Michel had no idea how to respond to that and started to wonder what he had just got himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dasask Cohaerens: Based on the Old Norse for “to become weary” (the origin of “dazzle”), and the Latin for “coherent.”
> 
> Iambos Quintapodès Metronés: Stylised from the Greek for “iamb,” “five-foot,” and “measure.”
> 
> Didumosa Tacheia: Stylised from the Greek for “Thomas A. Swift,” the original (fictional) name behind the Taser. Credit to Sultanbruno for this idea.
> 
> Divlizo Kupros: Based on the Greek for “refine copper.”
> 
> Frigideiro: Based on the Latin for “cold.”
> 
> Exacuere: Latin for “be sharpened.”


	77. Chapter 77

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Is the original Second Task at all sensibly designed? No? Then I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.
> 
> Partial differential equations is the one class Hermione will take that I have not, so I apologise for any errors.  
> The choice of Beaune was not arbitrary. I actually have a map of ley lines, and Beaune is at the most geographically important location in Metropolitan France.

Baton Vert was not too dissimilar to Hogsmeade, except for being in a sunny Pyrenean valley instead of a snowy Scottish one. Okay, so it was still cold enough for a jumper in February, and it rained almost as much, but it was a beautiful setting, even in winter, and at least it didn’t get dark at four in the afternoon. Picnickers were common in the meadows around Baton Vert, where they weren’t in Hogsmeade, and it being a warm, dry day for the season, Michel decided to try for a picnic on his date with Hermione.

It was a pleasant meal. Michel had got a picnic basket from the kitchen elves, which was a mark in his favour, if Hermione was keeping score, if he could deal with the elves civilly. They sat on the grass and talked about nothing in particular as they ate. Hermione, hadn’t got to know many people at Beauxbatons as well as her Hogwarts friends, so she asked after his life in France.

 _“I think it’s pretty ordinary,”_ he replied. _“My mother works at a clothing shop in Paris, and my father is a magical repairman. I’ll probably work with him at least for a little while after I graduate.”_

That seemed a little odd, the way he said it. _“And what would you like to do in a few years?”_ she probed further.

 _“I haven’t thought about it that much. Probably something along the same lines. It helps people, and I like working with runes.”_ Michel would definitely be a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts, she thought, not that there was anything wrong with that. _“I’d like to do something fancier, though, like broomsticks or the Floo network…I guess my dream job would be maintaining the rune stone network.”_

_“Sorry, the what?”_

_“Don’t you know about that? There are rune stones placed at regular intervals along all of the major ley lines, maintained by the Ministry.”_

_“You mean like milestones?”_

_“Yes, like on the old Roman roads. Many of the milestones_ were _rune stones in the Roman Empire. They_ _’re linked to a circle of anchor stones at the largest ley line convergence in France at Beaune and another circle of control stones in the Ministry so they can maintain nationwide spells like the Floo Network and the Portkey Network.”_

 _And the Trace,_ Hermione mentally filled in. _Maybe even the Unplottability Charm._ She filed that for future reference. She’d have to look into geomancy if she could ever find the time.

 _“So what about you?”_ Michel asked. _“Professional arithmancer, I assume?”_

_“That’s the way it looks. I wouldn’t say no to Unspeakable, though. There’s less call for arithmancy than runes, so if it’s anything like muggle academia, most of the jobs will be at schools or the Department of Mysteries.”_

_“You could freelance,”_ he suggested. _“Someone as brilliant as you could make a living writing spellbooks and designing custom spells. You could work from home. Be your own boss.”_

 _“And be a housewitch? Ugh. Not my top choice. It_ is _the 1990s, after all. My parents are both working professionals._ _”_

_“That’s right…some kind of muggle healers, yes?”_

_“Dentists,”_ Hermione confirmed. _“They work on teeth.”_

_“And how does that work?”_

Hermione paused and thought for a moment: _“Let’s leave that for later. I don’t want you to lose your appetite.”_

Michel’s eyes widened, and a worried look flickered across his face. _Wow_ , Hermione thought, _dentists can even intimidate boys who don_ _’t know what they do._ It was a little amusing.

 _“So…you don’t see yourself following in their footsteps?”_ he said cautiously.

_“No, I could never see myself as a healer, even before I knew about magic. Maths has been my passion ever since I could multiply. You get made fun of for it some in muggle schools, but when I learnt there was a whole branch of magic to craft spells with it, I knew it had all been for a good cause.”_

_“If you go professional, it certainly will…You know, you’ve been doing an awful lot of work, Hermione,”_ Michel said. _“You’re working ahead of the curriculum, and you’re always working on some special project or other.”_

 _“No time to slow down,”_ Hermione said offhandedly. _“My curriculum got screwed up when I transfered here, and then there was the mess with Harry and the Tournament, and I have collaborative arithmancy projects…”_

_“And forging bronze?”_

_“Well, yes…”_ she admitted. She was trying to make steel, now, but she was having a hard time finding a hot enough flame, since her parents refused to buy her an acetylene torch. Was it _really_ that weird a request? Anyway, the obvious answer was to make a magnesium flare, but so far, her attempts had only succeeded at nearly burning her eyebrows off.

 _“I’ll be honest. I tend to get too enthusiastic about things,”_ she said.

Michel snorted with amusement.

_“Shocking, I know. But I’m serious. I latch onto something that interests me, and I just can’t put it down, like a good book. I lose sleep because I forget to go to bed because it’s so interesting. I burnt myself out twice in three years at Hogwarts, and I had to ask my roommates to remind me to sleep.”_

Michel’s eyes widened. Hermione’s boundless enthusiasm was amusing, but he hadn’t imagined the dark side of it. _“So all of these projects you’re working on…?”_

 _“I try to keep them under control and limit the time I spend on them,”_ she said cagily. She wasn’t ready to fully bare her feelings to him—the way she felt like she had been living her life right at the edge of overloading herself for most of the past four years and especially this year. The way she imposed one hour per week for most of her projects as a balance between controlling herself and making steady progress, and she still found herself spending too much time on them sometimes. She had resigned herself that she would probably be struggling with it her whole life.

_“That’s good, I suppose. Just how many of these projects do you have, anyway?”_

_“Six, outside of classes.”_ She of course kept constant track of them. _“There’s my advanced arithmancy studies with partial differential equations, my paper on Gamp’s Law, and the magical metalworking. Then, I’ve been reading up on map-making—”_ She didn’t go into it any more than that. _“—A small side study into wandlore—”_ That, she didn’t want to tip anyone off that she was doing magic outside of school. _“—And, of course, inventing spells for Harry to use in the Tournament. And that’s not to mention the extra practice I put into Charms and Defence to cast left-handed…”_

Michel looked dizzy trying to keep track of everything she was saying. Hermione sighed inwardly. In her experience, not many people could keep up with her. Heck, her entire problem was that _she_ could barely keep up with her.

 _“You ever take any time to relax?”_ he asked with concern.

 _“Besides this? Probably not as much as I should. It wouldn’t be so bad, except for the Tournament…”_ She trailed off and shook her head.

 _“Here, try not to worry about it for a little while,”_ he said, and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and they sat together on the grass for a while.

 _Ha, easier said than done,_ Hermione thought, but she still appreciated the comfort. Honestly, she wasn’t expecting this relationship to go anywhere any more than with George, although they would at least be in the same country after Michel graduated. But for now, at least, it was good to have someone close by who cared for her.

* * *

Far to the north, students were also out and about in Hogsmeade for the traditional visit of the Saturday before Valentine’s Day. Many of the couples from the Yule Ball had been preserved in some fashion or other by today. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley were there together, although they hesitated to call it a date, both because Harry still felt uncomfortable with the concept of dat- _ing_ and because Ron, who _hadn_ _’t_ got anywhere with Parvati, was never really out of earshot from them.

Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were also there together, although that also wasn’t so much a date as it was him escorting her as a friend. Luna had few friends and hadn’t had a very pleasant time on her previous visit, so Neville was making sure things went better for her, now.

On the other hand, Fred and Angelina _were_ officially dating, and they had roped George into a double date with Alicia Spinnet. George was much less into it than his twin, doubly so when they went to Madam Puddifoot’s.

“Look, we went there _once_ with Hermione as a prank,” George said. “I don’t see why—”

“You did?” Alicia interrupted.

“Yeah. Last year, Valentine’s Day. She was having a bad week, and we wanted to cheer her up.”

“You should have seen their faces when we asked for a table for three,” Fred added, and both twins laughed.

“Yeah, those were the days,” George said wistfully.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Angelina said shrewdly.

George didn’t react, but he got very nervous. This wasn’t the kind of conversation a guy wanted to have on a date. Fortunately, Fred came to his rescue. “Well, not many people can keep up with us,” he said. Fred was the only person to whom George repeated what Hermione said about being able to tell them apart. “She’s pulled pranks over on _us_ before.”

“Right, and she’s learnt things about the castle even we didn’t know,” George added.

“Hell, she even made Filch be _nice_. Hogwarts is missing something without the Arithmancer.”

To George’s relief, Alicia nodded. “I get what you mean,” she said. “She’s a lot of fun to be around.”

The rest of the date was significantly less uncomfortable after that.

* * *

Considering her options on balance, Hermione decided to return to Hogwarts on Wednesday, the twenty-second of February, two days before the Second Task, and was hoping she could stay till Sunday afternoon so she could relax with her friends afterwards.

“Good morning,” she said to the Gryffindor Table, coming in at the tail end of breakfast.

“Hermione! Great!” Harry jumped up and hugged her, rather to her surprise. “Thanks for coming again. How are you? Your letters have been…strange.”

“Busy,” she said, privately thinking Harry was the one acting strange. “But fine. Hello, everyone.”

“Hi, Hermione.” Ginny hugged her next, followed by Lavender, Parvati, and then Fred. George also approached her, but when he got close, they both wavered awkwardly and backed up a step, settling for shaking hands. No one else seemed to notice.

“So, Harry,” she got straight to business, “have you figured out anything more about the Second Task?”

He shook his head: “Not really. That poem still doesn’t really make sense. What about you?”

“Me? I only know what you sent me. I need to take another look at the map. How are you doing with the spells I sent you?”

“Alright, I guess…I still need some work on some of them.”

“Okay, then here’s the plan. If you don’t have any pressing class matters, we’ll go up to the Room of Requirement after breakfast so I can drill you on spells. Then, I’ll have a look at the map, and you see if you can swing a meeting with the other champions tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’m right, you’ll all do better in the Task if you make a joint strategy.” She saw in the corner of her eye all of the Weasleys staring at her with jaws dropped. “What?”

“You just _told_ Harry to skip class!” Ron exclaimed.

“Yes, well, I think surviving the Tournament is more important.”

“She’s clearly an impostor,” Fred said.

“Yeah, probably a Death Eater on Polyjuice,” George added.

“Quick, say something only Hermione would say,” Ginny insisted.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, “When second-order linear partial differential equations are written in four or more dimensions, those with more than one positive and more than one negative characteristic value of the coefficient matrix are classified as ultrahyperbolic.”

“False alarm,” George said. “It’s her.”

* * *

The Room of Requirement arranged itself into a simple training room with a long, flat carpet on the floor for duelling and a few dummies for target practice. Harry had been coming in here regularly to practice Hermione’s spells, but it honestly didn’t make him feel that much more prepared.

“Alright, Harry, let’s see what you’ve got,” Hermione said.

“Er, okay,” Harry said. He took his stance at the firing line, pointed his wand at one of the dummies, and cast, _“Dasask Cohaerens.”_ A grid-like pattern of green light appeared on the dummy’s face, flickering as his wand automatically traced the pattern very rapidly over and over again.

“That looks good,” Hermione said.

“Will that really help in a fight?” he questioned.

“Sure. Haven’t you tried it on yourself?”

“No! Why would I do that?”

“Well, I tried it on myself to make sure it worked—once I was sure it was safe. Just use a mirror.”

Harry considered this for a moment, and a mirror appeared on the far wall. Deciding he would try it, he pointed his wand at his reflection and said, “ _Dasask Cohaerens—_ AHH!” He nearly dropped his wand as his hands flew up to cover his eyes.

“Seems pretty effective to me.”

“Yeah—I think I got it,” he grunted, rubbing his eyes.

“So what about the others?”

“Well, I couldn’t quite get that burning laser thing.”

“Let’s see it, then.”

Harry took a deep breath and aimed his wand again: _“Lumos Ardens.”_ His wand let out a shower of crimson sparks.

“Hmm…Do that wand movement again slower.”

He did, and Hermione quickly adjusted his grip and tightened the figure with her hands. “It takes very precise aim,” she explained. “If you go too far outside the figure, it’ll lose coherence and produce sparks.”

Harry tried the spell again, and this time, a brilliant red beam appeared instantly, connecting his wand to the dummy’s chest. The white linen shirt the dummy was wearing lit up brilliantly, smoldered, and, after a few seconds, caught fire.

“Much better. It’s not as powerful as I wanted, but I’m hoping its strength will lie in its speed. Very few spells travel at the speed of light.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Just be careful underwater. If the water’s too murky, there might be problems.”

“Seriously?” he said in frustration.

“Hey, no spell is perfect. I didn’t even send you everything I created.”

“You didn’t.”

“No. With wave equations, I can scratch out a new electromagnetic spell pretty quickly. I invented a Microwave Charm, but it wasn’t nearly powerful enough to be useful. I forgot that it takes a thousand watts for a full minute just to boil a cup of water.”

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. That seemed to happen a lot around Hermione.

“Now, how about the Pocket-Sealing Jinx?”

“I, er, didn’t really bother with that one.”

Hermione sighed. “Eyelash-Curling Hex?”

“I tried it a little.”

“Did you at least learn the Mirror Shield?”

“Yeah, I did that one.”

“Then let’s see it.”

“Alright. _Reflectere_.” A shimmering mirror surface appeared in the air in front of Harry—immaterial and flickering, but hopefully, it would be enough. Hermione tested it with her Dazzling Jinx, being careful not to aim directly at her reflection.

“Larry Niven said never fire a laser at a mirror,” she muttered. Harry’s mirror faltered a little, but it kept her from dazzling him again. “If I were you, I’d practice that a little more if I had the time.”

“Why? Will it stop other spells?”

“Well…not many,” Hermione admitted. “Okay, don’t worry about it, then. Did you practice the Lead Eyelid Jinx?”

“Uh huh.”

“Try it on me.”

“Okay.” Harry pointed his wand at her, a little nervously. He wasn’t used to casting spells on his best friend, especially ones that weren’t professionally tested. But it was her spell, after all. “ _Palpebrae Plumbum_.”

Hermione struggled not to flinch and let the jinx hit her. She felt the uncomfortable sensation, too often experienced from sleepiness, of not being able to keep her eyes open. It was easy to fix; she could cancel it with a quick _Finite_ , but it would definitely distract an opponent in a fight. “Good,” she said. “At least you have _that_ one down.”

Harry frowned and looked at her with concern. “Are you doing alright, Hermione?” he asked.

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, it’s just that a lot of your spells aren’t very useful.”

“Excuse me? I admit the Taser Hex was ill-timed, but the others—”

“The Iambic Pentameter Jinx?” Harry interrupted sceptically.

“It’s the Iambic Pentameter _Curse,_ Harry,” she said.

“So? It’s still pretty useless.”

Hermione gave him a disapproving look and drew her wand: _“Iambos Quintapodès Metronés_.”

“And how is this supposed to help me fight?” The words felt strange on Harry’s tongue as the jinx forced him to use different words than he normally would.

“Tell me, Harry,” Hermione said sweetly, “even if you can’t cast it, what’s the incantation for the Stunning Spell?”

“It’s _Stupef-f-_ fah!”

“Mm hmm. And how about the Shield Charm?”

“It’s _Proteg-_ gah!”

“That’s right. Two of the most common combat spells, and they’re are both dactyls. They don’t fit into iambic pentameter. Others do, like _Expelliarmus_ , but it will restrict your opponents’ repertoires in ways that they won’t be able to figure out easily. Now, try to cancel the curse.”

Harry pointed his wand at his own throat and tried to say the counter-curse Hermione had given him: “ _Iambos d-d-_ dah!”

“ _Iambos Diaspos_ ,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Amphibrachic dimeter.”

Harry frowned and tried again: “ _Finite Incantatem_.” That one fit. “Did that work…? Come on, did that repair the—dammit, no!”

“Language, Harry. That’s why it’s a curse and not a jinx. I’m studying partial differential equations, remember? I can easily make spells that don’t respond to a simple _Finite_ , unless it’s very powerful.”

“Okay, but what about the other spells?” he said.

“Like the Pocket-Sealing Jinx? Do you know how many wizards carry their wands in their pockets? If you sew their pockets shut, they won’t be able to draw it in the first place. The Eyelash-Curling Hex? You know how painful it is getting _one_ eyelash in your eye…?” He cringed at that thought. “Leverage, Harry, remember?” she added. “ _Dos moi pa sto, kai tan gan kinaso_.”

“Okay, okay, I understand it, now,” he said. “Will you dispel the curse already, please?”

“Hmm…no, I don’t think I will. I think I’ll leave it on and see how long it takes for people to notice.”

“Hermio-n-n-NEE!”

“That’s what you get for criticising my spells, Harry.”

* * *

In the end, Hermione was merciful. She took the Iambic Pentameter Curse off of Harry immediately after lunch, since he still needed to practice spells properly. However, he did get funny looks whenever he spoke until then. In the meantime, she took a closer look at the map of the Second Task and refined her understanding of how it would work. That afternoon, she drilled him on those of her spells that _she_ thought were most useful.

“You’re doing much better, now,” she told him once he mastered a few. “The question is, can you use them in a fight?”

“I think so. I do pretty well in Defence.”

“Okay. Do you think you could take me in a duel?”

“What? Me?” he gasped. “There’s no way! You’re the super-genius.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Harry. You did better than I did on the Defence final last year.”

“I did?” Harry couldn’t believe that.

“Yes. Barely, but you also have faster reflexes. You think faster on your feet. If you’ve been practising like you should have, I think you could beat me.”

“You do?”

“If you keep your wits about you and have some confidence.” Hermione took her stance on the duelling carpet. “Come on, I’m challenging you.”

Harry was shocked. His mind simply couldn’t process the thought of Hermione Granger challenging _anyone_ to a duel, no matter how skilled she was.

“Come on, we don’t have all day,” she repeated.

With wide eyes, Harry walked to the carpet and faced her.

“Ready? Duel on three,” she said. “One. Two. Three!”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Harry cast.

Hermione dodged and cast back, “ _Impedimenta! Mordeodigiti! Skontapto_!”

Harry dodged the first jinx and blocked the third with a simple _Contego_ charm, but the second one connected while he was trying to hit Hermione with a _Relashio_ , making him jump up and down as his shoes bit into his feet.

“Ow! _Finite_!” he dispelled the jinx and brought his wand to bear again.

“ _Myxinos_.” That one was aimed at Harry’s feet, so he made less of an effort to stop it. That proved to be a mistake when he discovered his shoes and the floor around him to be covered with a gunky, slippery slime that made him slip and fall on his arse. “ _Expelliarmus. Accio wand_ ,” Hermione cast, and before he could react, his wand was in her hand.

She sighed as she approached him, cleaning his shoes and the floor with a quick “ _Scourgify_.” She offered him her hand to help him up. “Come on, Harry, I _know_ you can do better than that,” she said.

“I told you you’d beat me,” he groaned.

“Only because you were holding back.”

“I didn’t wanna hurt you.”

“Trust me, Harry. I can take care of myself. Now, let’s try it again.”

“Really?”

“Dark wizards aren’t going to go easy on you, and neither will I. Now, let’s do it.”

The next duel ended with Hermione sporting antennae and crawling on all fours and Harry victorious, despite having to deal with the yellow goo shooting out of his nose. The third duel ended with Harry spasming on the floor under Hermione’s Taser Hex as she said, “You can’t just lead with _Expelliarmus_ every time, Harry. It’s predictable.”

That made him even more annoyed, and, after leading with a surprisingly painful Pepper-Breath Hex, Harry got Hermione’s wand away from her in the fourth duel with an _Expelliarmus_ on his second spell while she was trying to make her burnt tongue obey. “What was that about _Expelliarmus_?” he said smugly.

Hermione wasn’t about to take that lying down. She felt a bulge in her pocket and remembered she was carrying one of her homemade wands with her. She drew it left-handed and, before Harry could react, she cast, “ _Coleoptera Mucosa_!”

The left-handed hex she had accidentally invented last year connected, and Harry began coughing up beetles. She disarmed him at once and asked, “You were— _cough_ —saying?”

Harry kept coughing, and she started to come down. “Sorry,” she said. “Let me— _cough_ —fix that— _cough_ —” For a moment, she thought they might have to go to Madam Pomfrey with neither of them able to speak properly, but she managed to cancel the spell on Harry, allowing him to cancel the one on her.

“I guess we’re more evenly matched than I thought,” Harry admitted.

“Yes. Sorry if I got carried away,” Hermione said. “Are you alright? I wouldn’t want to put you in the infirmary the day before the Task.”

“I’m fine. Are you okay? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No harm done. But I think we _both_ need to work on dodging and shielding if we’re going to try that again. Let’s go. You still need to see about that meeting.”

* * *

Ron did not approve of Harry meeting with the other champions, and he made it known: “Why do you want to work with them, again? They’re the enemy.”

“They’re not the enemy, Ron,” Hermione insisted. “They may be rivals in the Tournament, but we _are_ supposed to be fostering international cooperation. And technically, _I_ _’m_ the enemy, if you think about it. I’m a Beauxbatons student.”

“Yeah, but you’re our friend.”

“So? I’m Fleur’s and Cedric’s friend, too. I don’t have an interest in who wins. I’m just trying to help Harry survive because he’s at such a disadvantage.”

“Harry could still win it,” Ron protested.

“I doubt it—sorry Harry, but the First Task was just a fluke. I had no idea my spell was that powerful. And most importantly, according to my calculations, Harry will be better off if we convince the champions to work together.”

Ron was more interested in the meeting when he heard that. It would have seemed strange if anyone else saw—Hermione, Ron, and Ginny meeting with all four champions in the Triwizard Tournament in an empty classroom.

Viktor Krum was the odd man out in the meeting. He didn’t really know anyone else in the room outside of the Tournament itself. “So, vhy are ve here?” he asked.

“Because I believe I have useful information about the Second Task that all four of you need to know, Mr. Krum,” Hermione replied cordially.

“You know, we’re really supposed to work all of this out on our own, Hermione,” Cedric said.

“There’s no rule against collaborating with students,” she said. “Not like there is with teachers, not that that’s being followed, either.” Fleur and Krum both had the courtesy to look a touch uncomfortable.

“I do not understand vhy I am here,” Krum said. “I do not know any of you. Vhy should I trust you?”

“Because, Mr. Krum, the nature of this information is such that all four of you need to know it for it to be of any use.”

All the magical-raised people in the room perked up and listened closer at that, even Ron and Ginny. In the magical world, some knowledge had power in and of itself, and if who knew influenced its effect, it could be very important, indeed.

“Are you saying zere ees meestical knowledge in zee Second Task, ‘Ermione?” Fleur said.

“No, not mystical, Fleur,” Hermione said. Although there were some eerie parallels, she thought. “This is advanced arithmancy, but I believe it applies to the way the Task is set up. Did you all figure out the clue?”

All of the champions indicated in the affirmative, although Krum had needed to ask a muggle-born fan for help with the Rubik’s Cube part.

“I read the poem on the map,” she explained. “I was struck by the fourth stanza:

_“Release will test your teamwork,_

_“But in escape, no honour show._

_“The traitors first leave the murk,_

_“Unless all make each other slow.”_

“I thought that was odd, too,” Cedric said. “It sounds like it’s giving us the choice to cooperate, but why would it if it’s a competition?”

“I took a close look at the map,” Hermione said. “They left a lot mysterious, but it looks like you have to go to the merpeople’s village and get back what was taken from you. It sounds like there will be some kind of trap, and it will be easier to get out if you work together, but if one of you abandons the group, lets the others do the work, and goes off on your own, then you’ll be able to get out faster. Are you with me so far?”

“ _Oui_. Zat ees what eet sounds like,” said Fleur.

“Yes, _but_ , and this is the crucial part, if all four of you take the easy way out and abandon the group, it’ll slow all of you down. I can’t be certain without more detailed information, but it sounds like it’s probably a four-way Prisoner’s Dilemma.”

“What’s a Prisoner’s Dilemma?” Cedric asked.

“It’s basically _the_ classic problem in game theory—the theory of the best possible ways to play games.”

“That’s math?”

“Of course it’s math. John Nash just won the Nobel Prize in Economics for it.”

“Who?”

“Ugh. Wizards. The Prisoner’s Dilemma is a story about two robbers who are captured by…muggle Aurors.” She drew a diagram on parchment to help illustrate it. “Remember, muggles don’t have Veritaserum, so they have to get one of the robbers to rat out the other to convict them.” It was an odd situation for wizards, but they seemed to comprehend it. “The way it works is that, if the two robbers cooperate and don’t betray each other, the Aurors can’t prove all of the charges, and they both get one year in prison. If one of them betrays the other, he goes free while his friend gets ten years. If they both betray each other, they both get five years. Now, what’s the best outcome for the two prisoners?”

“If they cooperate,” Cedric said obviously.

“Yes, it is, but look at it another way. Suppose you’re one of the robbers. If your friend betrays you, you’re in big trouble, but if you betray him back, you cut your sentence in half. If he didn’t betray you, then you go free. In every situation, you have something to gain by betraying him.”

“But I would never…” Cedric trailed off. He would never be arrested for robbery in the first place.

“I know _you_ wouldn’t,” Hermione assured him. “You’re a Hufflepuff. But do you trust the other champions to do the same?” She looked around and saw all four champions suddenly eyeing each other suspiciously. “That goes for all four of you. That’s what the poem said. They’re going to take away something valuable to you, and you have to get it back. The best outcome is if you work together. But individually, if you defect, it’s better for you and worse for the others. If it’s a true Prisoner’s Dilemma, it’s better to defect in every situation. But if all four of you defect, it’s worse for all of you.”

At that, Krum’s eyes lit up. He understood strategy better than anyone in the room, except _maybe_ Ron, who also had an understanding look dawning on his face. “Ah, I see it, now,” Krum said. “The best thing to do is for all of us to agree to vork together before the Task.”

“ _Oui,_ zat makes sense,” Fleur agreed. “Eef eet was just zee competition, we would not, but eef zey take our zings, zat becomes more important.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “In its pure form, the only solution to the Prisoner’s Dilemma is for everyone to defect, but if you can communicate and plan _around_ it, then you can find the best solution for everyone, which is to agree to cooperate in advance and stick to it.”

“A very Hufflepuff solution, Hermione,” Cedric complimented her.

“Yeah, it makes sense,” Harry said. “I know I’m gonna need help, anyway.”

“I know. That’s the other reason I called this meeting.”

“It is?”

“Yes.” Hermione looked at the other champions. “Harry can’t cast the Bubble-Head Charm well enough to last through the whole task. We’ve looked all over for a better spell, but we couldn’t find one, and I couldn’t invent one, either. But if you’re going to work together anyway, one of you can cast it on him at the start of the Task.” She didn’t mention what was worrying her—that if the Task had been designed for three champions instead of four, the other three could safely leave Harry behind. No need to give them _that_ idea.

“Of course,” Cedric said. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I’ll do it, Harry. I don’t know if it’ll work on someone else as well as myself, but if we stick together, it shouldn’t be much trouble. Everyone figured out how to read the map?” The other champions nodded. “Good. It’s agreed, then. We’ll all go to the merpeople’s village together. I don’t think we can do much more about strategy. I don’t know what all is in the Lake, but I know there are grindylows, the Giant Squid, and I think there’s a lot of strangler seaweed.”

“Zen we will research zee lake creatures today so we know what ees zere,” Fleur said.

“Agreed,” Krum said. “And be sure to be on time tomorrow.”

With their plans made, the champions went their separate ways, but Hermione pulled Fleur aside for a quick chat.

 _“‘Ermione, you are certain about this plan?”_ the older girl asked.

_“Not one hundred percent, but pretty sure. They left out a couple of arithmantic details, but I’d be very surprised if this plan wasn’t at least close to the best.”_

_“Then I will trust your judgement. Your explanation made sense, at least.”_

_“Thank you Fleur,”_ Hermione replied. _“There was something I wanted to ask you as well.”_

_“Yes?”_

Hermione had thought about how best to pose the question both to make it relevant to Fleur and to avoid tipping her hand too far. Not that she didn’t trust Fleur, but the Ministry got antsy about this sort of thing. _“I heard from Harry that your wand’s core is a hair from your grandmother—the full veela one, n’est-ce pas?”_

_“Oui.”_

_“Well, I was curious. How would that wand compare with one made with your own hair?”_

_“My own hair?”_ Fleur said in surprise. _“But I am only a quarter veela. My hair might as well be pure witch’s hair. It is not powerful enough, and without the veela magic it could only be bound with blood.”_

_“Blood? You mean like the family connection?”_

_“No, I mean—you do not know, ‘Ermione?”_

_“No, I don’t think so.”_

_“Hmm. No, I suppose you might not from the kind of books you read. Using blood is…not dark, but most consider it distasteful, and a wand with blood will only ever work for its owner, so that is another mark against it. Even if it were powerful enough, heirloom wands are important in veela culture. With veela magic, Grand-mère’s wand can only be passed to her female descendants, so I have it. Others can use it as that wandmaker did, but only with difficulty. It will never truly submit to one outside the family.”_

_“Ah, I think that makes sense. Thank you Fleur.”_ True, Fleur hadn’t told Hermione precisely what she meant by blood, but she could guess. She would get a second opinion, though—with a new line of research to make sure she wasn’t falling afoul of any blood-based curses or magical pitfalls. But that could wait for another day.

* * *

Things looked to be in decent shape for the Task tomorrow after the meeting. Hermione patted herself on the back that she had arranged things so well. But she was surprised when Professor McGonagall approached her at dinner and asked her to come up to the Headmaster’s office afterwards.

“Is there a problem, ma’am?” Hermione asked.

“Not at all, Miss Granger. It is simply a private matter for the Tournament,” McGonagall replied.

That immediately got her worried: “There haven’t been any rules broken have there?”

“No, why—is there something I should know about?”

“No, ma’am. Not at all.”

“Good. See that it stays that way. We’ll explain things when you arrive.”

Hermione climbed up the stairs to Professor Dumbledore’s office after supper, wondering what she would find there. As it happened, all five Tournament judges were there, with Percy filling in for Mr. Crouch again, along with Professor McGonagall. Oddly, Hermione noticed that McGonagall and Madam Maxime were shooting annoyed glances at the four men. Only Dumbledore looked apologetic.

But what really surprised her were the three other people in the office. There was Cho Chang, Cedric’s girlfriend, Padma Patil, and a tiny, silver-haired girl whom Hermione knew from photos must be Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle. That, more than anything else, began to make her uncomfortable.

“Ah, now they’re all here,” said Ludo Bagman cheerfully. Hermione looked him in the eye, and he became noticeably less cheerful.

“Thank you all for coming,” Dumbledore said, and he repeated it in French for Gabrielle’s benefit.

“What is this about, Professor,” Cho asked.

“This is about the Second Task, Miss Chang,” the old wizard answered solemnly, and alarm bells started to go off in Hermione’s head. “I believe all of you are acquainted with at least one of the champions.” They nodded. “You may or may not be aware, but the champions were given a clue to solve that describes the second task. A map that informs them where to find the great treasure that will be taken from them.”

Hermione’s pulse quickened, and she felt the blood drain from her face. _We_ _’ll take your greatest treasure, the one that you’ll most sorely miss,_ she remembered. Her brain played back the relevant parts of the poem at lightning speed, and she blurted, “But the clue said—Crap! Dobby!”

_Pop!_

“Quick, take us somewhere they can’t follow us!” On an impulse, she grabbed Gabrielle’s hand and then reached out for Dobby’s.

Only McGongall was quick enough to realise what was happening and stop her. “You are in no danger!” she cried.

Hermione’s hand stopped two inches from Dobby’s, and she looked up at McGonagall. “Explain,” she said.

“I assume that you are concerned about your safety as a hostage in the Second Task,” McGonagall replied.

She blinked a couple of times, trying to process the words and think of a comeback. Gabrielle started babbling in French in confusion, but she held up a finger to shush her. “I’m _concerned_ that you just used the word ‘hostage’ without flinching, Professor,” she answered. “I feel _deeply threatened_ by the clue that includes the line ‘ _forever hidden in the black_.’ If you think I shouldn’t be, you’d better have a really good explanation.”

“The clue was false,” McGonagall said.

“I told you zat part was too much, Meester Bagman,” Madame Maxime muttered.

That made Hermione _more_ worried rather than less. If Harry was going in there with incorrect information… “False?” she said.

“Or rather, that part of it was,” McGonagall clarified. “There is no consequence if the champions fail to retrieve their hostages within the hour. The merpeople will bring them back to the surface unharmed. The rest of the clue is accurate.”

That was _one_ crisis averted. It was Bagman who spoke next, still wearing that stupid grin on his face: “You see, we wanted to play up the drama—give the champions a clock to race against—”

“How’s that money coming, Mr. Bagman,” Hermione cut in, and he shut up at once.

“Miss Granger,” Percy huffed. “This is neither the time nor the place to air whatever personal issues you have. Mr. Bagman was simply explaining that we wanted to give the champions an incentive to try their hardest and carefully consider their strategy, so we took the person whom each champion would most sorely miss for them to retrieve from the lake.”

“And you thought that was me for Harry?”

“Of course. We were a little unsure because of the failure of your romantic relationship,” Percy said. Hermione slapped her forehead. “But since you still seem friendly with him, and he praised your help so highly after the First Task—”

“This is a dirty, rotten trick, you know that, Percy?”

“Excuse me?”

“You give them a clue that, if they read it carefully, tells them they should work together, and then you take live hostages and outright _lie_ and say we’re going to die if they don’t save us, massively ratcheting up the temptation to betray each other in an environment that will ultimately punish them for doing so. That’s got to be _some_ kind of illegal.” Cho and Padma were starting to nod in agreement with her. Gabrielle, with her limited English skills, just looked confused.

“Nonsense. The Ministry has acquired all the necessary approvals,” Percy said.

Hermione didn’t believe it. She looked at Dumbledore. “Professor…?”

“I am afraid Mr. Weasley is correct, Miss Granger,” the old man said. “I do not particularly approve of this task either, but we must abide by it by contract. The Goblet of Fire binds the schools and the judges as well as the champions. We were obligated to find the most appropriate hostages available.”

 _Goblet of Fire!_ Her heart started racing again. This was very, very bad, regardless of the safety aspect, although she wanted to know more about that, too. “And…and how will our safety be guaranteed sitting at the bottom of—need I remind you—a freezing cold lake for over an hour?”

Professor McGonagall spoke up again: “The four of you will be place in an enchanted sleep—a sort of suspended animation in which neither the lack of air nor the cold will harm you. You will be under guard by the merpeople at all times, including some following as your champion returns you to the surface.”

One more problem solved, such as it was, but not the main one. There had to be something she could do. Her parents would— _Of course!_

“No,” she said.

Everyone’s heads turned towards her, including the other “hostages.” “No?” McGonagall said in confusion.

“I’m not doing it.”

Several of the judges gasped.

“You can’t get out of this,” Karkaroff barked.

“Oh, yes, I can.”

“The contract says—” Percy started.

“That you are obligated to find the most appropriate hostage available, but I am _not_ available,” she said slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the Goblet of Fire can’t possibly bind people whose names were never entered into it. Even under medieval law, it doesn’t have that authority. I checked. And I _know_ you didn’t enter my name for me because all of you were properly horrified when someone did that for Harry. That means you have to get consent by modern standards to force me to be a ‘hostage.’ That means you would have to get permission from my parents, and there is no way in hell they would give it—Excuse me, Professors.”

“But it’s perfectly safe,” Bagman tried.

“It is _not_ perfectly safe,” she retorted. “I don’t like the odds on a fourteen-year-old dragging a comatose person up through a dangerous lake, even with an escort. My parents will like it even less. You’ll have to find another hostage. And while you’re at it, these other three girls are underage. Do you have permission from _their_ parents?”

“Zee Delacours ‘ave agreed to zis,” Madame Maxime said, to Hermione’s surprise. Their family really must be wholeheartedly behind the Tournament. Meanwhile, Dumbledore and McGonagall looked pointedly at Percy and Bagman, who both started to sweat. Good. And at least it wasn’t just her because she was muggle-born.

“I zink you are free to go, Miss Granger,” Madame Maxime dismissed her. “We will contact you again eef we obtain your parents’ permission.”

Hermione considered requesting them not to contact her parents at all. They wouldn’t like even being asked. But on the other hand, they would certainly appreciate that the Ministry asked instead of just going ahead with it, so she let it go.

“‘Owever,” Madame Maxime continued, “zere ees one other zing. Because you have learnt of zee details of zee Task, as your ‘Eadmistress, I am both authorised and obligated to order you and your elf not to ‘ave any contact with zee champions until zee Task begins.”

There was always something. This wasn’t good. Hermione wouldn’t be able to see Harry off in the morning, nor warn him that the clue was a fake. And Madame Maxime could easily confine her to the carriage to do it. She absently clutched her charmed necklace with worry when she got an idea. She answered, “I agree, but with the proviso that you inform Harry why I’m not at breakfast.”

“Very well. Please return to zee carriage.”

Hermione left without protest, only taking a moment to whisper to Gabrielle, _“Ne t’inquiéte pas. Je suis sûr que Fleur te garder en sécurité.”_ Then, she asked Dobby to follow her and left.

“Phew, that was close,” she said. “If they actually took me hostage, Mum and Dad would transfer me to Australia and make me cut off all contact with Harry. Dobby, where were you going to take me?”

“The Faroe Islands, Miss Hermione. It was one of my old masters’ emergency getaways—the closest to Hogwarts.”

She frowned at that: “Wouldn’t we be arrested for illegal entry?”

“Yes, miss, if they was catching us, but we coulds say it was a mistake, and they would not be deporting us until after the Task.”

Hermione smiled: “Clever as always, Dobby. I think you’d make a better Slytherin than Draco.”

Dobby giggled. She knew he’d lived through the days before Voldemort when Slytherin actually meant something. Plus, it was a nasty dig at Draco. “Harry Potter shoulds be warned about the real Task, miss,” the elf pointed out. “What can we be doing?”

“Don’t worry, Dobby. I have a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lumos Ardens: Latin for “burning light.”
> 
> Reflectere: Latin for “be reflected.” Credit to rdbrown1 and MandibleBones for this idea.
> 
> Palpebrae Plumbum: Latin for “lead eyelid.” Credit to shahnawaz786 for this idea.
> 
> Iambos Diaspos: Based on the Greek for “disrupt iambs.”
> 
> Contego: Latin for “I protect.”
> 
> Myxinos: Greek for “slime-fish” or “hagfish.” Credit to Benjamin Goldberg for this idea.


	78. Chapter 78

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I’m afraid I can award JK Rowling only 3 points for the design of the Second Task, and yet she is the most successful author alive, and I am not. How about that?
> 
> I have deliberately ignored the problem of decompression sickness because it was not mentioned in canon. Either the dive didn’t require decompression (plausible, depending on the depth of the lake), or the Bubble-Head Charm or Madam Pomfrey’s potions took care of it.
> 
> Credit to guest reviewer DS for being the only reviewer to think of using the fake galleon to send a message.

Harry didn’t notice anything unusual until he put his robes on that morning, and his hand brushed something hot in the pocket. He pulled out the fake galleon Hermione had given him before the First Task. It was supposed to be for him to send emergency messages to her, but now, it was burning like she was sending a message to him. He looked at the rim and carefully read off the letters:

 

_AFTER 1 HOUR=STILL SAFE—HJG_

 

Harry didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t get a chance to ask her, either. Hermione was eating breakfast that morning with Luna Lovegood, looking tired. She waved to him, but didn’t speak to him.

To his surprise, it was Madame Maxime who explained what was happening: “I am afraid zat we ‘ad to…er, consult wis Miss Granger about some of zee details of zee Task. To make it fair, we asked ‘er not to speak to zee champions until then.”

That seemed weird to Harry, but it explained why Hermione had sent the message with her galleon instead of actually telling him. It still didn’t explain what it meant, though, and that worried him, since it was obviously important enough for her to break the rules to contact him. It also didn’t explain where Ginny was this morning. He hadn’t seen her at all, and neither had her brothers. And it also didn’t explain why Professor Moody approached him after breakfast.

The Defence Professor was in a bind. He knew Potter wouldn’t be able to cast a spell strong enough to breathe underwater for the Second Task, no matter what his mudblood friend came up with. He’d planned for that from the start, but apparently, that stupid Longbottom hadn’t made the connection between the book he gave him and Potter’s predicament. He’d even tried staging a conversation about Gillyweed someplace the Weasley Twins would hear it, but as far as he could tell, they hadn’t raided Snape’s stores for it. It was risky, but he’d have to do it himself.

“Psst! Potter!”

The boy hurried over to him: “Professor Moody? What is it?”

“Do ya know what you’re gonna do in the Task, boy?”

“Sure. Hermione worked it all out, Professor.”

He could have gagged. That boy’s faith in his friend was going to get him killed before his time. “Are you sure about that?” he said. “You’re gonna have to go in the Lake, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said.

Moody stared at him. “Well, just in case you need a little extra help, take this.” And he thrust a ball of what looked like green, slimy rat-tails into his hand.

Harry made a face. “What’s this?” he said.

“Gillyweed.”

“Er, what do I do with it?”

“You eat it—if you find yourself…in over your head, so to speak. You use it to breathe underwater. That amount’s good for two hours.”

“Thanks.” Harry didn’t think he would need it, but he pocketed it and went on to the Black Lake.

* * *

Hermione went down to the Lake with the rest of the school and sat beside Septima and little Georgina Vector, with Luna in front of her and several Gryffindors scattered around her.

“You know, I didn’t think the Second Task could be worse than the First Task,” she said, “but I think it just might be.”

“Why? They’re only going into the Lake,” said Lavender Brown from behind her.

“Yeah. Without proper safety equipment and in the middle of February,” she complained.

“So? They’re wizards and a witch. They can take care of themselves.”

“And I thought you worked out a plan,” added Fred Weasley.

“I did. That doesn’t make this whole mess a good idea, though.”

“Come on, Hermione. Quit being such a killjoy,” said Seamus Finnigan. “This isn’t nearly as dangerous as the dragons.”

“No, but it might be more mentally scarring,” she countered. “Did you know they’re using hostages for this?”

“Hostages?” Septima gasped. At least one person saw how screwed up this was.

“Mm hmm. I mean, they’re not _supposed_ to be in any danger. The merpeople are supposed to protect them the whole time, but—”

“Do the champions know about this?” Septima asked.

“If they did, it would be against the rules,” Hermione said cagily. In fact, she had been up half the night figuring out how to reverse the Protean Charm on her fake galleon to send a message to Harry instead of receiving.

“Well, if they’re not in danger, what’s the trouble,” asked Fred.

“Did I mention Ginny was one of the hostages?”

“ _What_!”

Actually, Hermione wasn’t certain about that, but considering she hadn’t seen Ginny all morning, it was a pretty good guess. She wondered what Percy had told Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to get them to go along with it. It really wasn’t fair to Ginny and the others, either, since in addition to getting press-ganged into this, they would sleep through the entire task.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine if the judges are okay with it,” one of the older Gryffindors said. “Nothing really bad happened with the last task, did it? Just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Hermione was about to object, but she was interrupted by Bagman announcing the start of the Task: “The champions have exactly one hour to retrieve what has been taken from them, beginning on my whistle…” He blew the whistle and the champions waded into the water together. When they were about chest deep, four spells were cast, and they submerged themselves, Harry lagging only a little. There were a few ripples on the surface, and then all was calm again.

Silence gripped the lake shore as everyone watched.

“Um…what’re we supposed to be watching?” Fred said.

* * *

Cedric cast the Bubble-Head Charm on himself and then on Harry. Fleur cast the same spell on herself, but Krum…Harry wasn’t sure _what_ he did. It looked like he transfigured his head into a shark’s head. Harry had never heard of magic like that before.

The water was unbearably cold. It felt more like he was on fire than freezing. Like the other champions, he had worn a swimsuit under his robes, courtesy of Dean Thomas—few people bothered to pack them at Hogwarts, and purebloods had little notion of athletic wear—and stripped down before going into the water. It was irrational to wish for his robes back since they would only weigh him down and wouldn’t keep the cold out, but rationality fled from him as soon as he was fully submerged.

There was a perfectly round bubble encircling his head, about as tight as it could be whilst still allowing for his hair. The air inside stayed fresh, and it was small enough that it didn’t drag him up very much, but _bloody hell, it was freaking cold!_

He started cramping up as soon as his chest hit the water. He couldn’t breathe! The others were swimming on. “Help! Cold!” he choked out, but they didn’t hear him. He was vaguely aware that he couldn’t hear anything but his teeth chattering. The sound didn’t carry through the water.

He was just about at the point of trying to crawl back to shore when Cedric turned around and saw him. He mouthed something, then tapped Fleur and Krum on the shoulders, and they also turned around. Fleur was the first to figure out what was going on. She pointed her wand at Harry and mouthed a spell. Immediately, he felt the burning pain subside. He was still cold—very cold, like being improperly dressed on a snowy day—but he no longer felt like he was about to keel over. The cramps were slower to leave, though, and he needed a moment to catch his breath.

Harry saw Fleur mouth something at him, but he couldn’t make it out. He shook his head and cupped his hand to his ear. It was odd how it went partially inside the bubble. Without warning, Fleur took him by the shoulders and leaned towards him until their bubbles intersected, and she touched her forehead to his.

“You need to use zee Warming Charm,” she said. It took all his willpower to focus on what she was saying and not on gazing into her eyes. “Eet ees _Calora_.”

“Th-th-thanks,” Harry said. The stuttering wasn’t from his teeth chattering.

Fleur swam away, motioning for him to follow. He tried casting the charm on himself and was pleased to find he felt a little warmer. He had a feeling he’d need that spell a lot over the next hour.

* * *

“Ten to one says this is Bagman’s fault,” Hermione grumbled.

“What are we all doing out here if we can’t see anything?” asked Georgina.

“Because certain people didn’t think this entire tournament through.”

“This is silly. It’s cold out here.”

“It’s not really involving the schools, either, is it?” George chimed in. “Only the champions know what’s going on.”

“I know,” Ron agreed. “Fat lot of good these are doing.” He held up his Omnioculars.

Hermione perked up at once. “Wait, Ron, that’s it. May I see those?”

“Uh, I guess.”

Ron handed her the Omnioculars, and she looked them over. They looked watertight enough. But the refraction of the water would make them useless. She considered running down to the lake shore and dipping them in the water to adjust the focus, but she’d rather not make a scene, and she wasn’t sure they’d focus that far, anyway. How did they make underwater cameras? Another thought came to her. She checked her pockets. The only thing available was the jam jar she carried with her, but it would do. She placed the jar over one lens and the lid over the other, transfigured both so they were transparent, water-tight, and undistorted, charmed them unbreakable, and fastened them with a Sticking Charm. Looking through them, the view still looked pretty good. She set the Omnioculars to record, then left her seat to seek out the resident Charms Master.

“Excuse me, Professor Flitwick?”

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Could you enchant these to follow the champions at a distance, please?”

Professor Flitwick looked at what she had put together and smiled. “Of course; I’d be happy to,” he said. “This is very clever. I’d give points if I could.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she replied as Flitwick enchanted the device and levitated it into the Lake.

On her way back to her seat, Hermione passed the Creevey Brothers and said to them, “Colin, Dennis, I think I’m going to have a _big_ photojournalism project for you.”

* * *

The four champions followed the directions on the map to get to the merpeople’s village. It was slow going. Harry was glad they had decided to work as a team. He was pretty sure that pack of grindylows that attacked them would have overrun both him and Fleur if they had been on their own.

If their sense of direction was working right, the map didn’t lead them to the village itself, but to a large patch of green, vine-like plants just outside the village. They saw a few merpeople scattered around the outside of it, but they couldn’t see through it.

Cedric raised his hand to halt. He turned and came towards Harry, touching their foreheads together, as Fleur had done. “Strangler seaweed,” he said. “Best to go over it if we can. Don’t cut it unless you have to. It won’t react well.”

Cedric pulled back and tried to find Krum’s ear to explain to him. Fleur gave Harry an impatient look, and he realised she was waiting for him to repeat the message to her. It was much more uncomfortable for him to initiate contact with the part-veela, but he pulled it off, stuttering and shaking a little.

The four of them swam up and over the patch of strangler seaweed. The vines reached up to grab at their ankles, but they managed to stay above their reach. They swam a fair distance over the patch before they saw a small circle in the middle, and Harry’s heart started racing as he saw a flash of bright red hair. He had thought about it, but he couldn’t figure out what the organisers would actually take from him for the Task. Sirius was rich; he owned so little that couldn’t be replaced. He should have realised weeks ago that the thing he’d most sorely miss was a person: Ginny. _Is it really Ginny?_ he thought, but he pushed it from his mind. He’d worry about the implications later.

The four hostages were bound to the lake bed and to each other by strangler seaweed wrapped around their ankles. It would be complicated to free them. The other three hostages were Cho Chang, one of the Patil Twins—Padma, he was pretty sure; she had been Krum’s date to the ball—and instead of Fleur’s date, a tiny, silver-haired girl he assumed was her sister.

The words of the poem came back to him: _You have not seen the stakes!_ He’d never thought the organisers would be stupid enough to— _unless they weren_ _’t._ At last, Hermione’s message made sense: _AFTER 1 HOUR=STILL SAFE._ So the one hour time limit was a lie.

Except the other champions didn’t know that. While Harry was still moving, the others had all pulled ahead of him, Krum being the fastest. Harry didn’t know game theory, but he could work out basically what was happening: encourage the champions to work together and then raise the stakes to make the temptation to go their own way unbearable, and if Hermione was right about that Prisoner’s Dilemma thing, that would only make things worse. It was a dirty trick.

Krum was trying to free Padma with his teeth. Harry wondered if whatever protections had been prepared accounted for shark bites. However, he first made for Fleur, who was frantically trying to cut through the tendrils that bound her sister with cutting spells, but each time she slashed, more strangler seaweed rose up and tried to grab them. Even more was arching up around them and tangling like a cage. This time, Harry didn’t hesitate in grabbing Fleur and putting their heads together.

“‘Arry!” she said furiously, struggling against his grip. “We must ‘urry! Zee time ees more zan half over!”

“The poem lied!” he said.

“What?”

“Hermione got a message through to me. I didn’t understand it until now. She says they’ll be fine, even if we go over an hour.”

Fleur stopped struggling. “Are you sure, ‘Arry?” she said.

“I trust Hermione with my life, Fleur.” He didn’t wait for her answer, but pulled away to go to Cedric, who had just about freed Cho. Grabbing him and bumping their heads together a little too hard, he said, “Cedric, the poem lied. Hermione sent me a message that we can go over an hour. We still need to work together.”

Cedric blinked in surprise, but after the warning he had got on the First Task—and Hermione’s offers to help him—he was willing to give Harry the benefit of the doubt. “Okay, I’ll get Krum,” he said. He pulled Cho free, and swam off. It was only then that he saw what had happened. Krum had bitten Padma free and was already swimming away. The poem _had_ said a lone champion could get away faster. “Krum! Krum!” he called, but he couldn’t hear.

Fleur freed her sister and helped Harry free Ginny, but by now, the strangler seaweed had formed a huge cage, completely enclosing them. Krum was trying to bite his way out. Cedric raced to catch up with him, pulling Cho, but he was too late. Krum chewed a hole through the tendrils and pulled himself and Padma through it. It closed back up by the time Cedric got there, but that wasn’t the worst. Krum’s thrashing had set off more seaweed, which was trying to ensnare them again. Harry had no doubt the attacks would get worse if more people defected and cut their way free.

Harry and Fleur also approached the wall with wands drawn. Through the mesh, they could see Krum struggling to get away and merpeople watching and laughing. Cedric held up his hands, though, and mouthed, “No cutting!” Harry cast another Warming Charm on himself as Cedric examined the plants. Carefully, the older boy grabbed one of the tendrils with his hand and pulled it aside. It moved with little resistance. His face lit up, and he motioned for Fleur to join him. Between the two of them, with difficulty, they pulled apart an opening in the cage large enough for a person to slide through, even though there were still loose plants trying to grab all of them.

Cedric motioned for Harry to go through. He did at once, pulling Ginny along with him. He hoped she was okay. She was still warm, but completely still and not breathing. Once he was through, he looked back and saw Cedric motion for him to grab the vines Fleur was holding to let her pass through.

Krum was still struggling with the strangler seaweed outside the cage. It suddenly occurred to Harry that if he swam away now and threw some more cutting spells behind him, he might be able to slow Krum down enough to win the task. But of course, that would give Fleur and Cedric more incentive to shoot back and make the seaweed attack him. At least it would put them on an equal footing, though. It was like Hermione said. No matter what happened, everyone had something to gain by defecting, but it would turn out worse in the end. He resisted the urge, and he was sure Cedric would, too. He wasn’t so sure about Fleur, but she seemed a decent sort.

Fleur got out of the cage and held the opening again for Cedric and Cho to get out. They fought off more strangler seaweed and got out of the patch. Krum was way ahead of them by now, too far to catch up, but at least the worst danger was over.

Except there was one thing neither Harry nor Hermione had accounted for: once the worst danger was over, the game theory equation changed completely. Fleur smiled and waved at the two boys and took off at top speed.

Harry and Cedric stared at each other. Harry was worried. He wasn’t sure he could get back past the grindylows and other hazards on his own. Cedric was conflicted. He didn’t want to abandon Harry, whom he knew wasn’t really up to it, but he didn’t want to give up his shot at second place, either. He knew he and Harry couldn’t catch up with Fleur together. He decided to leave Harry with a bit of advice. He pointed upwards, indicating that Harry should swim to the surface and cross back on the open water, where it was safer, and then, he also took off in hot pursuit. After all, Harry had told him he wasn’t trying to win, hadn’t he?

Harry watched him go. He had got the message, but it really ticked him off that they both abandoned him. He would have a slow time of it getting back on his own. He was smaller than Cedric, and while he was bigger than Fleur, she had to carry less weight. It was too bad Ginny was asleep.

Unless…

He did the maths. If his idea didn’t work, he could use the bubble for air and kick for the surface. If it did, he just might have a chance of catching up. He took the gillyweed from his pocket and tore off about a sixth of it, estimating the time he’d need. Then, he pulled Ginny’s face towards his and prepared to _Rennervate_ her. To his surprise, her eyes flew open as soon as her face broke through the bubble, and she gasped for air. “Harry?” she choked, shocked to see his eyes so close to hers that she was practically touching his glasses.

“Hi,” Harry said. He could feel himself turning red.

Ginny, however, turned white, and she shook and spasmed against him. “Harry—what—? _Cold_!” she gasped.

“Sorry! _Calora_!”

She sighed with relief and wrapped her arms around his bare chest, and they both started blushing. It didn’t help that with no bubble of her own, she had to put her lips less than two inches from his to breathe. “What happened?” She asked. “Why are we underwater?”

“Long story. The others abandoned me. I need your help getting back. Do you have your wand?”

She checked her pocket. “Yeah.”

“Good. Eat this.” He squeezed his hand between them and popped the smaller portion of gillyweed in her mouth. “Moody gave it to me. It’ll let you breathe underwater.”

Ginny made a disgusted face. It tasted awful. But she _was_ stuck a hundred feet underwater, so she had few options. She quickly chewed the rubbery stuff and forced herself to swallow. As she did, their lips accidentally touched.

They froze. Ginny had just enough sense to linger for a moment so she could call it a real kiss. Harry didn’t pull away. _How many people had their first kiss underwater?_ she wondered. When she pulled back, they both stared at each other uneasily, their eyes too close to focus properly. Then, she smiled: “If I have to taste it, so do— _ach_!” She gagged, wretched, and pulled her face out of the bubble. A moment later, she took in a lungful of water.

Harry was tense, ready to act if something went wrong, but Ginny grinned like a schoolgirl. She had gills and seemed to be breathing happily. She looked like she could see clearly, too. Then she grimaced and ripped off her shoes as quick as she could. Her feet were growing into long, flat fins the size of muggle swim fins. What was more, her hands had become webbed. Realising the advantage she’d just gained, she grinned again with a look of determination, and, grabbing Harry back around the chest, kicked off and propelled the two of them forward at a speed the other champions couldn’t hope to match.

* * *

“So how have you been doing, Georgina?” Hermione asked. “I’m sorry I haven’t really had time to talk to you.”

“I’m having a lot of fun this year,” she said eagerly. “It’s cool getting to learn more about the wizards in other countries.”

“Oh? Are they getting friendlier, now?”

“Uh huh. I think they’ve been nicer since Christmas.”

“Nothing like a Yule Ball to bring people together, maybe?” Hermione asked. The fact that both Fleur and Krum went with Hogwarts students probably helped. They were certainly friendly enough when she met with them yesterday. “So what do you think of the Tournament so far?” she ventured.

“The dragons were cool, but really scary,” Georgina said. “This is just boring.”

 _Well, at least she understands that much,_ Hermione thought. “Yes, somebody really didn’t think this through,” she agreed. “I just hope the champions don’t have problems with their plan.”

“People were pretty mad when Harry did so well in the First Task,” Georgina offered, “but my friends thought it was cool when I told them you figured out that spell. Did you invent one for Harry to use this time?”

“Sort of. I invented a lot of hexes for him to use, but this task is a lot more about strategy than spells.”

“That’s neat. I’m trying to test into Arithmancy for next year.”

“Really?” Hermione smiled. “It looks like I’ve started a trend. I hope you get in.” She was surprised Hogwarts didn’t have an accelerated track to begin with, even if it wouldn’t be used much.

As they watched, the first champion emerged from the lake. It was Viktor Krum, who quickly changed his shark’s head back to human. The crowd cheered—mostly the Durmstrang contingent and their Slytherin friends. Padma Patil, whom he had brought back with him, immediately gasped for breath and started thrashing. Waking up in the icy water had to be a horrifying experience. Several Durmstrang students jumped in the water to help pull the two of them to shore, over the judges’ protests. Madam Pomfrey approved, however, and told them to carry her in. She and Krum both went into the medical tent.

Hermione frowned to see that the other champions weren’t with them. Had Krum abandoned the group, as she had feared? Had something happened to the others? Or, she realised with a start, had their alliance fallen apart as soon as they were out of danger? She had no way of knowing until the others got back, or at least until Krum reported something.

A couple minutes later, there was a big surprise as Harry and Ginny burst out of the water at high speed, flipped over, and flopped back down into the water like a pair of dolphins. Harry flailed a bit and started dog-paddling to shore. However, Ginny popped up, waved to the crowd with a webbed hand, and then dove beneath the surface again with a kick of feet that looked like flippers. Harry got close enough to stand and wade out, but Hermione could only see Ginny’s red hair as she swam by his side under the water.

“Unbelievable!” Bagman roared. “Potter takes second place by convincing Diggory cast the Bubble-Head Charm on him, and then reviving his hostage and feeding her gillyweed to get him back faster. Talk about a weird strategy. It was a real sneaky trick if he planned it that way.”

“It wasn’t a trick,” Hermione said, though truthfully, she didn’t know _what_ it was. She didn’t know what gillyweed was offhand, and that was saying something.

“Bloody hell!” It was Neville. All eyes turned to him. “Gillyweed! I should have thought of that!”

“Huh?”

“You should’ve?”

“It was in that book Moody gave me. It gives you gills so you can breathe underwater. I could’ve ordered him some if I thought of it soon enough. I wonder where he got it.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Hermione said. “Maybe Moody?”

“If he’s trying to help Harry win,” Ron suggested.

That was possible, Hermione thought. In that case, could Moody have been the one who’d entered him? That would explain a lot—except for a motive. What could he have to gain from Harry winning? No. More likely, he was just trying to help Harry survive, like she was.

Harry was waiting in the shallows while Ginny was still under the surface. Apparently, the gillyweed took time to wear off. It was another minute before she stood up, coughing water out of her lungs as Harry held her steady. He helped her limp the rest of the way to shore, and she clung to him from the cold.

At that moment, Ron’s Omnioculars popped out of the water, following Harry. Flitwick had evidently charmed them to focus on him. Hermione raced down the stands to grab them. She snatched them out of the air and was about to turn the recording off when the shouting match started.

“Oh, sure, leave me behind, will you?” Harry snapped.

Fleur had emerged from the lake, closely followed by Cedric. Harry didn’t look too happy with them.

“You seem to ‘ave done well for yourself,” Fleur said. “You ‘ad gillyweed zee entire time, and you did not tell us?”

“I got it right before the Task. I didn’t think I’d need it,” he said.

All three champions and their hostages were staggering towards the medical tent. All of them were shaking from the cold, although Ginny looked less badly off than the others. Madam Pomfrey took them one by one to wrap them in blankets and force-feed them Pepperup Potion.

“I thought we agreed to work together,” Cedric confronted Krum.

“Dey did not tell us people vould be in danger,” Krum replied gruffly. “I could not allow Padma to be harmed on my behalf.”

“We were trying to tell you the poem lied. She was never in any real danger.”

“I had no reason to tink dat. I did vhat I tought vas needed.”

“It shouldn’t have mattered anyway,” Harry protested. “Working together was the right strategy either way…Right, Hermione?”

Hermione blinked a couple times when Harry looked at her. “Er, right,” she answered, registering what he said. “In a strict game theory analysis, the payouts and penalties in the Prisoner’s Dilemma don’t matter. It’s just a matter of which ones are larger than which others.” Well, it might be a little more complicated than that, she reasoned to herself. With four players and uncertain payouts, depending on the exact design of the task, the heuristically-estimated expectation values for each course of action might make defecting an absolutely superior strategy, even with communication. Communication was what made the alternative strategy possible, but it wasn’t foolproof. She’d have to look at the recording to estimate things better.

And how would people react if she published the photo of Viktor Krum abandoning the other champions? She wasn’t sure she wanted to go that far. She spotted a beetle clinging to her robes as she considered it and brushed it away. She didn’t remember Hogwarts having this many insects last year.

The champions were still arguing it out when Ludo Bagman’s magically amplified voice boomed across the lake: “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision and awarded scores as follows. Viktor Krum returned first with his hostage, and within the one-hour time limit, making excellent use of partial self-transfiguration. We award him a full fifty points!”

The crowd cheered, but Hermione harrumphed and crossed her arms. Apparently, the judges didn’t care which strategy anyone used.

“Harry Potter returned with his hostage two minutes outside the time limit. However, he made excellent use of both the Bubble-Head Charm, convincing one of his fellow champions to cast it on him, and gillyweed, enlisting Ginevra Weasley’s help in returning to the surface faster. Therefore, we award him forty-eight points.”

More cheers from Harry’s supporters, who had been gradually increasing since the First Task. Hermione applauded her friend, despite her distaste for the whole thing.

“Fleur Delacour also used the Bubble-Head Charm and returned with her hostage six minutes outside the time limit. We award her forty-three points. And finally, Cedric Diggory used the Bubble-Head Charm and was last to return with his hostage at seven minutes over. We award him forty points.”

So Fleur and Cedric were tied for last, while Harry was in a surprise close second—a surprise to Hermione, at least. A lot of the school didn’t seem surprised at all (resentful, perhaps, but not surprised) that the Boy-Who-Lived could dominate two-thirds of his competition.

* * *

The after-party for the Second Task got a little wild, primarily because Fred and George yelled out “Free sweets! Courtesy of Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes!” and set out a tray of suspect desserts. No one over the age of five in the muggle world would fall for that, but many of the Gryffindors apparently did.

“Fred! George!” Hermione scolded. “You can’t just set out your test products for people to grab like that—why are they even crazy enough to eat them?”

“ _Au contraire_ , Hermione,” George told her. “We’re not testing anything. All of _these_ sweets are fully tested and ready for production. This is just advertising.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Advertising?”

“Of course. Canary Cream?” Fred offered.

She flicked her eyes between his face and the sweet in his hand suspiciously. “What does it do?”

There was a loud _CHEEP!_ as one of the more adventurous boys ate one and turned into a giant, anthropomorphic canary, drawing lots of laughs from the Common Room.

“See, all in good fun,” George said. “We’re making some pretty good sales.”

“I didn’t know you were that far along,” Hermione said. “How many products do you have.”

“Only about a dozen ready for the shelves—if we had shelves—but we have a lot more in the works.”

“Stop by the Burrow this summer, and we’ll show you the Daydream Charms we’re working on,” Fred added. “We’re self-studying runes to put them together. I think you’ll like them.” He wagged his eyebrows.

Hermione made a face at him, not wanting to go down that road, wherever it was leading. “What about money?” she asked. “I don’t think Bagman’s got your savings back to you.”

“No, it’s a pain in the arse, starting from scratch,” George admitted. “At this rate, we’ll be lucky to be able to _rent_ a building once we graduate.”

“But we’ll figure it out, won’t we, Georgie,” Fred replied, ever the optimist. “Even if we have to start with a stall in Diagon Alley and work our way up.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck, then,” Hermione said. They really did have a lot of potential. It was too bad they had such an uphill battle to get started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calora: Based on the Latin for “heat.”
> 
> Triwizard scores after the Second Task. Viktor Krum: 90. Harry Potter: 88. Fleur Delacour: 78. Cedric Diggory: 78.


	79. Chapter 79

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Come join the Creevey Brothers and the Creevey Sister, JK Rowling—oh, wait, wrong story.
> 
> Reader paradigmfinch created an excellent piece of cover art for The Arithmancer featuring Hermione in her basilisk-skin coat. You can go see it at “paradigmsfinch (dot) tumblr (dot) com,” along with a sneak peak of things to come.

Hermione spent her day off at Hogwarts hanging out with her friends, writing a letter home about the Task, working with the Creevey Brothers on the photos, and doing the closest thing she ever did to relaxing. She took up her time that morning observing Colin and Dennis in the darkroom as they extracted the best photos from Ron’s Omnioculars. There were a number of good shots of the champions swimming together, fighting grindylows, and freeing the hostages, Krum swimming away, the others prying their way out of the cage of strangler seaweed, and then splitting up.

“These are great!” Colin said. “Exclusive photos, too. They’ll be worth a small fortune. Ten galleons, easy. Maybe twenty.”

“We could take out classified ads with that kind of money,” Dennis said. “Couldn’t we, Colin?”

“Probably, yeah. Wow, us starting a real wizard business, Dennis. How cool is that? We could call it Creevey Bros. Pictures. You know, like Warner Bros.”

“Merlin’s Beard!” Dennis squeaked. Both Creeveys made it a point to use wizarding figures of speech. But that wasn’t in response to his brother. He held up the latest photo, and both Colin and Hermione gasped when they saw Ginny kissing a shirtless Harry underwater, something they had not done in public at all yesterday.

“Better run this one by those two before we reveal it,” Hermione said.

* * *

“So Moody gave you the Gillyweed?” Sirius said.

“Yeah. Right before the Task,” Harry replied through the magic mirror. “He seemed to think I’d need it.”

“Hmm, breaking the rules that blatantly is a stretch, even for him. Did you tell him you had another way to get through it?”

“Not exactly, but I told him Hermione had worked it out.”

“And how did he react to that?” Sirius asked.

“Seemed a little annoyed, actually…Come to think of it, he was kinda the same at the First Task, too.”

“Odd. I might chalk that up to him not trusting anyone but himself.”

“But why go that far to help me?”

“Dumbledore’s orders, I suspect. Moody can get away with helping you more than Dumbledore can, and they both want you kept safe. I can write Dumbledore about it, if you want.”

“No, it makes sense, Sirius,” Harry said.

“Who’re you talking to, Harry?” a ginger girl said, leaning on his shoulder.

“Ginny? I thought you were outside,” Harry said.

“I was wondering where you’d gone off to. Is that Sirius?”

“Er, yeah. Magic mirror.”

“Hey, there, Ginny,” Sirius said. “I hope the Task wasn’t too rough for you.”

“No, no, I’d say it went pretty well,” Ginny said with a grin.

“Oh, I think there’s a story there,” Sirius needled.

Harry quickly changed the subject back: “We were just talking about why Moody gave me the gillyweed.”

Ginny nodded, apparently not offended. “That was odd,” she agreed. “Say, has Moody still been meeting with Mr. Crouch?”

“Um, yeah, a couple of times.”

“What’s this, now?” Sirius asked.

“Mr. Crouch has stopped coming around,” Harry explained.

“Percy says he’s ill,” added Ginny.

“Yeah, but I’ve seen him meeting Professor Moody in his office on the Marauder’s Map.”

“Really? That sounds suspicious,” Sirius said. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Unless there’s some other Bartimius Crouch running around.”

“No, the only other one would be his son, and he died years ago.”

“Could he have faked his death, like Wormtail?” Harry asked. At this point, almost nothing in the wizarding world would surprise him.

“No. He died in Azkaban. I saw him carried out myself,” Sirius said. “Besides, Moody would know.”

“Crouch’s son was in Azkaban?” Harry was started, but he was interrupted by yet another girl.

Hermione was approaching them with a wicked grin on her face: “Hello, Harry. Hello Ginny. Just the couple I was looking for.”

“Hermione?” Harry said. “Ugh, I thought the Common Room would be private enough this time of day.”

“Hey, there, Hermione,” Sirius piped up. “Good job figuring out the Task.”

“Er, thanks, Sirius,” she said, noticing the mirror was active. “I, um—I had the Creevey Brothers pull the recording off Ron’s Omnioculars from yesterday. We found a clip that I thought you’d like to see.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he turned pale. Ginny flushed when she figured out what Hermione was talking about. “Oh, you got photos of the Task?” Sirius said curiously.

“Yes. Take a look.”

“Hermione,” Harry groaned.

“I think it turned out pretty well.” She turned the glossy print around to her two friends and the mirror. Ginny was floating there, her robes and her long, red hair billowing in the murky water like a strangely-dressed sea nymph. She was literally nose to nose with Harry, leaning into the bubble around his head. She leaned an inch closer, and their lips met. She held it for a second or two, her arms tightening around his bare torso, before pulling away just slightly. She started to say something, but jerked back as the gills formed on her neck before the loop restarted.

Sirius wolf-whistled. “I knew you had it in you, Pup!” he said excitedly. “You take good care of him now, Ginny.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” the younger girl said, linking her arm through Harry’s.

“Please tell me you didn’t send this to the _Prophet_ ,” Harry said.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you,” Hermione assured him.

“I could use a couple copies, though,” Ginny said.

“What for?” Harry asked worriedly.

Ginny gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Just for evidence to brag to my friends,” she said.

* * *

With that issue taken care of, Hermione finally had time to visit the kitchens. George and Fred tagged along, since they visited frequently anyway, although that was mostly for snacks. She would feel guilty if she missed a chance to see her elf friends during her rare visits, and she also wanted to check on Winky. She’d been worried about her since Christmas.

The elves Hermione knew well, like Sonya, Tilly, Vanny, little Smidgen, and Remie, were all excited to see her. The kitchens were abuzz with news of the Second Task, and they asked her to tell all she cold about it, which was more than anyone else save the champions could. The elves looked pretty lost when she tried to explain game theory to them, but the Twins found it fascinating.

“I never knew there was that much arithmancy in strategy,” Fred mused. “Or in finance apart from balancing your books.”

“Oh, it’s all over the place in the muggle world,” Hermione told him. “It’s getting to be so you have to know a lot of maths to be competitive at the top levels in a lot of fields.”

“So I guess you’re got it made in both worlds, then?” George said.

“Er, I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far, but I try.”

“Fred, we should’ve taken Arithmancy,” he said.

Fred snorted: “Maybe _you_ should’ve. Ancient Runes I’ll give you, but I don’t expect we’ll need much arithmancy in the shop—no offence, Hermione.”

“ _Oooh,_ are you gonna take that, Hermione?” George egged her on.

“It’s fine. I’ve been hearing “What’s maths good for?” my whole life. I just let results speak for themselves.”

George sniggered at Fred’s expense until Fred said, “Oi, she’s talking about you, too, you know!”

Hermione giggled at both of them a little longer before she got down to business: “By the way, where’s Winky? Have you seen her, Dobby?”

Dobby’s ears drooped immediately, as did a couple of the other elves,” she noticed. “Winky is over by the fire, Miss Hermione,” Dobby said, “but you might not be liking what you sees.”

Concerned, Hermione rushed over to the fireplace, and she gasped when she saw her. Winky looked worse than ever. She was so covered in dirt, soot, and stains that she might as well have been living in the bush. Mr. Crouch’s necktie around her neck remained clean, but was faded, fraying, and going threadbare from what Hermione realised must have been obsessive cleaning. Her own uniform—the Hogwarts tea towel—had grown ragged and filthy. Winky rocked on her little stool, nearly insensible, with a bottle of Butterbeer in one hand.

“Merlin’s beard, what happened to her?” one of the Twins said. She didn’t look to see which one.

“How did she get this bad?” Hermione said, mostly to herself. “Didn’t the other elves—?” But most of the other elves were averting their eyes and returning to their work. Something was very wrong here. “Winky? Winky, can you hear me?”

Winky moaned and swayed on her stool, sloshing Butterbeer on her tea towel. “ _Hic_ —Miss Hermione Grager? Is that being— _hic_ —you?”

“Yes, Winky, it’s me.”

“Did Winky’s— _hic_ —Mr. Crouch send you?”

Hermione looked worriedly at the other elves. “No, Winky, Professor Dumbledore is your master, now. He bound you to the castle properly. Don’t you remember?”

“Winky wants to go— _hic_ —home,” the elf whined. “Winky’s Mr. Crouch musts bes— _hic_ —coming backs.”

“Actually, I don’t think I’ve seen Crouch around since before Christmas,” Fred said.

Winky squeaked loudly. “Mr. Crouch is not being here— _hic_?” she said.

“No. Percy keeps saying he’s ill, but something seems real fishy—”

“Oh, poor Master!” Winky cried. “He cannot be— _hic_ —getting by without Winky! Winky— _hic_ —must help—” She leapt to her feet, but as she did, the bottle dropped from her hand and bounced on the floor. She had stood too fast. She swayed once and fell flat on her face.

“Winky!” Hermione rushed to her side to help. The elf seemed to be unconscious, and her skin was clammy. Hermione turned her head to the side so she wouldn’t choke if she threw up, and two elves threw a tablecloth over her and moved on without speaking. Hermione looked up and spotted an older elf with grey eyes. “Tilly, please, isn’t there anything we can do to help her?” she asked. “I know she was devastated by being freed, but—”

Tilly shook her head sadly: “Miss Hermione, you needs to understand. For an elf, being dismissed is losing everything. You has nothing but the clothes your master gives and a ruined reputation. Even if a dismissed elf finds work again, even if it is for a bound master again, it is breaking some of them, and there is no helping them. They has to do it on their own. An elf who has been dismissed either recovers on her own after a while or…”

“Or…?”

“Or she dies, miss.”

Hermione fell silent. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy’s words to Dobby back at the World Cup made sense. In his arrogance, he had expected Dobby to die without his masters, whether by alcohol poisoning, self-neglect, or plain poverty. But Dobby had actually _wanted_ to be free, and he had immediately found a new employer who treated him like a person with real value. As a result, he was probably the most mentally healthy and fulfilled elf in Britain, even if he was still barmy.

Most elves didn’t want to be free, though. They didn’t want to be free with a desperate ferocity that was downright scary. Muggles might call it Stockholm Syndrome, but you didn’t see people accusing dogs of having Stockholm syndrome when they sat vigil by their masters’ graves, did you? And that was closer to their temperament, being bred from animals as servants. In any case, she could see how hard being dismissed would hit them. But why wouldn’t the others help? She couldn’t believe there was nothing anyone could do.

“There must be _something_ , though,” she insisted. “You have a whole community here. Don’t you have a counsellor or something? Someone she could talk to to help her try to put herself back together? She’s completely miserable, and you look like most of you are just ignoring her.”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Hermione,” said a very proper elf she remembered as Smidgen’s mother, “but it is being embarrassing having an elf in our kitchens who won’t work properly. _House elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served._ _”_

 _“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Hermione cried._ “ _Something_ needs to be done. If this goes on much longer, she’s going to hang herself with that necktie.” She fished in her pockets for five silver coins. “Here, Dobby, I’m buying out your salary for the next day. Clean her up; try to sober her up, and I want to have a private talk with her before we leave tomorrow, if she’s up for it. Here’s an extra two sickles if you need to buy anything for her, and I’ll pay the difference tomorrow if it’s not enough.”

She became aware that the elves were staring at her again. Even Dobby looked a little surprised. The rest looked shocked or even scandalised that she would do such a thing, it was so far outside their experience. A few of them had the decency to look uncomfortable—not quite shamed; they hadn’t quite got that far. George and Fred weren’t surprised with her, but they might have been surprised at the entire show.

Sonya stared at the bundle on the floor where Winky slept under the tablecloth. The young elf’s mind was spinning its proverbial wheels trying to process this. Sonya knew Miss Hermione was eccentric, even by wizard standards. She would never have been friends with an elf otherwise. And Sonya pushed the envelope more than most elves, but she had too many prejudices from the way she was raised to fully comprehend why an outcast such as Winky would stir her best human friend up to do something like this. Sonya had felt uncomfortable about Winky herself, but she just thought that was the way the world worked.

“Dobby will help Winky, Miss Hermione,” Dobby said. Still, none of the other elves spoke.

“I think you broke them,” Fred told Hermione with a grin. They both knew it wasn’t that funny, though.

“I had to do something,” Hermione mumbled. A little louder, she told the elves, “In the muggle world, when someone has a nervous breakdown, like Winky, or any other bad emotional problem, we don’t just pass them by. We try to help them. And if they’ve been hurt so bad it seems hopeless, we try all the more. We’re not perfect, but we never turn anyone away just because they’re unpopular or an embarrassment.”

Some of the elves actually did start to look ashamed and started murmuring to each other. Good; they were starting to get it. It was disturbing, though predictable, that even house elves had their prejudices.

Dobby tried to haul Winky to her feet and drag her from the kitchen, but it was clearly awkward for him.

“Sonya will help Dobby!”

A ripple of squeaks filled the kitchen as the younger elf broke ranks. There were unkind whispers containing her name, but tellingly, her grandmother, Tilly, didn’t say anything.

“I will help Dobby while I is on breaks,” she repeated. They each put one of Winky’s arms over their slim shoulders and were able to carry her properly.

“Thank you, Sonya,” Hermione said. “I really appreciate it.”

Sonya smiled at her as they kept walking to the exit.

The Twins didn’t seem to know what to say. They’d never seen anything like that with the elves before. All George could say was, “Wow…”

Fred managed a little more: “Never a dull moment with you around, eh, Hermione?”

* * *

Dobby told Hermione she could go up to the Room of Requirement the next morning to see Winky. This was after a quick trip to the library, though, for her, looking for any information elf psychology. When she arrived, Dobby and Sonya both looked very tired.

“How is she?” Hermione asked.

“It is being very hard for her, Miss Hermione,” Dobby said. “Winky did not take to your help well. Dobby thinks she has not been awake and sober at the same time for months, miss.”

“We hads to watch her when she woke up, miss,” Sonya squeaked with a yawn. “She ran out of the Room and tried to jump out a seventh-floor window.”

“Goodness! Where is she now?”

The elves pointed her out. Winky was wearing a clean tea towel, now, and she’d been given a bath—forcibly, by the look of it, if the signs of aggressive scrubbing were any indication. Her large, brown eyes were bloodshot, and she sat on a stool, rubbing her head.

“Hello, Winky,” Hermione said.

Winky moaned piteously. “Miss Hermione Granger?”

“Yes, it’s me. How are you feeling?”

“Winky is feeling very badly, miss…” She trailed off with a whimper.

Hermione sighed. She hated to see her like this, especially when she was treated so poorly in the first place. “Did you give her anything for her hangover?” she asked Dobby.

Dobby’s eyes grew wider than usual. “I gave her a headache potion and orange juice, miss,” he said. “There is not being any other potions for hangovers.”

“Really? Huh, some things are the same in any world, I guess. Winky, are you feeling well enough to talk with me a little?”

Winky didn’t answer.

“I’d like to help you if I can.”

She began sniffling. “Winky does not deserve help,” she whined softly. “Winky is a bad elf.”

“No, you’re not—” Hermione insisted.

“Yes, Winky is! Winky was dismissed by her Master, and now, Winky has ruined Master’s…” She held up the ruined necktie, clutching it in her hands, and burst into sobs.

“Winky…Winky, please…” Hermione tried, but she couldn’t get through to her at all. _House elf psychology, remember?_ “Winky! Look at me!” she snapped, trying to sound cross. Winky’s head snapped up at once, and she gave Hermione her full attention. She was still conditioned to follow commands. The library had had precious little about house elves, period. The best resource she had found was a small book on how to treat them to make them “efficient and effective” servants. “Focus on me,” she ordered. It didn’t feel quite natural, acting that impolite, but Hermione managed it. “Good. Now…do you remember who your master is, now? Your legal master, I mean?”

Winky sniffled some more and said, “It is…it is being P-P-Professor D-Dumbledore, miss.”

“Yes, he is.” Hermione knelt down in front of her slowly, hoping to communicate her compassion in her body language more than in her tone. “He bound you to the school fair and square. He understood like I do that you were dismissed unfairly. And in my opinion, Professor Dumbledore is a much better master than Mr. Crouch.”

“EEP! Miss Hermione Granger cannot be insulting Winky’s—”

“Stop!” Winky’s mouth snapped shut. “You know better than that,” Hermione said. “I know you’re not ready to say that yet, so I have to say it for you. You have a new home, now, and a better one, if you let it be. But you don’t need this anymore. It’s only hurting you.” She slowly reached out and took hold of Mr. Crouch’s necktie. Winky whimpered and clutched it tighter, but Hermione gently peeled her hands off of it and slowly unwrapped it from around her neck. She had read that house elves sometimes have trouble adjusting to new masters, and it was important to get rid of all influences from their old master. They were also used to having things just decided for them. Based on Dobby and Sonya, she wasn’t convinced that was an innate trait of elf psychology, but Winky clearly wasn’t ready to take control of her own life yet.

So Hermione did something she would never do with a muggle in that state. She drew her wand, tossed the tie into the air, and _Incendioed_ it before it hit the ground. Granted, that was a bit impulsive. She surprised herself a little with her aim.

Winky squealed in horror and ran to it, but Hermione wrapped her arms around the elf and turned her face away from the sight. Looking back herself, Hermione saw Dobby and Sonya both giving her worried looks.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” she told them. “I didn’t know what else to do, and the book said that might help her.”

It took a few minutes for Winky to calm down enough for Hermione to talk to her again. Hermione prayed she hadn’t ruined everything. She kept going: “Winky, I don’t know much about muggle psychology, and even if I did, elves don’t seem to function the same way we do, and besides, I’m not going to be around here much. I can only take a guess that what you need is to start working again, and to have someone you can trust to talk to about your problems. You probably don’t want to impose on anyone, but—”

“Excuse me, miss,” Sonya interrupted. “Sonya can try to help Winky, miss.”

Hermione stared at the younger elf in surprise: “You will? You don’t have to—”

“Begging your pardon, Miss Hermione, but I sees it is very important to yous, miss. And I is not wanting Winky hurt either. Sonya’s grandmum might help, too.”

“Well, that’s very good of you, Sonya. Thank you. Winky, can you try to talk to Sonya and Tilly when you’re having a hard time?”

“I…I guess Winky can be trying, miss.”

“Good. And will you stay off the Butterbeer from now on?”

Winky balked at the suggestion.

“I was afraid of that. Sonya, can you try to keep her off the Butterbeer?”

“Yes, Miss Hermione.” Sonya nodded perhaps a little too eagerly.

“Thank you. Well, if all goes well, I’ll see you both in June. Good luck, Winky.”

* * *

 _“Where does she_ get _this stuff?_ _”_ Hermione demanded.

It only took two days back at Beauxbatons before something else went wrong.

 

_SECOND TASK SECRETS_

_KRUM ABANDONS OTHER HOSTAGES TO SAVE PARAMOUR_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_The Triwizard Champions had a perfect plan in the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament to save the hostages who were taken from them. (The hostages were not in actual danger, but the champions were lead to believe they were, a move that calls the judgement of the Tournament organisers into serious question.) Planning from the clues they were given, they resolved to put aside the competition and save the hostages together to give them all the best chance. But one of the Champions, Bulgarian Quidditch star Viktor Krum, broke this covenant and betrayed his fellow Champions and their hostages, swimming away and leaving them to fend off the deadly strangler seaweed that was attacking them._

_What triggered such a shocking betrayal? Your humble correspondent can only speculate. It is known that Mr. Krum_ _’s hostage, Padma Patil, an exotic Asian beauty, was his date for the Yule Ball. He has been openly smitten with her ever since, and has already invited her to visit him in Bulgaria over the summer holidays. He also insists he has “never felt this way about any other girl.”_

_And yet, we must ask ourselves why Mr. Krum felt the need to betray his fellow champions when their hostages were no less important to them. After the surprise shake-up in Harry Potter_ _’s love life at the Yule Ball, the Boy-Who-Lived has spent much of his time with his new flame, Ginny Weasley. Cedric Diggory has an equally well-established relationship with Cho Chang, and Fleur Delacour was sent to save her eight-year-old sister, Gabrielle. Is there more to Mr. Krum’s and Miss Patil’s relationship than it appears. Moreover, the other Champions had specifically agreed that working together was the best strategy, regardless of the stakes, as was also confirmed by Mr. Potter’s ex-girlfriend, arithmancy-prodigy Hermione Granger._

_Mr. Krum was the only Champion to receive full marks in the Second Task, and one must wonder if this decision was in error given his lack of moral fibre compared with his rivals._

Hermione had a lot of competing thoughts upon reading that article rivalling for attention, including, _That was surprisingly accurate;_ also, _I didn_ _’t know Krum and Padma were enough of an item for even Rita Skeeter to speculate like that;_ and _Paramour? Padma must be having an awful time of it. I can_ _’t believe she would do that;_ and _How the heck does that woman keep finding out this stuff?_ However as shocking as that was, it was the letter she received that won her attention:

_Dear Hermione,_

_We swear we didn_ _’t tell the Prophet anything about what Krum did. Rita Skeeter must have found out about it from someone else. We didn’t send any of the pictures you thought were “sensitive,” but now everyone knows Krum abandoned the other champions anyway._

_We sent the Prophet the pictures we picked out, but they wrote back and asked if we had one of Krum leaving the group. I get the feeling they don_ _’t want to buy the set without it—C. We could say no, ask for them back, and send them somewhere else, but we’d have to trust them to give them back and not print them, and there aren’t any other publications in Britain with anywhere near the Prophet’s circulation._

_We wanted to ask if you thought it would be okay to send the Prophet that photo. (We still wouldn_ _’t send any others.) Everyone knows now, so it shouldn’t do much harm, but since you took the photos, you have final control over them. I’m worried that under the circumstances, refusing to include it will be seen as journalistic bias—C. But it’s your call._

_In case you were wondering, Padma_ _’s having a lot of trouble already. A lot of Krum’s fans are mad at her, and so are a lot of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, even though she didn’t do anything. Harry told them to leave her alone, but it’s not working very well. She admitted it was true that Krum invited her to Bulgaria, but only the two of them and Parvati knew that. She has no idea how Rita Skeeter found out._

_Your friends,_

_Colin and Dennis Creevey_

_“I don’t understand how she keeps snooping on people,”_ Hermione said to no one in particular. _“First it was me and George. Then it was me again at the Task—I don’t think there was anyone who would go to the press there—and now Krum and Padma. She’s not even supposed to be on the grounds. Dumbledore banned her. How could she know those things?”_

 _“Maybe she’s bugging people,”_ suggested Philippe, the muggle-born first-year who frequently ate at her table.

 _“No, electronics don’t work at Hogwarts,”_ she said offhandedly.

 _“Er…bugging? Put fleas on them or something?”_ several of her magical-raised friends wanted to know.

_“Planting small devices that let one eavesdrop on conversations. Muggle spies do it all the time.”_

_“Oh. So, what are you going to do about the photos?”_

Hermione sighed: _“I’m not sure. Colin_ does _have a point. The damage is done, and from a journalistic standpoint, we really should probably include it. But mon Dieu, I_ _’ve already got hate mail because of her, and I’m sure Padma will, now, too. I swear, if I ever find out she’s doing something illegal to find out these things, she won’t know what hit her.”_

Her friends stared with her, surprised at the ferocity on her face. With all the hexes Hermione was inventing, she was probably right. _“You know, you’re scary sometimes, Hermione?”_ Hildegarde told her. _“Brilliant, but scary.”_


	80. Chapter 80

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Impossible geometry will not stop JK Rowling.

The photoessay on the Second Task netted twenty galleons—a solid thousand pounds—a tidy sum for the younger boys. Colin and Dennis insisted on sending Hermione half, even though she offered to give them two thirds. They were the ones she was encouraging to make a business out of it, after all, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Still, a few weeks later, the first ads ran in the _Daily Prophet_ for Creevey Bros. Pictures, with the sensational offer to pull quality photos off an Omniocular recording. With their names on that photoessay, they were sure to get at least a few customers.

As for Hermione, that ten galleon windfall was soon to come in handy when one of her experiments turned expensive. She had her potions kits, but her royalties for those were only a couple galleons per month.

She was still at her metalworking experiments. She had made a simple tin lining for her cloud chamber to block out background radiation, and she’d had limited success at melting down iron and graphite powder with burning magnesium into small quantities of steel. It was still just a proof of concept experiment, though, and she could see some definite shortcomings. The magnesium powder burned too fast and sprayed sparks all over the place, making it really inefficient. The natural solution was to try to contain it somehow, but that was easier said than done with a solid fuel. It was hard to confine it whilst still giving it sufficient airflow. She tried putting two crucibles together in a crude imitation of a double boiler, but it wouldn’t burn fast enough, and what did burn started to damage the crucibles.

So she went back to her chemistry book. After reading up on the relevant chemistry, she determined that she needed something that was self-oxidising, like solid rocket fuel. She momentarily considered using actual solid rocket fuel before she realised that, for one, she wouldn’t be able to get ammonium perchlorate from the solid in significant amounts, and for another, the expanding gases would blow up her whole experiment. However, after a fair bit of searching, she discovered a mixture that burned very hot, was self-oxidising, and that she could replicate easily. She laughed when she saw it; it was so obvious.

A muggle who saw Hermione at that moment would have easily pegged her for a witch, what with the cackling and all—until they saw that the answer she’d found was thermite. _That_ screamed “mad scientist.”

She recruited Michel to help with her experiment, mostly to make such the Fire-Protection Charms were good enough.

 _“And why do you need Fire-Protection Charms on the crucibles themselves?”_ Michel asked. _“They’re supposed to be fire-resistant already.”_

_“I know, but thermite fire isn’t like other fire. It’s basically impossible to put out, and it can melt through an engine block.”_

_“What’s an engine block?”_

_“A five-hundred-pound block of mostly solid steel.”_

_“Oh…okay, then, I suppose we should protect them,”_ he said nervously.

_“I’m not too worried. I’m only using a small amount. I just don’t want to destroy the crucibles.”_

Hermione had cleared away what she thought would be a sufficient area in the potions lab for her experiment and set up her rig. Pre-mixed iron oxide and aluminium powder extracted from the soil filled the lower crucible. A sprinkling of magnesium powder would ignite it. In the upper crucible, she’d already moved on from steel, and found a tougher test: pure chromium. The upper crucible was covered to keep thermite droplets out, and the whole apparatus was suspended above a sink, also covered by Fire-Protection Charms, to minimise damage to the lab. It all looked good on parchment.

 _“Do you see anything else we need to do?”_ Hermione asked Michel.

_“No. I think you’re being much more cautious than necessary.”_

_“Oh…well, you’ll see soon enough. Glasses on.”_ They both donned safety glasses, and Hermione pointed her wand: _“Incendio.”_

The magnesium powder ignited. There was a bright light, billowing smoke, and then—

_CRACK!_

_CRASH!_

_“AHHH!”_

_“HERMIONE!”_

_Crack-hiss! Patter patter patter._

Hermione was flat on her back, her face stinging. The glasses had protected her from the worst of it, so she hadn’t damaged her vision as far as she could tell, but they didn’t cover everything. Michel was crouching over her, frantically trying to put out the flames on her robes and around the area. Water was falling around them.

 _“Hermione, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”_ he asked frantically.

 _“I think so,”_ she said. _“Am I missing…an eyebrow?”_

_“Er…yes, both of them.”_

_“Lovely. Help me up, please?”_

She staggered to her feet with Michel’s help and investigated the scene. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened: the thermite had burnt clean through the Fire-Protection Charms, shattered the crucible, chewed through the metal of the sink, and hit a pressurised water pipe, causing the leak. It also sprayed enough sparks to burn her eyebrows off and cause a few nick-sized burns, but it was nothing _L_ _’Infirmarie_ couldn’t fix.

Then, as she looked, a frantic Madame de Cotte ran into the room with wand drawn. _“The wards registered an explosion!”_ she cried. _“Are you two alright? Was anyone else here? What were you doing?”_

Hermione hung her head: _“We’re alright, Professor, just a little singed…I’m afraid it was my fault, Madame.”_

_“Mademoiselle Granger!”_

_“No, it was my fault, Madame,”_ Michel said quickly. _“I botched the Fire-Protection Charms. I don’t know how I did them that badly—”_

 _“You couldn’t have messed up_ all _of them,_ _”_ Hermione insisted. _“I think the fire burned through them.”_

 _“What?”_ Madame de Cotte said. _“Burned through them? What do you mean?”_ She approached the scene and cast some diagnostic charms. She gasped when she saw the Fire-Protection Charms really were cast properly and had failed: _“Mon Dieu, were you playing with Feudeymon in here?”_

 _“Um…I don’t think so,”_ Hermione said. _“What’s Feudeymon?”_

_“An extremely dark cursed fire that’s almost impossible to control.”_

_“Then no. I was experimenting with a thermite fire. Muggle technology. It’s twice as hot as normal fires. I guess the charms couldn’t handle it.”_

_“I’m sorry, Madame, I should have realised—”_ Michel started, but Hermione cut him off.

_“No, Michel, this was all my idea. I take full responsibility, Madame. I’ll pay for the damages.”_

_“Wait, slow down,”_ their Potions Mistress interrupted. _“Mademoiselle Granger, you said this…”_

_“Thermite.”_

_“Thermite burns_ twice _as hot as an ordinary fire._ _”_

Hermione nodded: _“It burns up to twenty-five hundred degrees Celsius.”_

 _“Twenty-five hundred!”_ That was just a number to her—but an alarmingly large one. Most purebloods never heard of anything that hot in their normal experience. _“What on earth were you thinking doing an experiment like that indoors?”_

_“I thought the Potions lab was designed for it, and the Fire-Protection Charms would be enough, Madame. I’ve never heard of them failing against a non-magical fire.”_

Madame de Cotte probably wanted to scold her more, but the truth was that she had probably never heard of such a thing either. _“And just what is this ‘thermite’?”_ she pressed.

_“It’s a simple mixture of powdered iron oxide and aluminium, although it takes a lot of heat to ignite. Muggles usually use magnesium.”_

_“Iron oxide and aluminium did…this?”_ she shook her head. _“Madamoiselle Granger, I’ve been concerned about your ‘experiments’ for some time. You’ve conducted them safely up until now, and you appear to have been taking standard precautions in this case, so I will give you the benefit of the doubt for now, but I forbid you from experimenting with thermite or anything similar indoors_ or _without my supervision. And I_ will _expect you to pay for the damages to this sink. Is that understood?_ _”_

_“Oui, Madame.”_

_“Good, now I want you both checked over in L’Infirmarie.”_

Hermione actually felt relieved after that. She was sure she would get a detention for that debacle. She didn’t know Fred and George did it. They had getting in as much trouble as possible without being expelled down to an art form. She didn’t think her nerves could take it.

Michel, meanwhile, looked a little afraid of her. _“Hermione…”_ he said, _“I had no idea you could harness that much power with chemicals.”_

 _“It’s not really that much,”_ she countered. _“True, I had to reduce the aluminium to its pure form, but in these quantities, there’s a lot more energy in a Blasting Curse, and that’s not even accounting for the fact that magic doesn’t conserve_ mass _half the time, let alone energy. It_ _’s all in how you_ use _the energy that matters. Concentrate a fairly small amount of energy into such an intense heat source, and it starts doing strange things_ _…like burning through Fire-Protection Charms. You know,_ dos moi pa sto, kai tan gan kinaso _._ _”_

 _“Wow,”_ he said, impressed, _“I’m not sure I want to see what would happen if you_ tried _to harness a lot of power._ _”_

Hermione shrugged. That wasn’t the sort of thing she paid much mind, since she hadn’t got into large amounts of power much. Although if she managed to burn her eyebrows off with this little experiment, she should really pay more attention.

* * *

It took over a week for Hermione to convince Madame de Cotte to let her try the experiment again. Even then, she was only allowed to do so outside the castle, on a rocky patch of ground with no flammable materials, with strong Fire-Protection Spells over the whole area, at a safe distance of at least ten metres, _and_ with Madame de Cotte personally supervising. She also had to pay a galleon in advance for two graphite crucibles that she hoped would be strong enough to withstand the thermite.

Once she finally looked over all of the safety measures and let Hermione go ahead with the experiment, it went off without a hitch. The graphite crucibles held up to the heat, and the safe distance from the splatters was a good deal closer than ten metres, though it still spewed out frightening amounts of sparks of molten iron than ate into the stones around the experiment. But for all her trouble, she successfully produced a solid medallion of chromium.

However, once she got to that point, she hit a dead end. She had been nursing an ambition to collect samples of all of the (non-radioactive) elements assayed from the soil for a while. After all, what practical application would this research have besides putting a collection like that together? But she wanted all of those elements in solid form and not powder—for convenience—and she couldn’t figure out how to work up to the most refractory metals. Thermite would melt almost anything, but not a few of the rarer metals and most notably tungsten, which had the highest melting point of any element. Tungsten was so tough that it wouldn’t even melt under an oxyacetylene torch, and Hermione wasn’t convinced that the graphite crucibles would hold up to that.

So she decided to change course a bit. She would start working on filtering spells for the rest of the elements—something that would take months given the small amount of time she had to spend on it. Ideally, once she had all of them, she was thinking about digging up one metric tonne of soil and separating out all the metals to measure their concentrations for herself, but she would have to worry about more pressing concerns first—like the Third Task.

With magical help, Hermione’s eyebrows had almost finished growing back. Michel, however, never quite warmed back up to her, although he remained a good study partner. She was afraid she had scared him off, but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She was going to keep working on her own terms, and she definitely wasn’t going to slow down just for a boy…at least not until after the Tournament was over.

She definitely appreciated Michel’s help in learning experimental spellcrafting. Though a minority of the advanced curriculum, it gave her much more trouble than the mathematical parts. One of the most advanced lessons of the year was dismantling and reassembling an _Expelliarmus_ in mid-flight.

 _“Freezing a spell in midair is pretty easy if you use a ward,”_ Michel explained. _“With most wards, the spell will splash off because it hits too hard. That’s better for most things, since you don’t want hostile energy to build up in the system, but not for this. To catch a spell, you need several weak, fast-charging wards spaced a few centimetres apart to slow it and contain it without disrupting the energies.”_

 _“Like a backstop at a firing range?”_ Hermione asked.

_“A what?”_

_“A loose pile of dirt to slow muggle bullets without having them bounce off?”_

_“Bullets? Oh, from those metal wands muggles use to kill each other.”_

_How do wizards ever blend in with the muggle world?_ Hermione thought, but she didn’t say it. She vaguely remembered the British Ministry using very similar words about Sirius when he was wanted in the muggle world. _“Er…yes,”_ she said. _“I saw that method in the course book, but is that the only way? I think I’ve seen references to people catching spells on the ends of their wands, too.”_

 _“Ends of their wands?”_ Michel said in surprise. _“Certainly not for this kind of work. I’ve heard of it, but I think it’s more of a charms master’s party trick. It’s very difficult and takes a lot of precision. You’d only want to do it under controlled conditions.”_

_“Oh, of course…Still, it might be an interesting trick to learn, if you know where to find out more.”_

_“Uh, well, I can look, but I think we should get to work here.”_

_“Right, right,”_ she said.

They set up the Spell-Freezing Ward in a door frame. Two long, wooden blocks with runes carved into them at intervals defined the individual layers of the ward, and they were set on the floor at each side of the door frame. It was a crude, cumbersome way of doing it, but it was simple, with fewer dependencies and abstractions to worry about, like programming in BASIC instead of C++. Both of them knew enough runes that they could have written out the whole ward scheme on one small block, but this was quicker and more reliable, and it was easier to see what they were doing. Once the ward went up, Michel cast an _Expelliarmus_ at it, and the spell froze in the air on contact like a fly trapped in honey.

 _“Now,_ that _is pretty neat,_ _”_ Hermione said. Never mind that the ward wouldn’t hold up to anything more than a Stunner. It just _looked_ more impressive than a regular shield. _“Partieséparé,”_ she cast, and the individual components of the bolt of red light—a half dozen magical fields that fit together like parts of a machine—stretched and separated from each other as if held apart by an electric charge. With this view of the spell, she could see visually how the arithmantic elements translated to real magic and came together to achieve the desired effects.

 _“Good,”_ Michel said. _“Now, the tricky part is that some of these magical fields are holding the rest together. Pull them apart in the wrong order, and the whole spell will fly apart. So, if I do this…”_ He pulled off the outer cylinder of the spell—what looked like the most obvious first move, and the rest of the components exploded out of the wards in a shower of sparks.

Hermione squeaked loudly in surprise. She was starting to understand why experimental spellcrafting was considered so dangerous. Those sparks wouldn’t give her so much as a sunburn, but working with more powerful spells, one wrong move could mean disaster. Assembling the spell from scratch, which they did after they understood how to disassemble it, was even worse. You had to conjure the individual magical fields in the air correctly and then put them together. Do it wrong, and the spell could blow up in your face the moment you pulled it out of the ward. It wasn’t hard to understand what had happened to Luna’s mother. Hermione didn’t think she would ever be as comfortable with these experiments as with the good, old-fashioned maths.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I_ _’ve finished the latest batch of tests you wanted from me. I’ve enclosed samples of saltpetre transfigured with the various schemes you’ve proposed along with the control sample of natural saltpetre. Mind you, this would be easier if you didn’t need such large samples. Isn’t there any way to improve that detector thing you have?_

_In any case, I_ _’ve also enclosed several pages of notes on the diagnostics and untransfiguration potentials of the transfigured samples. However, I’m not convinced you’re doing an exhaustive search. Can you explain in clearer terms how you can prove arithmantically that there is no class of non-alchemy methods that allows transfiguration of radioactive particles, based only on the tests we’ve done?_

_Sincerely,_

_Rebecca_

* * *

The beauty of partial differential equations was that it made any kind of spellcrafting involving waves amazingly simple—well, simple wasn’t exactly the right term, but it gave some very straightforward ways to describe them. Using wave equations in spells was an advanced technique already known to arithmancers, but Hermione was able to take it a step further, extending her experiments throughout the electromagnetic spectrum, and she had a few ideas for sound waves, as well.

The first thing she noticed was that the electromagnetic spectrum was not well explored by wizards—unsurprising, since even muggle scientists didn’t know that light other than visible light existed until 1800, and its extension beyond ultraviolet and infrared was not proved until 1886. So wizards had never bothered much with anything but visible light.

The second thing she noticed was that, when she tried to adjust her Laser Charm to shorter and shorter wavelengths, the spell unexpectedly became much harder to cast, and that very suddenly. The efficiency of the spell dropped by well over half at a wavelength of—she measured it carefully—exactly 285.6 nanometres. It took her a while to figure out just why such a sudden change should occur. Eventually, she found the appropriate tables, did the maths, and found that that wavelength corresponded with the ionisation energy of potassium. Evidently, magic didn’t cooperate well when things started getting ionised. And perhaps it made sense: ionising radiation was at the root of what she was trying to disprove with Gamp’s Law.

“Holy cricket! That could be worth a paper in _Challenges in Charming_ all by itself,” she said to herself, “not to mention being a valuable step towards my eventually proof against antimatter. Oh, yes, this is _good_.”

To test her hypothesis that ionisation was to blame, she pushed more power through her wand and shortened the wavelength further. Sure enough, the resistance suddenly jumped a lot more at a wavelength of 241.2 nanometres, the ionisation energy of sodium. Potassium and sodium had the lowest ionisation energies of any common elements in the environment. From there, the Laser Charm grew gradually harder to cast as it started ionising trace elements. After she started ionising aluminium, calcium, and magnesium, she could barely keep it going, and she finally hit a wall at 119.7 nanometres, the ionisation energy of sulphur, one of the six main elements of organic matter. At that point, she decided to stop rather than risk collapsing from exhaustion.

All in all, it was probably a good thing. If she could cast x-rays efficiently, giving someone fatal radiation poisoning would be scarily easy.

So she turned around and went to lower frequencies. Infrared lasers were great for burning things and had the benefit of being invisible. After that, she didn’t find much, except to probe the effect of magic on electromagnetic radiation. She knew that electronic devices, including radios, didn’t work at Hogwarts or Beauxbatons unless they were enchanted to do so, like the Wizarding Wireless. Actual electricity, which ran at much lower frequencies, was blocked entirely, except for natural electricity—brain waves, static electricity, and lightning—those sorts of things. That came back to how many forms of magic had less effect on living things or on nature.

Hermione couldn’t really measure the efficiency of her spells quantitatively, but she did notice that casting electromagnetic waves became harder as she lowered the frequency. She hadn’t mentioned to Harry that her Microwave Charm was also very difficult to cast inside the wards in addition to not being powerful enough to be useful. After thumbing through an electronics textbook, she had a basic idea of what was happening. As far as she could tell, magic seemed to act as a high pass filter with a breakpoint of about 10 gigahertz, or 3 centimetres, where it was about half as efficient as normal. From there, the efficiency fell by a factor of four each time the frequency was halved. Why the breakpoint should occur there, she didn’t know, but it meant that non-magical radio signals were completely blocked and all electronics stopped.

“Hmm…by that logic, though, a high-enough frequency wireless signal ought to be able to punch through the magical field,” she mused. But then, she realised the problem: “No, no, no, the receiver would still need electricity to work. Never mind.”

The one hard part, the one that gave her a few uneasy nights in the end, was how to test these spells. These weren’t like the hexes she had been creating, where they were designed based on what she wanted them to do. These were spells where she didn’t know what they would do to living things, and she didn’t feel comfortable giving any of them to Harry until she knew what they did. Hermione discussed this concern in rather vague terms with Madame de Cotte and was a little dismayed to learn the wizards were considerably more cavalier about animal testing than muggles—at least with a few select species, like toad, rats, and various insects. Madame de Cotte was much more concerned that Hermione was crafting spells that _needed_ animal testing.

 _“If you are creating spells that dangerous at your age, I am concerned about you mental state and the safety of the other students, especially after the results of your_ other _experiments._ _”_

 _“I don’t think they’re really that dangerous, Madame,”_ Hermione said quickly. _“Certainly no worse than an_ Incendio _spell. I can even estimate what they do. I just want to be sure before I suggest them to my friends. It_ _’s only really for the Tournament, anyway. If it weren’t for that, I would file them for future reference and not bother with anything destructive.”_ Okay, that last part was a lie, but she would certainly be more cautious about the whole thing and wouldn’t focus on it as much.

Needless to say, Madame de Cotte asked her a number of pointed questions about just what these spells were and what she expected them to do, and only when Hermione had explained them to her satisfaction did she relent and accept the need for testing, directing her to the Care of Magical Creatures teacher to obtain a couple of rats to test on (with supervision, of course).

This was actually scary to Hermione, but in a very different way from most of the scary things she had experienced. She almost didn’t work up the nerve to do it at all. The idea of animal testing just galled her, no matter how necessary it was in the muggle world. _It_ _’s for Harry,_ she told herself. _It_ _’s for Harry_. She went ahead with it, but she felt like she needed a shower afterwards.

Concentrated infrared radiation burned on contact, as she expected. She was careful to keep the spells low-powered so she wouldn’t burn the rats badly. The weird thing happened when she lowered the frequency. Around 95 gigahertz, the rats went nuts, running around like they were on fire, and yet, they showed no visible burns. Diagnostic charms showed they were in distress, but not injured, even with prolonged exposure—but Hermione couldn’t take seeing much of that. They looked like they were in a lot of pain, but she didn’t see how. She even mentally double-checked her math to make sure she hadn’t accidentally discovered a dark curse.

 _“I don’t know, Mademoiselle Granger,”_ her teacher said. _“The diagnostic spells say it’s perfectly safe, at least for the amount of time you cast it. If you wish to test it on me, I could at least tell you what it feels like.”_

 _“I’m…not sure I want to use you as a test subject, Monsieur,”_ Hermione said uneasily. _“If it’s as safe as you say, I should be able to use it on myself.”_ He started to object, but she said, _“I wouldn’t want to test anything on you that I’m not willing to test on myself.”_ He reluctantly relented, and she rolled up her left sleeve and steeled herself to cast the spell on her arm.

It was the longest spell she had ever fully crafted—twenty-five syllables. Most of these electromagnetic spells were like that. If she found something useful, she would create a shorter version. She waved her wand very carefully and said, “ _Repercussiones viribus prope frequentia quae moleculis aqua concusant—YEOWCH!_ _”_ She dropped her wand and clutched at her bare arm.

 _“What is it?”_ her teacher said.

Hermione looked at her arm carefully. There was no sign of any burns. In fact, it felt perfectly fine the moment she let go of her wand. _“I don’t know, Monsieur,”_ she said. _“It felt like I brushed against a hot stove. I don’t know why it did that, though…unless it somehow microwave-heated just the very top layer of my skin. Hmm…penetration depths—maybe…But I’m not sure if that one’s so useful, either. I might get a reputation as a dark lady throwing a spell like that around.”_

She decided to keep that spell in reserve. However, that wasn’t the worst part. Not even close. The worst of it was the ultraviolet spells. Exposure to intense ultraviolet light gave the rats a bad sunburn. That was to be expected. What she didn’t expect, though, not having read up on the details of the medical science, was when they also started having vision problems…two days later.

All the worst curses in the wizarding world worked immediately. Delayed-onset damage? That was scary on a much more visceral level. You’d never know if the curse was done working. Even though the damage was easily fixed, she felt sick when she saw what her spells had done to the rats.

“That’s it,” she told herself. “No more animal testing unless it’s an emergency.”

* * *

_Dear Rebecca,_

_Thank you for the samples. They were just what I needed. The paper should be ready to publish before the end of the school year. I_ _’ve enclosed a partial draft including most of our results so far. Please add your parts as you see fit._

_The proof comes in three parts. The first part is a set of sub-proofs that demonstrates how each of the transfiguration schemes we_ _’ve tested can be selected from a broader class without loss of generality. The second part is to show that the general radioactivity terms we’ve isolated are forbidden as components of each of the classes. (Those individual proofs are pretty simple.) The third part is a proof by contradiction showing that any_ _ potential _ _transfiguration spell that might allow radioactivity must fall into one of those groups. I_ _’m still working on the third part, but I fully expect to be able to complete it with a similar argument to the other five exceptions to Gamp’s Law. In fact, it should be easier because it’s more precisely defined. You can see the parts I’ve completed for yourself in the manuscript._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione_

* * *

The use of human blood in magic was generally considered dark, from what Hermione could tell. (There were many advantages to being an Advanced Arithmancy student, and one of the lesser-known ones was that it was relatively easy to get access to the Restricted Section of the library.) However, for the most part, it seemed that blood by itself meant dark as in distasteful rather than dark as in dangerous, much less dark as in, for lack of a better word, _corrupting_. True, potions that used human blood usually did nasty things, either as the intended effect or a side effect, but they didn’t do nasty things to the _donor_ , or even to the brewer.

This was in stark contrast to blood _rituals_ , which could and very much did do nasty things to the “donor”—things like dark bindings and blood-bound curses and other horrors that Hermione had no desire to investigate further. Mixing blood and runes was a little ambiguous because rituals tended to be heavily runic-based, but between her reading and a few discreet questions to teachers and seventh-year students, she was able to determine that all those dark side effects were powered by corresponding runes—runes for binding and cursing and the like.

The upshot was that the runes used to make wands would have no effect on the donor when mixed with human blood. The only bad side effect—and it was only bad depending on one’s point of view—was that it would bind the _wand_ to the donor so that no one else could use it. This was an unpopular technique more for cultural reasons than practical ones, although the relative weakness of the resulting wand, even when made by a professional, was an obvious problem.

Hermione wasn’t worried about that, though. This was about equal access to magic for muggle-borns. Okay, her motive was more selfish than that. She was just hoping for a simple way to beat the Trace so she could cast magic over the summer—partly out of resentment that purebloods like Draco Malfoy could, and partly out of a single-minded desire not to have to interrupt her studies.

Hermione’s studies of wandlore had led her to the conclusion that animal fibres would almost always be superior to plant fibres for wands, and she was pretty sure that this was the last piece of the puzzle she needed to make a backup wand that she could use all summer, without getting too far into the weeds with regards to runes. This experiment wouldn’t be a final test, but it would be a proof of concept. She made a “toy” wand, not bothering with the runes, by placing one of her own hairs between the two pieces of wood and adding a few drops of blood to the adhesive.

She gave the completed wand a wave. It felt warm in her hand, like her real wand. And it shot out a shower of sparks. But they had changed some. When she’d first bought her wand from Ollivander’s, it had produced sparks that were almost pure white. With this wand, the sparks were tinged blue-silver with streaks of blood red. She wondered if that meant anything, like a personality test. Perhaps, although more likely it would be about as relevant as a horoscope.

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_I have a lot of stuff to tell you. A lot of it_ _’s about the Third Task, but there’s a lot more. They called all of the champions out to the Quidditch pitch on Wednesday to see what they were setting up. Professor Flitwick was leading a team of wizard and goblins building something. Bill Weasley was there, too. Some of the goblins started yelling at Bagman about something, but Flitwick told them to shut up and get back to work. I’ve never seen anyone talk to goblins like that. I think it’s because he’s part goblin. I sure wouldn’t want to try it._

_Anyway, Bagman said the Third Task would be some kind of maze filled with traps and creatures and stuff like in old tombs. The Triwizard Cup would be in the middle, and the first person to grab it would win. You get more of a head start if you have more points. The thing is, the maze looked like the start of some weird square building, but it didn_ _’t look right—like the parts didn’t fit together. I couldn’t figure out how to describe it, so I had Colin take a picture._

_That_ _’s not the weirdest part, though. We heard the full story from Hagrid the next day. He was tending the Abraxans from Beauxbatons when Mr. Crouch came stumbling out of the trees acting crazy and rambling something about his son—the dead one, remember? And then he demanded to see Dumbledore. Hagrid was about to take him up to the castle, but something spooked the Abraxans, and they nearly trampled him, and when he looked again, Crouch was gone. Even Moody couldn’t find him, but they found his hat, so they know he was there. No one knows what’s going on. Moody thinks maybe he was kidnapped._

_But there was another thing. Don_ _’t yell, okay? Yesterday, I fell asleep in Arithmancy class. I said quit yelling. I don’t know how it happened, but the next thing I knew, I was having another vision of Voldemort—just like back in August. There was a woman there who looked really out of it, like she was Imperiused or something, and Voldemort was talking to someone I couldn’t see about someone being dead, and then he said he was going to feed me to his pet snake. That was when Professor Vector woke me up. My scar was hurting, so she sent me to the Hospital Wing, but I went to Dumbledore instead because Sirius said to if I had another vision. Dumbledore said I probably get visions when Voldemort feels strong emotions—something to do with when he tried to kill me._

_Actually, Dumbledore said a lot of weird things. He thinks Voldemort_ _’s getting stronger somehow. He was using something called a Pensieve that lets you view memories, and he was looking at the trials of some Death Eaters. And he said Snape was a Death Eater, but he became a spy. He wouldn’t say how he knew for sure that he’d turned, though._

_Also, Fred and George were talking about blackmailing somebody. Do you know anything about that?_

_Harry_

 

Well, that was disturbing, to say the least. Crouch was acting strange and was possibly kidnapped? Could that have anything to do with the plot that got Harry entered into the Tournament? It didn’t make sense. Voldemort was getting stronger, which was very, very bad news. Could _he_ have been involved with Crouch? Probably. With Harry getting into the Tournament? But _why?_ What could Voldemort possibly have to gain by Harry being in the Tournament, win or lose? To kill him? There had to be an easier way. Why not just have whoever entered Harry shoot him in the back with the Killing Curse?

No, she couldn’t imagine how to tie it all together with one evil plot—not unless Voldemort had descended to the Bond villain level of foolishness where he would go out of his way to arrange a face-to-face meeting. She had only met Voldemort once—she shuddered as she remembered the Chamber of Secrets—but she didn’t think even he was that narcissistic.

And Snape was a Death Eater who became a spy? That was…believable, although Hermione was surprised someone as closed-off as he could give Dumbledore reason to trust him implicitly, but that was a small twist to her in comparison.

Fred and George were blackmailing somebody? She dearly hoped Harry was mistaken about that.

And finally, there was Colin’s photo. She examined it with a magnifying glass. It didn’t look too odd. Just a large, stone building under construction—perhaps with an inordinate amount of stairs. The only _really_ odd thing was how that one staircase ended at a solid wall…and how that one window was sideways…and that one goblin in the picture came to a staircase and mounted it on the vertical faces…

“Merlin’s beard! It’s an M. C. Escher print!” she cried.

This was going to be harder than she thought.

* * *

_Dear Fred and George,_

_I heard a disturbing rumour from Harry_ _…Actually, I heard a_ _ lot _ _of disturbing rumours from Harry, but this one concerns you. He claimed to have overheard you talking about blackmailing someone, who I assume is Bagman. I really hope he misheard. If you_ _’re getting into blackmail, I don’t want anything to do with it, and I would hope you aren’t foolish enough to do anything illegal to get your money back._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

_Dear Hermione,_

_Don_ _’t worry, we didn’t blackmail Bagman. Harry didn’t hear the whole thing. We did send Bagman a final warning letter that we wanted to settle our accounts at the Third Task and at least get our money back, or else. Fred wanted to say or else we’ll tell Rita Skeeter, but George said that was blackmail, and we shouldn’t do it. We made sure we did everything legal. Anyway, we’re going to try to settle things then._

_Forge and Gred_

* * *

_“I still don’t see why you want to learn this trick,”_ Michel said.

 _“Just for thoroughness. Besides, it’ll look cool if I can pull it off,”_ Hermione replied. _And if I ever get a chance to use it on Malfoy, it might just scare his pants off_ , she added mentally.

After some searching, Michel had found the technique to catch a flying spell on the end of one’s wand. It was very difficult, not so much in complexity, but in that it required pinpoint aim and lightning-fast reflexes. It also wouldn’t work for a lot of dark curses, the same as a Shield Charm wouldn’t. But it _was_ a cool trick, and Hermione wanted to add it to her repertoire. Unfortunately, that meant going through the fairly unpleasant process of having someone cast spells at her until she mastered it.

 _“Alright, then,”_ Michel said reluctantly. _“Are you ready?”_ Hermione nodded. _“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Attrahe!”_

Hermione’s wand flew out of her hand and into Michel’s. He tossed it back to her.

_“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Attrahe!”_

Same result.

_“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Attrahe!”_

Hermione tripped and fell on her arse. That one hit a little too hard. Her wand was once again lost.

 _“Are you okay?”_ Michel asked.

_“I’m fine. Let’s try it again.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“I can take it. Go ahead.”_

Michel sighed and started again. _“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Attrahe!”_

_“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Attrahe!”_

_“Expelliarmus.”_

_“Attrahe!”_

_ZZZIP!_

Hermione goggled at her wand. Michel’s spell was caught on the end of her wand, spinning in place, waiting to be released.

 _“You did it!”_ he said in shock.

 _“I did it!”_ Hermione said, equally shocked.

_“You did it! That was brilliant. Honestly, I didn’t think…”_

Hermione smirked at him and whipped her arm around like a cricket bowler with a whispered _“Libera,”_ and flung his own spell back at him. His eyes widened as it hit his chest, and his wand flew into her hand.

 _“Okay, I deserved that,”_ he admitted. _“I should have learnt by now not to underestimate you.”_

* * *

_Dear Rebecca and Septima,_

_I did it! I completed the proof! At least I think I did. I couldn_ _’t find any mistakes, but I need you both to check over my maths. But it’s all pretty straightforward if you’re familiar with the other exceptions to Gamp’s Law. The really novel part is the arithmantic construction for radioactivity. I wrote the whole thing up in the draft. If there aren’t any mistakes, we should be able to submit before I come back to Britain for publication on 1 July._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

* * *

While Hermione was basking in the warmth of having made the greatest arithmantic discovery of the decade—and the Pyrenean sun—she was not idle. Though she had completed a couple of them, one of her projects was still ongoing: her attempt at replicating the magic of the Marauder’s Map.

Oh, and she was also perusing the long-awaited proof of Fermat’s Last Theorem. How could she not? After all, it had taken 358 years to prove. Unfortunately, it was a hundred-page monster of a proof involving a lot of complex analysis that she hadn’t learnt yet. It certainly couldn’t be the “truly marvellous proof” that Fermat had claimed. Actually, there was good reason to think that Fermat didn’t have a proof, or thought he had one, but it turned out to be wrong, since he worked on sub-cases of the proof later in his life. In fact, Hermione could very easily construct a simple, but wrong proof in just a few lines using ring theory, and it was her personal belief that it was the same proof Fermat had intended before he realised his mistake.

But Andrew Wiles’s great discovery aside, she was keeping up with her magical cartography project. She hadn’t bothered trying to carve the runes for the Homonculous Charm into the anchor stones of Beauxbatons Castle. She wanted to wait until she had a workable system before risking something like that. She _did_ , however, try setting up a rune stone in her dorm tied into the wards of the school to tell her who was in it. It was tricky, not going through the anchor stones, but it seemed to work. Her small map now displayed people whose names she hadn’t individually added to the rune structure.

When it came down to it, there was one big hang-up in making the map. The Homonculous Charm was only really meant to track humans. In its native form, it wouldn’t track changes in the shape of the castle, nor did it track non-humans. That meant she had to dig into the mechanics and modify the spell for each species she wanted to include. It took a lot of work just to get Dobby to show up, and that was with him standing right there so she could scan his magical signature for reference. The original Marauder’s Map didn’t even show elves, but it did show ghosts, Peeves the Poltergeist, and Mrs. Norris, as well as people under an invisibility cloak or transformed as animagi, both of which would defy the Homonculous Charm. (It was an area tracking charm showing their movement through the mapped area and so could be thrown off by simple concealment methods, in contrast to tracking charms on a person directly.)

Come to think of it, there was another problem in getting the map to show passwords to the secret passages. That would require “hacking” the wards a lot deeper.

The other issue was how to display the map in an easy-to-use form. The original Marauder’s map was barely readable, with minuscule dots labelled with minuscule names because the only way to fit an entire floor of the castle onto one spread was to make everything really tiny. It would be a lot easier if the map had a zoom function, so Hermione wrote one into the hidden rune layer, controlled by wand taps on a small symbol.

The original Marauder’s Map was twenty-two pages long (though it magically folded up as if it were a single page), since each floor of the castle had to be on a different spread. It would be a lot less cumbersome if there was a way to switch between floors on a single page, so Hermione added one, and a scroll function to move around the image.

The original Marauder’s Map showed everyone at once. During mealtimes, the Great Hall was an unreadable mess, and even at the best of times, it was a pain to find a particular person amid all the names. So Hermione added a way to show or hide certain names or classes of names. She wanted to add a search function, too, but that proved to be more complicated.

Everyone on the Marauder’s Map showed up as an identical black dot. It would be clearer if certain types of people like teachers or ghosts showed up in a different colour, so Hermione added that, too.

It didn’t make a lick of sense, how she could do all that. It was so easy, she felt like she had to be missing something. If it were this simple to add all these new functions, why hadn’t the Marauders done it? But then it hit her: the Marauders had made their map before the invention of the graphical user interface.

Oh, she was going to knock their socks off.

* * *

_Dear Hermione_

_We_ _’ve looked over your maths, and we couldn’t find any mistakes besides a few misprints that didn’t affect the proof. This is some of the most brilliant arithmancy I’ve ever seen—S. We’ve polished up the draft with our parts, and if you approve, you should be free to submit it to Annals of Arithmancy. We also agree that a letter to Transfiguration Today is in order, summarising the argument and pointing to the A of A paper for the details. That’s only fair, and it will get more attention and press coverage, anyway. I recommend sending both papers to TT—S. Professor McGonagall should be very surprised. Please note that if TT picks up our letter in a timely fashion (which they probably will for something this big), it will probably be published while you are at Hogwarts for the Third Task. If you think that will be a problem, we can hold off until next month._

_Sincerely,_

_Septima and Rebecca_

 

Well, _that_ was interesting, alright—quite a coincidence with the timing.

Hermione had openly told her parents when she going back to Hogwarts this time, since she could use the Arithmancy N.E.W.T. as an excuse. It was one less thing to cover up with them. The French N.M.A. exam was on the Tuesday before the Third Task, while the N.E.W.T. was on Thursday. She had arranged to take a couple of her other exams early so that she could go to Hogwarts on Wednesday and settle in. Since the year had gone safely for her (at both schools), her parents agreed that she could come home on the Hogwarts Express the following Monday.

 _Transfiguration Today_ would be delivered on Friday, the day before the third task. She didn’t have a problem with that. She enjoyed the press attention when it was properly earned and accurate, as opposed to getting caught up in mortal peril against her will, and she knew Harry felt the same way, or he wouldn’t be a Quidditch player. So it might be good to get that out there. And if they were lucky, it might even throw Rita Skeeter off her game. A competing story was a competing story, not matter how much she was bugging people.

Wait a minute…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partieséparé: stylised from the French for “separate parts.”
> 
> Repercussiones viribus prope frequentia quae moleculis aqua concusant: approximately Latin for “vibrations of energy near the frequency at which water molecules collide.” This is a preliminary form of the spell allowing Hermione to swap out different frequencies quickly, and it is longer than usual because there are few natural sources of those frequencies, making it hard to describe.
> 
> Attrahe: Latin for “attract.”
> 
> Libera: Latin for “free.”
> 
> Hermione’s scholarly papers to date:  
> A paper in The Practical Potioneer on brewing of potions by non-magicals (sole author).  
> A letter in Magizoology Monthly on blocking the gaze of a basilisk with a blue filter (sole author).  
> A paper in Annals of Arithmancy about the basic form of her Laser Pointer Charm (sole author).  
> A paper in Annals of Arithmancy on the analysis of Extension Charms with non-Euclidean geometry (with Septima).  
> A paper in Annals of Arithmancy on complex structures in Colour-Change Charms based on group theory (sole author).  
> A letter in Transfiguration Today on the Sixth Exception to Gamp’s Law (with Rebecca and Septima).  
> A paper in Annals of Arithmancy demonstrating the proof of the Sixth Exception to Gamp’s Law (with Rebecca and Septima).


	81. Chapter 81

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Speaking of ways, JK Rowling, by the way, there is such a thing as a tesseract.

Hermione Portkeyed to the gates of Hogwarts in high spirits. She was naturally worried about Harry in the Third Task on Saturday, but today, she was setting that aside. She felt that she had done very well on the French N.M.A. Arithmancy exam. She had prepared herself for the N.E.W.T., which was more difficult, and she was eager to prove herself there tomorrow.

The fifth and seventh-year students were still busy taking exams, but for the rest of the school, they were already over, and they were having fun in the free period before their marks came out. That was an added benefit; it gave her plenty of time to spend with her friends.

Harry, of course, was busy learning spells for the Task.

“I reckon you could win this, Harry,” Ron said. “It sounds like it’ll be pretty even. All you gotta do is get to the Cup first. That can’t be too hard, especially if Hermione has something good up her sleeve again.”

Hermione blushed and said, “I have a few things, but I’d like to see this maze thing they’ve built, first.”

“We can go down there now,” Harry said. “It looked ever weirder when they finished it.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny walked down to the Quidditch pitch. The weather was warm and sunny, and she would have loved to spend the day relaxing on the grass if they didn’t have to deal with the Task. She wished once again that she knew who had entered Harry in this stupid tournament so she could hex them. She noticed that Harry and Ginny were now openly holding hands as they walked.

“When did that happen?” she asked.

Ginny shrugged and smiled: “After I told my roommates about the kiss, it didn’t say secret for long.”

“We decided we’d give it a try,” Harry added contentedly.

Ron looked reasonably accepting, which surprised Hermione a little. Of course, he’d had a few months to get used to it. Ron himself didn’t seem to have got anywhere with Parvati, from what she could tell, but she didn’t know whether that meant anything or not.

The structure on the Quidditch pitch looked like an enormous stone cube about fifty yards on a side. It was largely open to the air, the outer walls being covered with windows and arches that allowed a view into the cube from the stands. (That was certainly better than the Second Task. They must have learnt their lesson.) Hermione examined it with Harry’s Omnioculars from the seats. The interior was filled with freestanding staircases, columns, and buttresses. There were landings and interior walls, but they were comparatively small, so that the overall effect was rather like looking through a petrified forest. And all of them were running in different directions. There were columns, archways, windows, and stairs that were clearly sideways and even upside down. Hermione could only imagine that the gravity had been altered somehow inside, like in the M. C. Escher prints, and she could guess why it had taken a large team of both wizards and goblins to build it.

What was more, everything was moving. Much like the moving staircases of Hogwarts itself, the interior of the cube was in constant motion, with staircases swivelling from side to side, but in every direction again so that they could go from pointing up, as seen from the outside, to pointing down or even sideways. In order to make the geometry work, the stairs had to be steep. A normal stair step was about eight inches high and twelve inches wide. It was hard to tell from a distance, but it looked like all the stairs in the cube were twelve inches in both directions. The whole thing was thirteen stories high.

“This is some _amazing_ spell work,” Hermione said. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.”

“Yeah, but how do I get through it?” Harry asked.

“What did they say you had to do again?”

“Bagman said the Triwizard Cup would be at in a vault at the centre of the maze, but it…doesn’t look right.”

“How so?”

“Just look. It keeps appearing and disappearing, like the stairs.”

“Like the stairs?” Hermione said in confusion.

“Blimey, just look at it,” Ron cut it.

Ginny pointed to part of the structure. “It only happens in some places,” she said, “like…um…there. Look there.”

Hermione looked just in time to see one of the staircases fold into a solid wall as if it were never there to begin with. “Well, that’s unsettling,” she said. “That could get dangerous really fast.” As she watched, another staircase folded out of a wall nearby. Now that she knew what to look for, it was obvious. Ginny was right, though; it only happened in certain areas of the structure.

“The vault-thing does the same thing,” Harry added. “There, in the middle.”

The exact centre of the cube contained a smaller, solid cube with a door on each face, but no windows so you couldn’t see what happened inside. It was about twenty feet on a side. The stairs around it looked out of proportion—smaller than the rest. But it seemed to be…not all there—like it was folding in on itself and unfolding at the same time. And yet, the pattern looked familiar.

“Non-Euclidean geometry,” she whispered.

“What?” Harry said.

Hermione wasn’t listening. She looked again at the places where the staircases appeared and disappeared again. She hadn’t noticed before, but there was a pattern there, too—walls that zigzagged inward from each edge and corner, aligned so that they seemed to suspend a smaller cube full of stairways inside the larger one. Looking at is as a whole, it was obvious.

And so shocking that she forgot where she was and started babbling in French.

“Hermione! _Hermione_!” her friends yelled, trying to get her to calm down. “What is it? What’s the problem?”

“ _Mon Dieu_ , it’s a tesseract!”

“A what?”

Of course, none of them knew. “It’s a hypercube.” Blank-looks. “A four-dimensional cube.” More blank looks. “Never mind. It’s not just one cube. It’s actually _eight_ cubes all occupying the same space. Every time one of those staircases appears and disappears, it’s actually folding into one of the other cubes. If you were standing on one, it wouldn’t look like it was going through a wall at all…well, you might notice something, but it wouldn’t look impossible in there. Instead, it would look like the _outside_ world was folding in on itself.”

“Bloody hell, they can do that?” Ron said in amazement.

“Apparently. I’m guessing this is what happens when extension charms go wrong. Merlin, it’s unsettling to watch. It looks like it ought not to exist. Have you talked to Septima, Harry? Her fingerprints are all over this. I’ll eat my hat if she wasn’t one of the designers.”

“I asked her, but she said she couldn’t help any of the champions,” Harry replied.

“But how is Harry supposed to get around in there?” Ginny said worriedly. “The way it keeps moving around, it looks like you could get lost forever in there.”

“I wouldn’t say forever,” Hermione countered. “It’s finite in size, and not really insanely big, at least by muggle standards. Hmm…I honestly don’t think it would be that hard. A tesseract is pretty simple as far as four-dimensional geometry is concerned.”

“ _That_ is _simple_?” Ron protested.

“For four dimensions. A lot of figures in four-dimensional geometry are dozens, if not hundreds of times as complex.”

“So what’s the plan?” asked Harry.

“Okay, let me think…hmm…aha! It’s easy. Follow one of those zigzag walls into the structure, and find a staircase the folds you into one of the other cubes. Remember, you’ll be able to tell because your view of the outside will change. I don’t know for sure if you’ll be able to see the outside at all at that point. If you can, just move away from it. If not, get away from the wall you’re on and go to one of the other zigzag walls and find another staircase to take you into the middle cube—well, it’s not _really_ the middle cube, but the one that _looks_ like the middle cube from here. It might take a few tries, but you’ll know you’re there when the vault looks normal and undistorted. Then you can just head towards it—and stay away from the zigzag walls, or they’ll fold you back out again. To get out, just do the same thing in reverse until you can see the stands undistorted.”

“That’s…” Harry wanted to say “crazy,” but it really wasn’t. There were really only a couple things he needed to do, and there were clear directions for most of it. “That actually makes sense,” he said. “Thanks a lot, Hermione.”

“What are friends for, Harry?”

“Cool, now you can definitely win it,” Ron said optimistically. “You only have to worry about the monsters and traps.”

The other three all groaned.

* * *

As soon as Hermione got back to the castle, she made a beeline for Septima’s office.

“Good afternoon Septima,” she greeted her.

“Hermione! It’s good to see you.” Septima rose to hug her former student. “Congratulations again on your paper.”

“Well, your name’s on it, too,” Hermione reminded her.

“For which I thank you. I’m not convinced I deserve that much. I hope your exam yesterday went well.”

“Very well. I was a little worried about the experimental techniques, but I think I practised them enough.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure you’ll do just as well tomorrow.”

“I hope so. So…I see you’ve been busy with the Third Task.”

Septima gave her a coy smile: “And what makes you so sure I was involved?”

Hermione smiled back: “Because while there may be a few other people in this castle who know what a tesseract _is_ , I highly doubt anyone but you could actually _design_ one—including Professor Dumbledore. That’s not his expertise.”

“I suspect the Headmaster could surprise us all, Hermione. But you’re right about the rest. Actually, I’m rather proud of my work. It scared me a little when I was done, so I think I was doing it right. I don’t normally delve into eldritch constructions like that. Mr. Bagman was the one who wanted to make it harder and weirder. He couldn’t quite explain what he wanted, but he thought it was brilliant when I showed him how I could make it fold in on itself.”

“Bagman again? Why am I not surprised?”

“Well, that _is_ his personality. Of course, I’m sure you could have done it better. I’d wager you know all about four-dimensional geometry.”

She shook her head: “Not all about it, but enough. Be glad I didn’t, though. If you set the Champions loose inside the Grand Antiprism, they could get lost for weeks.”

Septima opened her mouth, but she paused and reconsidered. “No, I don’t want to know,” she concluded.

“Really, though, that method of making the staircases fold from one cube to another was brilliant,” Hermione assured her. “And really creepy. How did you do it?”

“Well, I just…” Septima trailed off as she realised the significance of what her protégé had just said. “You figured that out…? You told Mr. Potter how to navigate that maze just by looking at it for five minutes, didn’t you?”

“No! Of course not…” Hermione said. Septima stared at her suspiciously. “…It was more like ten.”

* * *

Hermione was hopelessly lost in a maze of moving staircases, where gravity shifted like sand and space turned back on itself. Everything was dark and grey, lit only by a strange bio-luminescence and electric torchlight. The walls, such as there were, were painted with grotesque geometric designs and murals of abominable alien histories.

The maze wasn’t supposed to be this big. Or this complicated. She couldn’t see any points of reference anymore. All she could see were more stairs and columns leading out in all directions, bending in impossible ways, and in the dim shadows, she thought she could see cyclopean shapes looming in all their blasphemous glory, reflected and refracted through the non-Euclidean geometry until the mind shrank from comprehending them.

She should have known there was something evil about that maze. It had been nagging at the back of her mind all day—the strangeness, the unnaturalness of it—packing a four dimensional shape into a universe that permitted only three. Curse Bagman for demanding this monstrosity be put up, and curse the other judges for going along with it. Now, she was trapped inside it with no way out of the twice-cursed structure.

Her heart clenched tight in her chest at the horror of it. If she didn’t get out soon, she was sure she would collapse from fear. She picked up the pace, faster and faster, until she broke into a run—up the stairs, down the stairs, trying to remember how to get out, trying to remember how she had got to this point in the first place. It was no use. All she saw was more of the same geometry—the same dark world that Man Was Not Meant To Know.

Near panic, she stopped by one wall to catch her breath. It was then that she heard a distant cry, and when she looked up, she saw it.

A bubbling, black mass bore down on her from above—as big as a lorry, and as powerful as a freight train. It filled the stairwell, all shapeless protoplasm and malevolent power. Dozens of glowing green eyes covered its surface, forming and unforming like sickly pustules. Its piercing cry filled the maze, and Hermione was petrified with fear as it descended upon her at a terrifying speed.

_“Hermione?”_

_“Hermione!”_

_“Hermione, wake up!”_

_“TEKELI-LI! TEKELI-LI!”_

_“AHHH!”_

Hermione was sitting bolt upright in her old bed in Gryffindor Tower, drenched in sweat and panting for breath as her old roommates jumped back in fear.

“Hermione, are you alright?” Parvati Patil asked. “You were screaming like you were being attacked by a monster.”

“Er…it was…just a n-nightmare,” she said. She was still shaking.

“It sounded like a really bad one,” said Lavender Brown sympathetically.

“One of my worse ones,” Hermione admitted.

“What was that yelling?” asked Lily Moon. “Tekli-something-or-other?”

“ _Tekeli-li_ ,” she corrected. “It’s the cry of the Elder Things and their dread servants, the Shoggoths.”

Three of the girls stared at her in mixed horror and confusion, but Sally-Anne Perks, as a muggle-born, showed a look of vague recognition.

“Are you sure you’re alright,” Parvati said. “You’re starting to sound like Luna Lovegood.”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just a muggle horror story…Goodness, I haven’t had that dream since I was eleven.”

“You’ve had it _before_?” Lavender gasped.

Hermione nodded: “When I first read those stories. Seeing that maze of Bagman’s must have brought it back…Bagman,” she growled. “That’s it, he’s gonna get it.”

“Uh-oh. Better watch out. She’s plotting,” Lavender said with a half-giggle.

* * *

The practical N.E.W.T. exam in Arithmancy was held bright and early on Thursday morning. Hermione had had to pay a steep fee to take it while not enrolled at Hogwarts, but it would be worth it. She lined up with the seventh-year students, just as she had at Beauxbatons two days ago and waited for her name to be called. This time, though, the person directly in front of her was a sixth-year.

“Hello, Hermione,” the older Ravenclaw girl said.

“Hi, Rebecca. How have you been?”

“Well enough,” said Rebecca Gamp. “I thought I was going to get ahead of you in Arithmancy this year.”

“Well, it’s not my fault I got sent out of the country,” Hermione replied without malice. “At least we got our article done. Thanks again for your help, by the way.”

“Ha. Like I’d have missed a chance like that…But still, I have to admit, that was some pretty brilliant arithmancy. I could barely follow some of it. You did something really incredible, there.”

“ _We_ did, Rebecca,” Hermione insisted. “I couldn’t have done it without your transfiguration knowledge.”

Rebecca nodded: “Thank you. Good luck, then.”

“Thanks. You too.”

“Rebecca Gamp,” the examiner called.

“Well, that’s me.” Rebecca stood and entered the testing room.

About ten minutes later, Rebecca was done, and the examiner called Hermione into the room.

The same three people were sitting in the examination room as last year: the ancient witch Griselda Marchbanks and two slightly younger men whose names escaped her at the moment. However, they didn’t look sceptical as they had last year—not after the show she had put on then. “Miss Granger, it’s good to see you again,” Madam Marchbanks said. “Given your special circumstances, could you please state your school and year for the record?”

“I’m a fourth year student at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, ma’am, transfered from Hogwarts last fall.”

“Indeed. You sat your Ordinary Wizarding Level examination in Arithmancy just last year,” the ancient witch continued. “What education have you had in the subject since?”

“I took the one-year N.M.A. course at Beauxbatons,” Hermione said. “I sat the exam on Tuesday. I’ve also been doing independent studies in the muggle mathematics subjects of abstract algebra and partial differential equations.”

“Really? Partial differential equations? Very interesting. It’s too bad we don’t have time to discuss it further. In any case, as you know the N.E.W.T. qualification requires a final project in original spell creation, or another applicable advanced arithmancy topic. I believe the N.M.A. qualification includes a similar requirement?” Hermione nodded. “You will be asked to submit a written copy of your project to the Wizarding Examination Authority for review and possible publication in the _Proceedings of the British Department of Magical Education_. For now, please explain in two minutes an outline or illustrative example from your final project.”

Hermione hadn’t made her work on Gamp’s Law her final project (nor had Rebecca), both to preserve the surprise and to avoid an extra layer of complications. Nor had she used any of her side projects that she didn’t want to become too widely known. She _did_ need something fairly dazzling, though—a project worthy of a high mark. She’d done her share of “showy” things over the past year, but that wasn’t the same as being arithmantically complex. There was one thing that fit the bill, though.

“For my final project,” she began, “I have developed a toolkit of spells to aid in the tailoring and mending of clothing. I tested the first of them just before Christmas to make a custom suit for a friend. These spells are based on a core operation of un-spinning the individual fibres of the threads in a fabric and spinning them back together in a new configuration. A clothing-repair charm based on these principles offers an improvement over the traditional Mending Charm. The Mending Charm simply repairs a rip with magic, which never leaves it quite as strong as it was before. My innovation is a spell that essentially re-manufactures the thread inside the cloth along the rip, restoring it as good as new, as long as there isn’t much severing of the actual fibres.

“Other spells in the toolkit are designed to join together cut pieces of fabric along a seam without stitching, resulting in a single, whole piece of cloth. By carefully controlling how the fibres realign themselves, this joint can be made just as strong as the rest of the cloth, allowing the creation of new types of clothes such as seamless shirts or custom-made, larger-than-life garments. Because of this capability, I’ve decided to call the basic spell of the toolkit the Scarborough Charm. Hmm…aha!”

At this point, Hermione surveyed the room and saw a suitable shirt hanging in the wardrobe that was set up for the practical exam. After a quick check to make sure there were no spells on it—to the examiners’ slight objection since she was getting ahead of them—she took it over to their table to demonstrate the spell.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” she cast, and a large rip was opened in the shirt, to slightly more objection from the examiners. “The basis of the spell is to unwind the fibres from their spun state in the thread or yarn,” she explained. “Thread is made of short fibres a few inches long twirled together, relying on their mutual friction for its strength, so a simple Twirling Charm such as you might use for plaiting hair or spinning rope will fulfil the function. It’s only a matter of reducing the scale factors to the size of the thread and modifying it to work many times along the tear. _Unasiwod. Unasiwod. Unasiwod_ ,” she demonstrated her spell, and the shirt was repaired as good as new.”

“Oh, bravo, Miss Granger. Very clever,” said one of the little old men. “I look forward to reading your written copy.”

“How were you able to keep that many threads aligned in the pattern of the weaving?” the other man asked.

“I approximated it by incorporating the parametric form of a Lissajous curve into the arithmantic expansion, sir. I converted it to something I could cast by truncating it with Chebyshev polynomials.”

“Hmm…That would be a good start, but it’s not obvious how you maintained the alignment of the weft threads,” observed Madam Marchbanks. “How do you prevent runs from forming in the repaired cloth?”

“I started with a diagonal cut and took the limit as I rotated it into alignment with the weave.”

“Interesting. Well, given the time, we’ll have to wait for the write-up for the rest. Now, for the rest of the exam.”

Like the O.W.L. exam, the N.E.W.T. practical involved a lot of spell manipulation, but this time, it was in advanced forms all the way up to basic curse-breaking. But with her knowledge of differential equations, well beyond that of other N.E.W.T. students, this came easy to Hermione. She could construct counter-curses on the fly that were much better than most of her classmates could produce, and she could find novel solutions that even the examiners themselves had never dreamt of.

“There are multi-layered charms on the cookware in the kitchen set, but the middle one is a cleaning charm that has been found to improperly activate during cooking. Remove it while maintaining the others.”

That was a simple enough problem to solve arithmantically. She determined the arithmantic expansions of the spell in question and replaced it with a trivial form that didn’t do anything but maintain the rest of the spell chain.

“Using only experimental techniques, remove the jinxes from the red dress robe in the wardrobe without damaging it.”

Hermione managed it without choking and even surprised the examiners by turning her wand around at one point to hold it like a pen for more precision work. That was an uncommon technique.

“Construct an outline for a spell chain to allow the table to detect and keep clear of unwanted clutter—but without a Vanishing Spell.”

Inspired by the maze down on the Quidditch pitch, Hermione not only constructed such an outline—a exercise analogous to writing pseudocode in computer programming—she also tested a first-order form of the non-vanishing spell to sweep clutter off of the table using hyperbolic geometry. That got her some applause. It was completely different from how almost anyone else would have done it.

“Final question, Miss Granger,” Madam Marchbanks said. “I have heard that you invented the spell that Harry Potter used to defeat the Hungarian Horntail in the First Task of the Tournament.”

“That’s right, ma’am.”

“Is there anything in here you could use to demonstrate it?”

Hermione looked over the props in the room: “Yes, ma’am. The soil for the potted plant. Although you’ll need to re-pot it afterwards. I don’t know what a magnesium deficiency will do to a plant, but it’s probably not good. Ahem, _Dialego Kathar Magnesia_.” A cloud of silvery dust rose out of the pot. She directed it away from the plant, averted her eyes, and cast, “ _Incendio_.”

_BANG!_

The examiners jumped, but they all looked pleased with the result.

“I’ll be honest with you, Miss Granger,” Madam Marchbanks said. “You’ve done things with a wand here today that I’ve never seen before. Only two other students have ever taken me completely by surprise like that. One of them was Albus Dumbledore.” Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t have heard of the other one. He did not become famous. I hope to see you follow in the footsteps of the former, and I look forward to reading more about your exploits.”

Hermione gave her a sly smile: “Sooner than you think, ma’am.”

* * *

Friday was the big day for Hermione. Most of the school was growing in excitement for the Third Task tomorrow—and in nervousness, for the champions—but this was Hermione’s time to shine. A number of extra owls swooped into breakfast to deliver this month’s issue of _Transfiguration Today_ , one of which approached Hermione at the Gryffindor Table.

“I didn’t know you took _Transfiguration Today_ ,” said Alicia Spinnet.

“I don’t normally,” she answered.

“Is this about that big project you were working on?” asked Ginny.

“Mm hmm.” Hermione opened the journal and smiled. There it was: _LETTER: A PROOF A SIXTH EXCEPTION TO GAMP_ _’S LAW OF ELEMENTAL TRANSFIGURATION by H. J. Granger, R. H. Gamp, and S. O. Vector_. Hermione gazed up at the High Table.

“What’re you looking at?” said Ron.

“Wait for it…”

Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore took their copies from the owls. McGonagall opened hers up and—

_CLANK!_

—promptly dropped her teacup.

Dumbledore gave his Deputy a questioning look, and she pointed out the letter to him. His eyes grew wide, and they started whispering back and forth to each other, flipping through the pages, and frequently glancing up at certain people in the Great Hall. McGonagall shot Septima an annoyed look, to which Septima just smiled back. That would be an interesting discussion later.

A discussion of a transfiguration paper between Dumbledore and McGonagall wasn’t a big deal, but this one was so heated that more people started paying attention. After a few minutes, they came to a consensus, and Dumbledore stood up.

“May I have your attention, please?” he said. “I have just been apprised of a most extraordinary paper in this month’s _Transfiguration Today_. Many of you will be aware of the five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, one of the most fundamental principles of the field. Today, we have received definitive proof of a _sixth_ exception—the previously conjectured exception of radioactive materials. What’s more, this discovery was made by three people, all of whom are here with us today: Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons, our own Rebecca Gamp of Ravenclaw, and Professor Septima Vector. My sincere congratulations to all three of you, and to Miss Gamp, I award fifty points to Ravenclaw.

Loud applause filled the Great Hall, and excited chatter from the upper year students. It was probably more about the fifty points to Ravenclaw than the discovery, but all the students who understood the significance of the discovery were amazed and congratulated Hermione when they saw her. Even Fleur was impressed, and that was saying something.

Cedric Diggory had a slightly different motive in approaching her after breakfast, though. “Congratulations, Hermione,” he said. “I didn’t realise you were working on something that big.”

“Thanks, Cedric,” she replied. “That was really only part of the long-term program I’m working on, but that was probably the most important part for most people. Anyway, how have you been?”

“Pretty well, but I wanted to ask you something. I know you were going to teach Harry some of your spells for the Task today. I was wondering if your offer was still open to join you.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but Ron jumped in and said, “Don’t do it, Hermione. Harry can win this if he’s the only one who knows your tricks.”

“They’re not “tricks,” Ron,” Hermione chided. “And I already offered, so I’m not going to go back on it. I hope you don’t mind, Harry.”

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t supposed to be in this in the first place. I think it’s okay.” He didn’t mention the big advantage he’d have since he knew how to get through the maze and Cedric didn’t. He still held onto a wild hope that he might actually win the Tournament.

After showing Cedric the Room of Requirement (and politely asking him to keep its existence confidential), Hermione started drilling him on spells. She focused on those that would help keep him safe from the creatures that were supposed to be lurking in the maze as opposed to any that would help him navigate and make him more likely to win the Tournament. Hermione still liked Cedric a lot, but she’d committed herself, to some extent, to help Harry win. Wouldn’t it be a perfect _coup de gr_ _âce_ if a fourth-year won a tournament designed for seventh-years and showed everyone how big a farce it really was? Okay, that was what she told herself, but her real motive, if she admitted it, was more selfish: wouldn’t it be great if Harry won the Tournament using mostly _her_ spells and strategies?

“ _Dasask Cohaerens_!” Hermione cast, and Cedric squeezed his eyes shut and turned away with a shout as he was assailed by a beam of green laser light. “They use something very similar to that in the muggle world to stop violent assailants,” she explained. “It blinds the target and makes them unable to fight effectively, but it doesn’t do any actual damage.” The Taser Hex is similar, and so is the Heat Ray Hex I invented, but I set that one aside until I understand it better.

“The Heat Ray Hex?” Harry asked.

“Yes, it’s a little creepy, to be honest. It almost makes you feel like you’re on fire, but it doesn’t leave any burns. I couldn’t find any indication that I’d accidentally created a dark spell, but I need to do some more research to figure out what it’s actually doing. Anyway, let’s start with the Dazzling Jinx.”

She showed Cedric the wand movement and directed him to try to cast the spell, but he didn’t find it quite as easy.

“ _Dasako—Dasaskoreh—Dasassask—_ Boy, that really doesn’t roll off the tongue, does it? _Dasask Cohaerens_ ,” he said slowly, and his wand produced the dazzling green pattern. “How do you cast it so fast, Hermione?”

“Just practice. I was tripping over it myself at first. It’s good practice to work on your reflexes, anyway. You’ll need to be able to cast it pretty quickly to do a lot of good.”

Cedric kept at it for a while longer, but Hermione was eager to move on since she had some new spells she wanted to teach Harry.

“I developed another spell to slow down an opponent’s spellcasting,” she explained. “I call it the Hand-Freezing Hex.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow: “That sounds…kind of painful.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t literally _freeze_ the target’s hands. It just makes them cold and numb so they can’t hold a wand properly.”

“Okay, so how does it work?”

Hermione raised her wand. “Do you mind, Harry?” He shrugged and shook his head. “ _Refrigera Manibus_.”

Harry cringed. He felt like his hands had been plunged into ice water, and sure enough, his fingers grew stiff and would no longer obey him. “I think it works,” he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione taught them that spell and a few others. She had an infrared version of her Burning Laser Spell that was more efficient than the red beam, albeit harder to aim. She also had an experimental spell that she called a Bouncing Disarming Charm.

“ _Expelliarmus Resilio_!” Hermione’s spell bounced off the wall and narrowly missed Cedric. “I got the idea from my experimental spellcrafting exercises,” she said. “I haven’t figured out how to make it work on general spells, or even if that’s possible, but I figured out how to wrap a Disarming Charm in an extra layer of magic that will dissipate when it hits something, so it will bounce exactly once before it disarms the target. It won’t work if you score a direct hit on someone, but it’ll be good if you need to cast around a corner.”

“Won’t that be hard to aim, though?” Cedric asked.

“Well, there’s that, but how well can you aim if you cast around a corner normally?”

He conceded that point, although he personally didn’t think there was much call to cast spells around corners in the first place. Actually, a lot of Hermione’s spells seemed off the wall—the Eyelash Curling Hex, the Pocket-Sealing Jinx, the Iambic Pentameter Curse. But her judgement had been good about other aspects of the Tournament, so he concluded her spells were worth learning.

They concluded with a series of one-on-on duels. Harry and Hermione looked pretty evenly matched, and Cedric found both of them to be tougher opponents than he expected. He defeated both of them, but Hermione nearly got the better of him when she pulled a backup wand—one of her “toys”—and cast left-handed at him. He’d never seen that tactic in person before.

“Thank you for your help, Hermione,” he told her when they broke for lunch. “Harry, good luck tomorrow…You’ll need it.”

“Er, thanks,” Harry said.

Hermione waiting until Cedric was out of earshot before saying the one other thing she wanted to say: “Harry, I hope you understand, I didn’t tell Cedric how to get through the maze because I really do want you to win. But I wasn’t sure…if Fleur asks me, it’s sort of a matter of school honour.”

Harry nodded uneasily. “I get it. I guess it wouldn’t be so bad. I’ll have a ten minute head start, and she doesn’t know these spells, does she?”

“No, she’s never asked me for spells,” Hermione agreed.

“Although…maybe you don’t have to tell her _all_ the details.”

Hermione rolled her eyes: “I can think about it. Good luck tomorrow, Harry.” She hugged him, and they walked back down to the Great Hall.

* * *

_HARRY POTTER_ _“DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS’_

_By Rita Skeeter_

“That old _cow_ ,” Hermione spat. “That’s it. No more Miss Nice Witch. I’m going to get her this time.”

“How?” Ginny asked incredulously. “She’s practically untouchable at the newspaper.”

“I’ve got a plan,” Hermione said. “I’ll tell you later.”

The article was based on eyewitness accounts of Harry’s vision of Voldemort in Arithmancy class a few weeks ago. All that most people had seen was him suddenly screaming and complaining of his scar hurting. “Experts’ from St. Mungo’s suggested that Voldemort’s attempt on his life when he was a baby could have left him emotionally unstable—or it could all just be attention-seeking behaviour. Draco Malfoy was quoted with the revelation that Harry was a Parselmouth, and since he was in Arithmancy, too, it was a good guess that he was the source for the rest of the story, too. Most of Harry’s friends were indignant on his behalf, but Harry himself took it in stride. He was used to Malfoy screwing with him by now.

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall interrupted. “The champions’ families have been invited to watch the finally task. You may greet them in the chamber off the Great Hall after breakfast.”

“Them?” Hermione said. “Not just Sirius?”

“She must mean Remus,” Harry said. “I can’t imagine what the Dursleys would do if they tried to haul them in here.”

Ron and Ginny giggled at the thought.

Harry’s three friends followed him, intent on waiting outside so they could say hi to Sirius and Remus, but as soon as Harry entered the room, he called out, “Ron! Ginny!”

They rushed inside, and to their surprise, Bill Weasley was there along with Sirius and Remus.

“Bill!” Ginny cried, and she ran to hug him.

“Hey there, pipsqueak,” he said. “How have you been? Harry still treating you right?”

Ginny giggled while Harry flushed deeply.

“Oi! What’re you doin’ here, Bill?” Ron cut in.

“Well, I helped build the maze, and I’ll need to help tear it down afterwards, so I decided to stick around to watch the Task. There’s a couple of goblins lurking about, too.” He leaned close to Hermione: “The rumour is you already figured out how to get through it.”

“Well, it was a simple problem in four-dimensional geometry,” she admitted.

Bill shook his head: “I think you’re the only person I know who can put those words together.” He went on to pass along word from the rest of the family. Percy was in a bind at the Ministry. Barty Crouch’s alleged illness had got worse, and they were suspicious that he wasn’t actually sending Percy instructions anymore. Minister Fudge had taken over for him as judge in the Task. Charlie was busy in Romania, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were at home and doing as fine as ever.

Sirius and Remus said hello and led Harry out of the room, away from prying ears. “Just focus on getting through the Task in one piece,” Sirius told him. “We’ll worry about Voldemort afterwards.”

“Don’t try anything fancy to beat the others,” Remus added. “You just need to make it until _someone_ gets the Cup.”

“That said, if Hermione’s plan gets you there first, more power to you,” Sirius countered.

“Thanks, guys. I’ll be careful,” Harry assured them.

* * *

The Defence Professor of Hogwarts had a plan for the Third Task, and this time, his plan was working. He couldn’t dissuade Potter from his blind faith in the mudblood (how she had managed to pull off the transfiguration advance of the decade he couldn’t fathom), so he instead decided to turn it to his advantage. With a few instructions passed along to the other judges, he had set a maths problem in the maze that only Granger could solve, and did she ever. She told Potter exactly how to get through it in just a few minutes.

Now there was one other loose end to tie up. He had heard through his careful questioning that Granger had also told the Delacour girl something about how to get through the maze. That wouldn’t do at all. Potter may have a head start, but Delacour was much more advanced at magic. He needed someone on the inside for that, so he waited until one of the other champions was walking by, and he cursed him from behind.

“ _Imperio_.”

Viktor Krum stood still and blinked in confusion for a few moments.

“Continue acting normally until the Task,” the Defence Professor instructed. “When you enter the maze, stay close to Fleur Delacour, and prevent her from reaching the vault before Potter. Use any means necessary other than the Unforgivable Curses.” It wouldn’t do for someone to see the Quidditch star use one of those. Diggory he wasn’t worried about. The boy was bright, but not that bright. He’d have to be extremely lucky to catch up with Potter without knowing the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Refrigera Manibus: Latin for “freeze hands.” Credit to Aisyah for this idea.
> 
> Resilio: based on the Latin for “rebound.”


	82. Chapter 82

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: JK Rowling can escape a Penrose staircase.
> 
> Well, this story has grown bigger than I ever imagined it. It’s definitely been learning experience, and while I think some parts are rough around the edges, I like how it’s turned out.
> 
> Careful readers will remember that Wormtail is in Azkaban in this story, and that Bertha Jorkins is alive and under Barty Jr’s Imperius Curse.
> 
> Also, also, how did the shades of Harry’s parents actually know that the Cup would take him back to Hogwarts? Did they see Barty Jr cast the spell from beyond the Veil?

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament!” Ludo Bagman’s amplified voice boomed over the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione was sitting anxiously in the stands with Sirius, Remus, and the Weasleys. Luna and Neville both found themselves sitting in front of the group, and Luna was completely mesmerised by the shifting tesseract of the maze.

“The champions stand before a magical maze of fiendish complexity in which space turns back on itself,” Bagman said dramatically, “filled with traps and strange creatures to test their skills to the limit.”

Hermione had to hand it to Septima, Professor Flitwick, and the Gringotts builders. They had spared no expense for authenticity. She could see many types of creatures running every which way in the variable gravity of the maze through the arches and stairways of the interior, along with suspicious-looking dark corners that no doubt held mind-bending traps. But the most intriguing sight was a large number of creatures that looked like six-legged, armour-plated lizards about ten feet long. They would crawl around normally on flat surfaces, but they would curl up into a wheel-like shape to roll “down” each flight of stairs they came to.

“Oh my, they’re _wentelteefjes_!” Luna exclaimed when she saw them.

Hermione stared at the younger girl. “Yes, they are. How did _you_ know that?” she asked.

Luna stared up at her: “Why wouldn’t I? They’re quite rare, though. I wonder where they found them.”

“I assumed they were transfigured constructs.”

“Hmm…possibly.”

“The Triwizard Cup lies inside the vault at the centre of the maze,” Bagman said. “The first champion to reach it will win the Triwizard Tournament. Now, to remind you of the scores. Viktor Krum is in first place with ninety points, so he will enter the maze first. Harry Potter is in second place with eighty-eight points, so he will enter two minutes after Krum. And Fleur Delacour and Cedric Diggory are tied for third at seventy-eight points, so they will enter ten minutes after Potter. So, on my whistle, Viktor—three—two—one—”

Bagman blew his whistle, and Krum ran into the maze. He took it at a run, flitting into and out of view in the forest-like structure, his wand waving wildly, dispatching anything that got in his way. And yet, he didn’t seem to get very far. He quickly got turned around, flipped over, and looked as if he was going in circles. Two minutes later, he was still near the entrance, and it was Harry’s turn.

* * *

Bagman blew his whistle a second time, and Harry ran into the enormous structure. It looked straightforward enough at first. He just needed to climb a couple of stories and get close to the zigzagging walls. Sure, there were those weird armoured lizard things running around—and they had pretty wicked beaks on their heads—but they weren’t very fast or threatening except when they were rolling. To be honest, he had no idea what they were, but as long as they didn’t bother him, he didn’t care.

Things got more complicated at once when he hit one of the landings, and he suddenly felt something he shouldn’t ever feel: the gravity shifted. He fell, albeit only a couple of feet, to the wall, which now became the floor. He stood up shakily. Four years of flying had never prepared him for this. The view outside the windows of the maze had turned completely on its side. It was dizzying. He couldn’t tell up from down properly, and he was already getting confused about his bearings.

He needed to think. He turned his head to get a sense of the way the maze was set up when the world was facing the right direction. Hermione’s directions had been clear: get close to one of the zigzagging walls—any of them—and flip through it. Those things had the same orientation in any direction. Harry figured out where the nearest one was, and hopped on the steep stairs that seemed to be leading to it. Then, things got even more complicated. The stairs shifted under his feet, rotating to a new position—upside down relative to the world outside. What’s more, the zigzag wall seemed to change shape as he approached it. Up close, it started to flatten out so that it looked more like the outer walls of the cube, but on the other side was more of the same impossible geometry instead of a view of the stands.

At that moment, he remembered the other complication of the maze as a dark shape sprang at him out of the shadows.

* * *

“Oh my God! Is that a _dementor?!_ ” Hermione screamed. Her hand tensed on her own wand. If something went wrong, she’d send her own Patronus into the maze to stop it, consequences be damned.

“Wait for it,” said Bill.

From a distance, she saw a shape of silver light exploded from Harry’s wand and slam into the dementor. The crowd gasped at seeing Harry Potter cast a Patronus. The dementor stumbled oddly. Harry paused, then cast another spell that made it vanish into a cloud of smoke.

“Huh?” Hermione said.

“It was just a boggart,” Bill said. “We’re not insane.”

“Oh.”

* * *

Cedric Diggory entered the maze with a plan of his own. He strongly suspected that Hermione knew how to get through the maze and had told Harry. He had graciously refrained from asking her the secret, since she clearly owed her loyalty to her best friend and was uncomfortable giving Cedric any advantages unless Harry was okay with it. But that didn’t mean he had no options. Cedric watched Harry carefully from the moment he entered the maze to learn what path his opponent was taking. He was banking on the fact that he was faster, better at magic, and—let’s be honest—smarter than the Boy-Who-Lived.

And so, Cedric ran flat out as close to the path Harry had taken as he could remember. He wasn’t exactly sure where it was leading, but Harry had seemed pretty sure of himself. He soon noticed that Fleur was also sticking close to him. Either Hermione had told her something, or she had the same idea. That could be a problem when they got close to him, but for now, he was more worried about catching up with Harry.

After just a couple of minutes, though, something strange happened. Cedric was busy dispatching one of those armoured lizard things when a red spell flew past his head. He ducked and turned to fire off a spell at Fleur automatically, assuming she was the culprit, but she already had a shield up and wasn’t facing him at all, but Krum, who was coming at them, spells flying. A violent spell struck the stones under her feet and sent her tumbling down the stairs with a scream. Cedric at first considered whether he ought to help her, but then…

_“CHIEN!”_

Cedric changed his mind and continued pursuing Harry as the stairs erupted in fireballs behind him.

* * *

“And it looks like Krum’s going for the incapacitate-the-other-champions strategy,” Harry heard Bagman’s voice echo through the maze. Indeed, he could hear the distant sounds of explosions and a lot of swearing in French. “Surprising move since he had the head start, and I think he might’ve bit off more than he can chew with Miss Delacour.”

At this point, Harry could only see the outside world in distorted snippets in impossible positions. As Hermione had told him, he moved away from those windows, deeper into the maze—or what he called deeper. Hermione would probably have a complex explanation that would go completely over his head. The central vault was visible above and at an angle from him. It was less distorted than before, but it still didn’t look right. He moved toward it nonetheless.

There was a loud squawk as he came to the next landing and one of those awful armoured lizard-things popped up right in his face, its great beak snapping.

“AHH!” He lost his footing and rolled backwards down the stairs, automatically curling up to protect his head. He rolled to a stop when he hit something smooth and hard, and the gravity shifted with a jolt so that he found himself lying on his back across an uncomfortably humped object. Straightening his glasses, he blinked and saw something like a scorpion’s stinger looming above him.

_“AHHHHH!”_

Harry was lying across the back of one of Hagrid’s blasted Blast-Ended Skrewts.

In the current gravity, the lizard-thing was above him, now, climbing down the underside of a flight of stairs towards the Skrewt. The Skrewt hissed. Seemingly blind though it was, it didn’t like the lizard encroaching on its territory. So it turned and shot a blast of fire up the stairs.

The lizard retreated, but with a loud squeal, it turned and, to Harry’s horror, curled up and rolled down the stairs just like he had. Harry had only a split second to slide off the Skrewt’s back before the two armoured shells collided. The Skrewt staggered under the impact, but it held its ground, lunged, and crushed the lizard against the stairs.

For a moment, Harry thought he now had only one horrible monster to deal with, but he was wrong. The lizard’s death cry had attracted more of its kind, and they began rolling down the stairs one after the other, trying to force the Skrewt off the landing. If that happened, it would fall Merlin knew what direction and wreak havoc. Unfortunately, even as he raced off down the stairs, the Skrewt was dislodged from its position and knocked on its side. This caused something even worse than he expected to happen: the Skrewt curled up and started to roll after him.

Feeling much more like Indiana Jones than a wizard at the moment, Harry raced to the bottom of the flight, where there was a landing with two corner walls. With no other place to go, he continued down the next flight, hoping the Skrewt would stop at the corner. It didn’t. It bounced off the wall, uncurled, and promptly followed him down the next flight of stairs, spitting fire all the while, until he reached an identical corner landing, and so the process repeated on a third flight, and then a fourth, and Harry felt like this   place looked an awful lot like where he’d started.

* * *

“Oh, no! He’s trapped on a Penrose Staircase!” Hermione cried, observing the upside-down scene through a pair of Omnioculars.

“What’s that?” Ginny asked.

“It’s an impossible object. You keep going down, and you wind up back where you started. And a Skrewt’s after him!”

“Yikes! How does he get out of that one?”

“I have no idea.”

* * *

Harry was on his third circuit of this devil’s staircase when he realised he was definitely going in circles. There were the marks where the Skrewt had hit the wall that first time. How could he keep going down the stairs and wind up back at the top again? And more importantly, how could he get away from this Skrewt?

 _“Reducto!”_ he cast behind him. The Reductor Curse was good for smashing stuff to bits. Hermione had added it as an afterthought to the list of spells he ought to learn. He was hoping to hit the Skrewt with it, but unfortunately, he hit the wall, blasting a Bludger-sized hole in it. It wasn’t until he came back around that he saw the solution: there was another stairway on the other side of that wall.

 _“Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!”_ He shouted on his next pass, throwing as much power into the spell as he could. It wasn’t enough to destroy the whole wall, but he could see it was teetering. He kept running and threw a few more curses the next time around. That did it. There was a loud crumbling sound, and the Skrewt was buried under a pile of rock.

“YEAH!” he yelled in triumph. From there, he only had to keep running down the stairs until he was above the Skrewt again, clamber over the rock pile, and run up the other flight he had just opened up to himself.

“Oh, bravo!” came the echoing voice of Ludo Bagman. “Did everyone see that? Potter uses the going in circles to his advantage to bury the Skrewt. But he’d better hurry up if he doesn’t want Diggory to catch him.”

Harry looked around frantically and spotted Cedric closing in on him. Their eyes met. The older boy was soaking wet and covered in grey feathers, but it was him. Harry didn’t question it. He took off running again. He didn’t see Fleur or Krum at all, so it looked to be down to the two of them.

Suddenly, the world bent around him, and Harry soon realised what had happened. The moving staircase he was on had folded into the next cube. Hurriedly, he got his bearings, and his heart leapt. There it was: the middle vault—sitting there clear and undistorted. He must be in the middle cube—or what _looked_ like the middle cube, as Hermione had said. He could still see little snippets of the stands in the windows and archways around the vault, but he was almost there.

It was still hard to navigate the maze—doubly so now that he was trying to evade Cedric and also had to avoid those zigzagging walls that would see him folded back out of the middle cube. At times, it looked like the only way available to him was directly away from the vault. Sometimes he even had to double back because the staircase moved in the wrong direction. But slowly, he got closer. Cedric was above him, now—now upside down, now sideways—no longer following directly, but making his own way to the vault. As Harry neared it, Cedric disappeared from view behind it, which made him even more nervous. But there was nothing for it. He made for the nearest door.

The vault was a solid stone cube. Up close, he could tell it was three stories high, suspended in the centre of the maze. It had one door in the middle of each face. After a few more twists and turns, Harry reached one of them and pulled it open, not knowing what he would find.

He had expected more traps or more maze, and indeed, the inside of the vault looked similar to the outside, but there was only so complicated you could make it with it only being three stories high. It was even easier than that, though. There was a catwalk extending from each of the six doors to a pedestal in the exact centre where the Triwizard Cup was sitting.

And Cedric was standing directly across from him.

“Well, this is awkward,” Cedric said.

Two things went through Harry Potter’s mind in about half a second. One: there was no way he could beat Cedric in a duel, and two: he didn’t look it, but Harry could run very fast.

* * *

“Well that’s it, they’re inside,” Hermione said.

“I guess now we have to wait for them to duel it out,” said Fred.

“Shouldn’t take long. Cedric wiped the floor with Harry yesterday.” Hermione sighed. It would be a close second for Harry, but not quite good enough.

“Well, it was a good try,” Ginny agreed. “I think Harry’s still a winner for getting that far when he’s younger than all the others.”

“That works for me,” said Sirius.

“Harry Potter, the People’s Champion…” Hermione sounded out. “No, that’ll never do. If it was Krum, maybe, but that would be completely unfair to Cedric.”

“Still got a soft spot for him?” Sirius teased.

“He’s just a friend,” Hermione protested, turning pink. “And he’s still with Cho Chang.”

“You know, Hermione,” Ginny kept on the subject, “you’ve been hearing all about _my_ love life, but what about yours? Did anything happen with that boy you met in Arithmancy class.”

Hermione turned much redder, mortified that Ginny would bring this up in public, but she forced the thought down. It wasn’t really _that_ embarrassing, was it? “No, it was just the Valentine’s date,” she said. “I think I scared him off, honestly. Some of my experiments seemed a little too much for him.”

“Well, his loss,” George said.

“Yes, not just any boy can handle a real mistress of mischief,” Fred added. This made George and Hermione both blush, and they almost subconsciously averted their gazes from each other.

“And what about you two?” Hermione asked boldly. “You have any better luck with Angelina and Alicia?”

“Me and Angie are doing alright,” Fred answered. “She agreed to come over to the Burrow sometime this summer, so I’m hoping it’ll stay that way.”

He stared at his twin, and George said, “Er, I don’t think Alicia or I either of us were really into it. Fred and Angie just wanted to double date.”

“You know, I never really thought I’d see one of them dating and the other not,” Ginny said, but it didn’t quite sound like teasing. “It doesn’t quite seem natural.”

“Well, it’s not as easy as it looks, is it?” George insisted. “Not many girls can keep up with _this_.” He struck a pose and gestured to his body.

“Well, I’ve never had a problem keeping up,” Hermione quipped before she could catch herself.

George stumbled, and Fred and Ginny both giggled. Hermione turned red again when she realised what she’d said, but George recovered and said, “It’s true. You know, I think I know the _real_ reason you went to France?”

“Oh?” she said in confusion.

“Because Hermione Granger is too much for one country to handle,” he said affectionately.

Hermione found herself laughing. And yet, she had to wonder, was there something more than teasing in his tone? And was there something in what _she_ had said? Maybe they should have a private conversation after—But no, it was crazy. She was still stuck in France. Even if she left in sixth year once she was of age to pursue an arithmancy mastery full time— _Merlin_ _’s beard! Did I really just think that?_ Phew, she’d scared herself for a second there.

* * *

With the feeling of a hook behind his navel, Harry found himself flying through the air with a sickening feeling. Cedric looked as surprised as he felt. The two champions had grabbed the Triwizard Cup at the same time. Harry was pretty sure that meant they’d drawn, but no one had mentioned a Portkey.

Harry’s feet slammed into the ground, and he went tumbling. “Where are we?” he said.

“Not Hogwarts,” Cedric said, helping Harry up. They were standing in a dark and overgrown graveyard beside a small church. The land around was flat except for a nearby hill topped by a large house. They had to have come at least a hundred miles to see terrain like that. “Did _you_ know the Cup was a Portkey?” Cedric asked.

“Nope,” Harry said. “Didn’t Bagman say the first to grab it would win?”

“Yeah, he did. This doesn’t look like winning, though. Wands out, d’you reckon?”

“Yeah.”

No sooner had they drawn their wands than a figure approached them slowly out of the shadows. But it didn’t look like a threat. As it came closer, they could see the shape was that of a woman. Even closer, and they could see her clearly, despite the dim light of twilight. She was a youngish woman, but shuffling, glassy-eyed, and carrying a baby—or was it just a bundle of robes?

“Oh my God, Harry, it’s Bertha Jorkins!” Cedric whispered.

“The woman who disappeared?” Harry said, but before anyone else could speak, his scar exploded with pain. He dropped to his knees instantly, his wand falling from his grasp, blinded by the worst headache of his life—and that was saying something.

He didn’t see Cedric point his wand at the woman, the only visible person who could be assaulting him like this. He didn’t note the crack that sounded nearby or the second figure who appeared. But he did hear, as if from far away, a high, cold voice that he had heard once before, sending shivers down his spine: “ _Barty, perfect timing. Kill the spare_!”

 _Cedric!_ Harry tried to grunt, but it was no use. A green light flashed.

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

_“Dasask Cohaerens!”_

_“AHH!”_

Cedric stood in shock as the Killing Curse whizzed past his right ear. He had done the only thing he could think of, acting purely on instinct, and by sheer luck, it had turned out to be right. Hermione’s Dazzling Jinx, travelling at the speed of light, had struck the tall man’s face and thrown off his casting at the last second. If it weren’t for that, Cedric would be dead right now. He didn’t have time to register the enormity of the fact, though, since the tall man was casting again.

Cedric had three objectives at that moment: rescue Harry, who was still writhing on the ground for reasons unknown, get back to the Cup—with any luck, it was a two-way Portkey. If not, they were screwed—and finally, _don_ _’t die!_ The man was making all three of those nearly impossible. Cedric breezed right past most of the spells Hermione had taught him and started casting hardcore curses meant for a real fight against dark wizards, which it seemed was exactly what this was.

“ _Kill him_!”

_“Reducto!”_

_“Diffindo!”_

_“Sectumsempra!”_

_“Confringo!”_

_“Expulso!”_

Harry fought back the pain and forced himself to look up. Despite the constant pounding from what felt like a knife being stabbed into his skull, he got his bearings and looked up. A young man with wild eyes and a flicking tongue—Barty, apparently, was duelling Cedric, apparently to the death. He hadn’t caught how the Cedric had escaped that first spell, but he was glad he did. The other man was clearly brilliant, though. Harry didn’t think even Cedric could hold out against him. Explosions were booming all over the graveyard, each one sending a concussion through his spine.

His fingers found his wand again, but he didn’t know what to do with it. He would get only one shot if he was lucky, and he didn’t think he could cast anything very powerful just now.

Cedric ran into his field of view at the edge. The wild-eyed man was still duelling him, and yet, somehow, his gaze was never far from Harry. Cedric was limping by now and covered in blood.

_“Bombarda!”_

_BOOM!_

Harry watched in horror as an over-powered Bludgeoning hex ripped through Cedric’s wand arm and slammed into the headstone behind him. Cedric’s wand exploded, embedding splinters in his arm. At the same moment, Harry could _see_ the bones of his arm shattering and poking through his skin. And finally, the headstone cracked and fell forward, pinning him down by his right leg, immobilising him. The wild-eyed man raised his wand again to deliver the killing blow…

“ _Vlefaricurl_!”

Harry’s spell flew true, and the man screamed in pain as Hermione’s Eyelash-Curling Hex made all of his eyelashes curl so tight that they poked into his eyes.

Unfortunately, Harry could barely stand, let alone run. Eyes squeezed shut, the man turned his wand on him and cast blindly: _“Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!”_ One of the Stunners found its mark, and everything went black.

* * *

When Harry woke, he was no longer lying on the ground. He was standing upright, but tied hand and foot to a headstone. His headache had partly subsided, but he didn’t know where his wand was. He looked around frantically. In the corner of his eye, he saw the name written on the stone:

 

TOM RIDDLE

 

That was bad. He kept looking around until he spotted Cedric, still lying on the ground with his leg pinned under the fallen headstone.

“Cedric?” Harry called, heedless to whether it was a bad idea.

“He’s not going anywhere.”

Harry turned his head. It was the wild-eyed young man. Harry recognised him now from Dumbledore’s Pensieve. He was Barty Crouch Jr.—the dead Death Eater—very much alive. He had dispelled Hermione’s hex, and he was stirring the largest cauldron Harry had ever seen. And for some reason, he had one bare foot.

“I’ll kill him once my Master’s done with you,” Barty continued. “It is ready, Master.”

“ _Now_ …” said the high, cold voice.

Barty took the bundle of robes from the dazed Bertha Jorkins, and Harry though he might vomit. Inside was something that would have looked like a baby if it didn’t already look like a devil—dark red in colour with a scaly, snake-like face. Barty lifted it up and gently lowered it into the cauldron. Then, he raised his wand and began to chant:

_“Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!”_

A mist of dust rose from the ground at Harry’s feet, not unlike the spell he had used to fight the dragon, but he knew this wasn’t magnesium. The dust fell into the cauldron, producing ominous blue sparks. Barty now drew a silver knife and continued:

_“Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!”_

Harry tried to look away as he saw a gleam in Barty’s eye that could only be borne out of the deepest fanaticism. He heard a single stroke of what must have been a magical blade and a hiss of pain, followed by a splash. He looked back and saw Barty had cut off his own foot—the bare one. He quickly cast, “ _Incendio!_ ,” cauterising the stump, and he fit it with a prosthetic leg—one that Harry recognised. It was Mad-Eye Moody’s. Barty limped towards him.

“What’d you do to Moody?” Harry slurred.

“He’s where he’s been all year, Potter.” Barty stabbed Harry in the crook of his right arm with that same silver dagger and collected his blood in a phial to pour into the cauldron.

_“Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe!”_

A moment later, a blinding white light filled the graveyard. For a moment, Harry thought that the potion had exploded, but his luck couldn’t be that good. Out of the cauldron rose the form of a tall, skeletal man, bone white and shrouded in steam. Barty handed him a robe, and he turned so that Harry could see a snake-like face and glowing red eyes. Another jolt went through his scar.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed. “I have waited many years for this day. I have been strapped for resources of late, else we would have had this meeting years ago, but no more. Your arm, Barty. We will see how many of my followers are brave enough to return.”

“Yes, Master.” Barty rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a tattoo of a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth—the Dark Mark. Voldemort drew a long, bone-white wand from his robes with a spider-like hand and touched it to the mark. It turned jet black. Harry’s scar burned again.

It took a few minutes, but soon, the cracks of Apparition began. Wizards in black robes and white, skull-like masks appeared in the graveyard, approaching cautiously, understandably shocked to see their master alive again. They cringed when he approached them, fell to their knees and kissed the hem of his robes before daring to join the circle. Harry could only watch helplessly as they assembled. There were about two dozen in all, with spaces left for probably a dozen more.

“Welcome, Death Eaters,” Voldemort said with the quiet danger of a snake about to strike. “Thirteen years it has been since we last met like this, and yet you return as if it were yesterday. Such loyalty…or such _guilt_.”

A shiver ran through the circle. They all knew their guilt all too well. They had disowned their master, the one to whom they had sworn eternal loyalty. They had pleaded the Imperius Curse and claimed they had never willingly supported him to stay out of Azkaban, and, once freed, they did nothing to help him. Harry gasped with horror as Voldemort _Crucioed_ the first Death Eater who begged him for forgiveness. It had been hard enough to watch with a spider and infinitely harder to see and hear from a human being, even an evil one.

“Thirteen years, Avery,” Voldemort hissed. “Thirteen years, _all of you_. Thirteen years you abandoned me, and thirteen years you will labour to earn my forgiveness. Only young Barty is blameless, my most faithful servant, barred from reaching me by a hypocrite of a father. Barty, you have been most patient. Your reward is waiting for you. I will no longer require her services. You may do with her as you wish.”

“Thank you, Master,” Barty said with a grin. “You are generous.” And with that, he when over to the Imperiused Bertha Jorkins and almost lovingly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him.

Voldemort called out some of the Death Eaters by name, while he passed others by: Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott were all fathers of Slytherins in Harry’s year, and none of them surprised him. Avery and Macnair he didn’t know by name. About ten who would have been in the circle were in Azkaban, including the Lestranges, whom Harry had also seen in the Pensieve.

“And here we have five missing Death Eaters,” Voldemort said, closing the circle at the gap next to Barty and Bertha Jorkins. “Three dead in my service, one too cowardly to return—he will pay—and one who I fear is lost to us forever…he will be killed, of course.”

Harry hadn’t heard Snape’s name—the allegedly reformed Death Eater who had turned spy. He wondered if he was one of those last two spaces, and if so, which one.

“And of course, we cannot forget the guest of honour,” Voldemort continued, motioning to Harry himself. “Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party.” The Death Eaters chuckled to themselves. “You have been quite the thorn in my side, Harry—you and your allies. One of my rare mistakes—trying to kill you without foreseeing how you were protected. Fortunately, this ritual was already the perfect tool to negate that protection. ‘Blood of the enemy’—the very enemy who carries the protection. You will find you cannot stop me with a touch anymore.”

He touched a long, white finger directly to Harry’s scar, and Harry felt like his own face was burning, like Voldemort’s had three years ago. So that’s why Voldemort had wanted him specifically. That’s why he had gone to great lengths to help Harry win. A brief pang struck him: Cedric wasn’t supposed to be there at all, and now, he was as good as dead, too.

“You see now…the boy who would be my downfall… _Crucio_!”

Harry had suffered the worst headache of his life several times in Voldemort’s presence tonight—enough to send him to his knees. But this made him forget it all. He was on fire from head to toe. It burned into his flesh, his bones. He was sure he was dying. He _wanted_ to die.

And then it stopped. The sting lingered, as savage as the worst of what Dudley and his gang had ever done to him. He hung limply in the ropes. The Death Eaters were _laughing_ at him. How could they laugh like that at someone’s pain?

“You see? Harry Potter is no match for Lord Voldemort. Not when there is no one else to protect him. He is merely an ordinary boy with no special powers. But we will have a proper demonstration. A duel. I will allow you to die on your feet like a proper wizard, Harry. Barty, untie him and give him his wand.”

Harry was surprised Voldemort was arrogant enough to give him his wand back at a time like this. But then, he couldn’t imagine what he could actually _do_ with it at this point. None of the spells he knew was a match for the dark wizard. A wild thought in the back of his mind pointed out that Hermione’s Iambic Pentameter Curse would prevent Voldemort from casting all three Unforgivable Curses, but he knew there was no way he could hit him with it. And in any case, he was surrounded by Death Eaters.

“You have been taught how to duel, Harry? We bow to each other. Bow to death, Harry.” Voldemort cast a spell—not the Imperius Curse, but something that physically bent Harry’s back like a puppet and forced him to bow. “Very good. Face me like a man, Harry—like your father: straight-backed and proud. And now…we duel. _Crucio_!”

Harry was writhing on the ground before he could even try to cast a spell. Forget Voldemort blocking them. He wasn’t sure he could even get one off—or that was what he thought when thought returned to him. He scrambled to his feet as fast as he could. He couldn’t imagine how he could get out of this alive, but his native stubbornness wouldn’t allow him to just roll over and die. If he was going to die, he would go down fighting.

“That hurt, didn’t it, Harry? You don’t want me to do that again, do you?”

Harry wouldn’t obey Voldemort. He wouldn’t beg. If a twelve-year-old muggle-born girl could hex Voldemort in the face— _of course._ Harry remembered what Hermione had taught him. He needed speed. Angling his wand very carefully, he cast the absolute fastest spell he knew.

_“LUMOS ARDENS!”_

A beam of searing red light slashed across Voldemort’s face. Voldemort gasped in pain, and the Death Eaters gasped in shock. Harry was just about to sweep the beam back to aim for his eyes when—

_“CRUCIO!”_

The word was shouted with more rage than before, but the pain didn’t seem greater—probably because he was already well past the limit of what his mind could comprehend. The pain stopped, and in the few seconds it took Harry to stagger to his feet again, Voldemort had quickly conjured a mirror, inspected his face, and dispelled it. A thin, red line stretched across his face, from the top of his right ear, just under his right eye, across his non-existent nose, and down to the left corner of his jaw. And yet for all that, his anger still seemed controlled.

“Impressive, Harry. Most impressive. Few have ever managed to make a mark on Lord Voldemort.”

Harry coughed once and spat, “That’s from Hermione!”

“Ah, your mudblood friend. I remember her well. Her method for dealing with the dragon was highly original. Such talent deserves a reward…So your deaths will both be swift.”

Harry stared for a split second. The Killing Curse was unblockable by any magical shield. All he could do was dodge, or else land another spell on Voldemort first. But a laser wouldn’t do. If he wanted to have any effect, he needed to get his wand off him. Almost before could think, he cast, _“Expelliarmus!”_

_“Avada Kedavra!”_

Something else happened that Harry was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to. The spells collided in midair, cancelled out, and formed a golden cord between their two wands. Harry felt an electric shock in his wand hand, and he couldn’t let go—couldn’t do anything but hold the connection. From the look on Voldemort’s face, he was having the same problem. The magic around them built up to a fever pitch. Splinters of light lanced out from the golden cord and formed into a cage around the two of them.

“Do not interfere!” Voldemort ordered. “Do not approach unless I order it!” He didn’t know what was happening either, but he didn’t like the odds for any Death Eater stupid enough to touch the cage.

A beautiful melody filled the air, and Harry knew it was phoenix song. Golden beads formed along the thread of light. Harry still didn’t understand, but he somehow knew what he must do. By sheer force of will, he pushed the beads towards Voldemort’s wand. Voldemort pushed back, but somehow, Harry’s will was stronger. The first one touched the white wand.

Voldemort’s wand emitted echoing screams of pain. Then, flashes of light in various shapes and colours that Hermione might be able to interpret. Then, a cloud of smoke, which, impossibly, formed itself into the shape of an old man.

 _“He was a real wizard, then?”_ the old man said. _“Killed me, that one did…you fight him, boy…”_

Harry was lost, now, but he was already fighting, so he kept at it. It wasn’t until the next shape appeared that he understood. A woman with long hair formed from the cloud of smoke—seeming solid but lacking in colour. Harry looked into the face of his mother.

“Mum?” he said, so shocked he nearly lost his grip.

“Hold on, Harry,” she urged him. “Hold on for your father—he’s coming.”

Yet another cloud emerged from Voldemort’s wand. Voldemort could only stare in terror as it formed into the shape of James Potter. James rushed to Harry’s side, as Lily had done. “Harry,” he said, “we can hold him off, but just for a few seconds. Run to Cedric and summon the Portkey. It’ll take you back to Hogwarts. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“We love you, Harry,” Lily said. “Get ready to run…NOW!”

Harry wrenched his arm up. The light and phoenix song vanished, but the shades didn’t. The old man ran at Voldemort to block his path, while James and Lily ran alongside Harry and bowled the Death Eaters away from him. They had gone by the time he reached Cedric, but he didn’t stop to think. He grabbed Cedric’s hand and shouted, “ _Accio_ Cup!” It reached his hand a second before a hail of curses passed through where he had been standing.

* * *

“Something’s really wrong,” Hermione said for the fifth time. “Cedric and Harry aren’t that evenly matched. One of them should’ve come out by now.”

“Maybe there were more traps in the vault,” George suggested.

“Maybe there’s a whole other maze in the vault,” Fred added.

“But what’s going on with the teachers?” Ginny said. Moody had wandered off at the start of the Task, which wasn’t like him, and Dumbledore and Snape, obviously concerned, had gone off somewhere about ten minutes ago, speaking in hushed tones. Dumbledore had come back alone just a couple of minutes ago. Karkaroff had excused himself while they were gone and still wasn’t back.

“I don’t know…I don’t like this,” Hermione said.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack, followed shortly by a bloodcurdling scream. Harry, Cedric, and the Triwizard Cup appeared in a heap at the entrance to the maze, right in front of the judges. Hermione frantically fumbled with her Omnioculars to look as someone—she eventually decided it must have been Minister Fudge—shouted out, _“HEALER!”_ She steadied her Omnioculars and promptly screamed herself. Harry was on his feet, but he looked like death warmed over, while Cedric…Cedric’s wand arm looked like it had been through a wood chipper, and his right leg had been severed at the hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vlefaricurl: based on the Greek for “eyelash” and the English “curl.”


	83. Chapter 83

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling…unless I’m under Polyjuice! Ha! Fooled ya! Or not.

Harry didn’t understand what was going on. Everything seemed like a blur from the moment he touched the Portkey. He felt exhausted; his scar still burned, and every muscle in his body was aching. He was sure he didn’t have the strength to stand. He heard footsteps, screams, and a bustle of activity around him. He screwed his eyes shut against the noise and thrashed when hands were laid on him.

_“Harry! Harry, it’s alright. You’re safe.”_

He barely heard the words as he felt his hands pried off of the handle of the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s good wrist.

_“Harry!”_

He opened his eyes and immediately wished he hadn’t. He was soaked with blood. He looked like he had bathed in it. He didn’t remember the blood being there before. He tried to pat himself down and find the wound, but he couldn’t feel one on his own body. He looked around and was nearly sick. Cedric’s entire right leg was missing—the one that had been crushed under the headstone. Shreds of torn flesh trailed from his hips. Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Snape were tending to him, trying to stop the bleeding and forcing potions down his throat.

“Cedric!” Harry cried.

“Stay back! Stay back!” someone yelled, but not at him. “This boy needs to go to to St. Mungo’s _now_!”

“Harry!”

He saw black hair in the corner of his eye and found Sirius standing over him.

“Cedric!” Harry moaned. “K-killed—I killed him!” God, there was so much blood.

“What? What did he say?”

“Shh! Harry, Cedric’s alive. The wound’s fresh. They can save him.”

“My boy! My boy! What happened to my boy?”

“L-leg…help…”

“We’re trying, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice snapped. “What happened?”

“L-leg crushed under r-rock,” Harry stammered.

“Ah. _Portkey accident!_ It was a Portkey accident!” Sirius said loudly, as if to clear up any confusion in the crowd.

Harry groaned again, but to his surprise, his headache was starting to go away, though he still hurt all over.

“Harry what was it?” Sirius asked again.

“Voldemort,” Harry slurred. His minded sharpened as he remembered. “Dumbledore!” he called. “Pr’fess’r! Voldemort! He’s back!”

Dumbledore acknowledged him with only a nod. “Sirius, Remus, take Harry to the Hospital Wing,” he said. “Find Professor Sprout to help him if she can. I will speak with him as soon as I know Cedric is safe.”

“Right. Come on, Pup. Can you walk?”

Harry groaned, but he nodded. Remus swooped in to support his other arm, and they half-carried him back to the castle. He heard his friends calling behind him, but he was too far ahead of them to reply. In the Hospital Wing, Sirius laid Harry down on a bed and trying to _Scourgify_ the blood off. Harry wanted nothing more than to go to sleep just then and hope this was some horrible nightmare, but he knew in his gut it wasn’t. And he had to warn Dumbledore.

Remus found Professor Sprout, who wasn’t happy about the situation. “Oh, bother, I’m a teacher, not a Healer,” she said as she attempted to diagnose him. “Where do you hurt, Mr. Potter?”

“Everywhere,” he groaned. At least he could speak straight at this point.

“Merlin, what got you? Something in the maze?”

Harry shook his head: “No, I wasn’t hurt too bad in the maze. It was Voldemort.”

Professor Sprout screamed and botched her next spell, showering Harry with sparks.

“Harry, what did he do?” Remus said, fearing the answer.

“Cruciatus.”

Sirius hissed loudly and started growling a string of curses. Remus paled. “Bloody hell,” the werewolf said. He started rummaging through the cabinets for himself. “I’m so sorry, Harry. There ought to be something in here…Unfortunately, all you can do is sleep it off…Here, Dreamless Sleep Potion.”

“No, wait,” Harry insisted. “I need to warn Dumbledore. Voldemort’s back!”

“He knows, Harry,” Sirius said. “It can wait.”

“I saw Barty Crouch,” he continued. “And I think Moody’s in trouble.”

“Moody? What about him?”

But before Harry could answer, the Floo roared to life, making everyone jump, and Dumbledore stepped out of it. Just as suddenly, Fawkes flew from the door of the Infirmary and landed on his shoulder.

“Professor!” Harry gasped. “Is Cedric—?”

“He is with the Healers, Harry. He was in very bad shape, but I am confident he will survive. He was very lucky we were on the scene when the Portkey dropped you.” Harry sighed with relief. The Portkey mess hadn’t killed him after all. “Now, Harry, this is important,” Dumbledore continued. “I need to know what happened after you and Mr. Diggory entered the vault. We are missing far too many pieces of the story.”

“Can’t we leave that till morning, Albus?” Sirius cut in.

Dumbledore didn’t answer him directly and instead turned back to Harry: “Harry, I know you had already faced more tonight then we have any right to ask of you, and you have shown bravery beyond anything we expected, but it will make it no less painful for delaying talking about it. And you may know things we must act upon at once. So I will ask you to show courage one more time and tell us what happened.”

Fawkes flew over and perched on the head of Harry’s bed and trilled a warm note. Harry felt strengthened, and with a deep breath, he began his tale. He spoke distantly, trying not to get swept up in the emotions. He began from when he and Cedric grabbed the Cup at the same time and described the duel and that horrid ritual in as much detail as he could remember. Sirius beamed when he explained how he had saved Cedric with Hermione’s Eyelash-Curling Hex, even though he was horrified at his godson getting mixed up in a fight like that.

Oddly, Dumbledore nodded in agreement when Harry mentioned Barty Crouch Jr was there, while Sirius and Remus were shocked. But the Headmaster _was_ surprised when Harry informed him that Bertha Jorkins was still alive, and he showed a flash of understanding when Harry mentioned that Crouch Jr had Moody’s peg leg. When he explained how Barty had taken his blood for the ritual, all three of them were properly horrified, Dumbledore most of all, though Dumbledore quickly recovered. “So Voldemort has overcome that particular barrier,” he said. “We will adapt.”

The hardest part was when Harry had to tell about the spirits of his parents emerging from Voldmort’s wand. Sirius and Remus both looked like they might faint at that point. Yet Dumbledore, who always seemed to have an explanation for everything, had this one figured out, too: it was an obscure effect of their wands being “brothers”—having feathers from the same phoenix…who happened to be Fawkes. That was a few too many coincidences for Harry’s liking.

At that point, Harry’s voice gave out, and Sirius and Remus looked equally distraught, so Dumbledore excused himself. “I will say it again, Harry,” he told him. “You have shown bravery equal to those who gave their lives in the last war, when Voldemort was at the height of his powers. Rest for now, Harry, but I have something to attend to, and when I return, I hope you can help me tie up a few of the remaining loose ends from the past year.”

Harry nodded numbly, and Dumbledore took his leave. He laid back on the bed, not quite sleeping. Neither Sirius nor Remus spoke. It was a few minutes later that a large group of people made their entrance into the Infirmary. Dumbledore was back, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey, Professors McGonagall and Snape, and Winky. Of course, Harry remembered, she had been the Crouches’ elf. But the real surprised was that Dumbledore was levitating Professor Moody in front of him, his eye and his leg both missing.

“Professor Moody?” Harry said, blinking back to full attention.

“What happened to him?” Sirius said. “Someone attacked him here in the school?”

“No, Sirius, I think we will find that Alastor was attacked the thirty-first of August last. I found him at the bottom of his own trunk in his office with a large cache of Polyjuice Potion in one of the other compartments.

“Polyjuice Potion?” Harry asked.

“It lets you take on the appearance of another person,” Remus said.

“Indeed. I’m afraid you have never met the real Alastor Moody until now, Harry,” Dumbledore agreed. “With your story in hand, the answer is clear. For the entire year, Professor Moody was impersonated by Barty Crouch Jr, an agent of Voldemort. It was Crouch Jr who placed your name in the Goblet of Fire, Crouch Jr who Imperiused Viktor Krum to ensure you won the Third Task, and Crouch Jr who turned the Triwizard Cup into a Portkey.”

“He tried to help me with the others Tasks, too,” Harry said in understanding. “But I was listening to Hermione instead.”

“So it wasn’t Karkaroff,” Sirius mused. “I thought for sure it was him—him or one of his students.”

Dumbledore shook his head: “Karkaroff told the court all he knew in exchange for his freedom. He fears Voldemort too much to have had a hand in resurrecting him. Indeed, he vanished as soon as his Dark Mark returned. I suspect he has run for it. Two questions remain, however. How did Crouch Jr escape from Azkaban? And where is Barty Crouch Sr? I was hoping that between you, Harry, Professor Moody, and Winky, here, we may be able to answer them.”

“Er, okay, sir?” Harry said uncertainly.

“I shouldn’t be waking him up like this,” Madam Pomfrey muttered as Moody came around.

“Alastor is a very tough old gentleman,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure he will be fine.”

“I think “fine’s a bit off the mark, don’t you, Albus?” the old Auror growled. “Where’s my eye. That snot-nosed kid still have it?”

“I suspect that he does, I’m afraid. We were hoping you could explain what happened.”

“What d’you think happened?” Moody said angrily. “I got ambushed at my own home. The ignominy! I’m getting sloppy in my own age.”

“ _Who_ ambushed you?”

“The kid—Barty Jr And that witch, Jorkins—Imperiused, looked like. I don’t know how he was alive, though—or free as a bird.”

“Fortunately, Alastor, I believe we have someone who does. Winky?”

The elf looked up at Dumbledore with worried eyes. “Y-y-yes, Headmaster?” she squeaked.

“It has come to our attention that one of your former masters, Barty Crouch Jr, was not in Azkaban, as he should have been, but here in the castle instead. What do you know about this?”

Winky wailed piteously and pulled her ears. “Winky c-cannot…Winky is a good elf, Headmaster, sir…Winky does not reveal Master Crouch’s secrets.”

“Why not? You were freed, weren’t you?” Sirius asked cluelessly. This caused Winky to burst into sobs. Even Harry, of all people, glared at him.

“Is she a Hogwarts elf?” Moody said. “Can you order her to tell?”

“I could, Alastor, but I would rather not,” Dumbledore said. “She has never fully accepted the binding magic of the castle. I fear trying to force her could do her irreparable harm.”

“This is preposterous.” Harry jumped as Snape stepped out of the shadows. He had nearly forgotten he was there. “I’ll just dose the creature with Veritaserum.”

“That would carry the same problem, Severus.”

“But we need answers.”

“Wait,” Harry cut in. Everyone stared at him. “Hermione,” he said. “Get Hermione to talk to her. She’s the only one who’s got through to her before.” He looked to Dumbledore hopefully.

“I suppose it’s worth a try,” the Headmaster said.

Predictably, Hermione was right outside the Hospital Wing, and the rest of Harry’s friends were put out when only she was let in. Still, she ran to him and nearly hugged the life out of him. “Harry! Are you okay? We were so worried! I heard something about Voldemort being back—”

“Hermione!” he cut her off. “It’s a long story. And we need your help with something else.”

“Huh?”

“Professor Moody. Dumbledore found him trapped at the bottom of his own trunk. Barty Crouch Jr was impersonating him all year with something called Polyjuice Potion.”

Hermione blinked. “Polyjuice…?” she stammered. “Barty Crouch… _What?_ How?”

“We don’t know.”

“No, I mean how did no one notice him? How did _you_ not notice him, Harry? With the Map or something.”

“The Map…oh, bollocks, we _did_ see him on the Map!”

“The map?” Dumbledore said.

“The one we made,” Remus explained. He’d rather not have to explain it in front of Snape, but it couldn’t be helped. “It shows where everyone is in the castle.”

“We kept seeing Bartemius Crouch in Moody’s office,” Harry said. “But the Map didn’t—”

“The Map doesn’t say Senior or Junior,” Sirius said. “Bollocks.”

Hermione’s head was spinning. The Map didn’t show full names. Well, it needed to—or have an option to. She immediately started working out the rune sequences in her head to do just that when she was interrupted again.

“Hermione!” Harry said.

“Sorry, what?”

“We think Winky knows something about how Crouch Jr got out of Azkaban, and where Crouch Sr is, but she won’t tell us. She still thinks she needs to keep it a secret.”

“Oh dear,” Hermione said. She looked down at the crying elf. She didn’t know if she could do anything, but she could try. She lifted Winky up to sit on one of the empty beds. “Winky, please look at me,” she said.

The elf sniffed and met her eyes. “M-Miss Hermione Granger?” she squeaked.

“Yes, it’s me,” she said. “I…I know Professor Dumbledore is asking for your help.”

Winky’s face turned faintly angry: “He is wanting Winky to reveal her Master’s secrets!”

“Now, Winky, we went over this in February. Who is your legal master?”

She sniffed again. “Headmaster Dumbledore, miss.”

“That’s right. I know you still care about your old masters, but you _were_ formally dismissed.”

Winky started to cry again.

“Winky! Stay with me.” Hermione snapped her fingers twice in front of her face. She had dealt with elves enough to know that it was important to keep them on task when they got emotional like this. “When an elf is dismissed, is she still bound to keep her master’s secrets?” More tears. “Is she?”

“N-n-n-no, miss,” she whispered.

“Okay, now I know you still want to keep Mr. Crouch’s secrets because you liked him very much, but we think he might be in trouble, and you’re the only one who might be able to help.”

“Eep? Master Crouch is being in—in—in trouble?”

“We think so. No one’s seen him for a month, and he didn’t look well them. We think that Barty Junior might have done something.”

“Barty Junior! Barty Junior is being here?”

“No, he’s not. We don’t know where either of them are, right?” She looked up and saw Dumbledore nod. “We’re worried about them, and if you tell us what you know, it might help us find them.”

Winky sniffled some more, but with that thought, she finally collected herself. “W-Winky will be telling you, miss,” she said.

“Thank you Winky,” Dumbledore said. “How did Barty Junior get out of Azkaban?”

“W-Winky’s…Winky’s M-Mistress…She was very sick—dying, sir. She could not bear young Master Barty being locked in that horrible place, sir. So Mr. Crouch…he made them switch places. The Dark Spirits did not know.”

“Polyjuice again, I suspect,” Dumbledore said. “Severus, is that feasible?”

“Yes. If his wife died in the cell before the potion wore off, her body would still look like her son’s.”

“Crouch kept his son locked up at home, didn’t he?” Harry said. The others gave him an enquiring look. “Voldemort said he was ‘barred by a hypocrite of a father.’”

Winky squealed in horror at Voldemort’s name, but Hermione grabbed her and held her still. “Y-y-yes, Master C-Crouch held young Master Barty in his house,” she said. “Master Crouch kept Master Barty locked up for many years, sirs. Winky didn’t like it. Winky was ordered to help. Winky asked Master Crouch to be nicer to Master Barty. One day, Miss Bertha Jorkins came nosing around in Master Crouch’s business. She found Master Barty. Master Crouch tried to….t-tr-tried to Obliviate her, b-but Master Barty stopped him. He…he…he…”

“He used the Imperius Curse on them both,” Dumbledore said.

Winky sobbed, and it took Hermione a minute to calm her down.

“Is that why he really dismissed you?” Hermione asked gently. “Because his son got away?”

“N-n-no, Miss Hermione Granger. It was…it was…Master Barty was ordering his father not to order Winky to find him. But Winky…Wiinky h-heard Master B-Barty at the Quidditch World Cup, and…and she went after him anyway! Winky is a bad elf! Winky is disobeying her masters!”

“No!” Hermione said. “No, Winky! You’re not a bad elf. You’re a very good elf. A good servant cares more about the well-being of her masters than her orders, especially if she knows their orders aren’t what they really want.” Winky looked back up at her in confusion. “It sounds like Mr. Crouch only dismissed you because he was Imperiused,” she continued. “He wouldn’t have done if he was in his right mind, so it wasn’t your fault.” That was some consolation, in Hermione’s mind. Crouch Senior was a bastard in a lot of other ways, but at least Winky now knew his firing her hadn’t been malicious.

“So Voldemort got to Bertha Jorkins through Crouch Jr,” Dumbledore filled in the gaps. “And it was Crouch Jr who cast the Dark Mark at the World Cup. That still leaves the question of what happened to Crouch Sr Winky, do you know anything—”

Hermione cut him off: “She hasn’t seen him since he sacked her. Who saw him last?”

“Hagrid. And from the state he described him in, I suspect he had partially broken free of the Imperius Curse. That would explain his delirium.”

“Didn’t you say Moody searched the area, Professor?” Harry said.

Dumbledore paled: “I did. And that would in actuality have been Crouch Jr.”

“In that case, it’s probably too late for him,” Snape said. Winky started wailing again, but he ignored her. “Junior had long since arranged things so that his father never had to appear in public. If he managed to escape confinement at that point, Junior is smart enough to get rid of him permanently.”

“Oh, Master Barty, what has you done?!” Winky cried, and she collapsed into incoherent sobs.

“I’m sorry, Winky,” Hermione said. “I’m so sorry.” She hugged Winky to her chest and patted her on the back. The long shot chance that Crouch Sr was still alive had been the last chance for Winky to get back to the master she loved. Privately, though, Hermione thought it was a good thing that she was dismissed now. Otherwise, she would be bound to his monster of a son.

“Well…I think we now have everything we need,” Dumbledore said. “Miss Granger, you and Harry’s other friends may join him now, but I must ask you not to question him about the events of tonight before he is ready. In fact, I think a Dreamless Sleep Potion is in order, as well as one for Winky.”

Hermione nodded in agreement, and within minutes, both Harry and Winky were out like a pair of lights. The Weasleys came in shortly thereafter, although Sirius and Remus only gave them a brief explanation of what happened, saying it was Harry’s place to tell it.

However, Sirius also came over and patted Hermione on her shoulder as she was tending to Winky. “That was really something, Hermione,” he said. “I’ve never seen anyone handle an elf like that.”

“It was nothing,” she said wearily. “I just talked to her like a person.”

“I don’t think you realise how much that means to her,” Sirius said. “That says as much if not more about you than that journal article you rolled out yesterday. That says your smart, but that’s it. This is much different. If you want to know what a person’s like, take a good look at how she treats her inferiors, not her equals.”

* * *

“Diggory remembered nothing after his duel with Crouch Jr, if that’s really who it was.”

Harry awoke to the sound of raised voices outside the Infirmary.

“—was in no condition to be interviewed in the first place.”

Harry was sure he hadn’t been asleep very long, despite the potion. His aches and pains were already markedly better, though.

“Nonetheless, we have only Potter’s word that anything else happened there.”

“It did, Cornelius. It was all part of a plan to restore Voldemort to his full strength. It _succeeded._ Voldemort has returned.”

As Harry’s mind quickened, he realised that the voices were those of Dumbledore and Fudge.

“Preposterous! You-Know-Who returned? On the word of one boy? I’m more likely to believe it a sick prank.”

Dumbledore sounded almost calm, but Harry thought he could hear the frustration brewing under the surface. “Alastor also identified the man who attacked him as Barty Crouch Jr, and we have the testimony of his former house elf. He is alive and active, and his father is likely dead. You cannot deny this.”

Fudge huffed. “On Mad-Eye’s word, I can accept that, Dumbledore, but I will _not_ incite a panic on the word of a boy who is _known_ to be emotionally disturbed.”

That was too much for Harry. _“You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge?”_

Fudge spun around in surprise, but he quickly collected himself. “And if I have, Mr. Potter?” he replied sternly. “Do you deny that you’re a Parselmouth.”

“No, but—”

“And do you deny that you’ve been having funny turns all over the place?”

“They weren’t funny turns—”

“Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly even hallucinations?”

“They weren’t hallucinations! I saw Voldemort come back, and I have the marks to prove it!” He rolled back his sleeve to reveal the recently-healed cut in his arm—one that had already scarred noticeably.

“All I see,” Fudge said imperiously, “is a boy with a cut he could have got anywhere, and an old man seeking to exploit his ravings to his own ends.”

“ _How dare you?_!” Harry jumped. It was Professor McGonagall. “How dare you speak to the Headmaster that way, Minister? Hasn’t it been his advice you’ve relied on since you entered office? Has he _ever_ steered you wrong?”

“I won’t pretend to know why you’re doing this, Dumbledore,” Fudge said, “but I will not accept such a claim without evidence, and neither will the Wizengamot.”

“You want evidence?” a deep voice growled. Harry was even more surprised to hear this outburst coming from Snape, going straight to his I-will-see-you-expelled voice. “Here’s your evidence.” He yanked back his left sleeve and laid his arm bare to the room. “The Dark Mark. Every Death Eater had this sign branded into his arm by the Dark Lord. It’s been red and faded these last thirteen years, and now it’s burnt black again. Why do you think Karkaroff fled? Why don’t you ask the Aurors in Azkaban if Bellatrix Lestrange is celebrating?”

Fudge stared for just a few seconds before his ironclad denial kicked in again. “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I’ve had enough of it. I’ll be contacting you soon about the proper operation of this school. Good evening.” He drew a bag from his robes and walked to Harry’s bedside. “Here, Mr. Potter. Your share of the winnings: five hundred galleons. We would’ve had a presentation ceremony, but Diggory won’t be out of the hospital for a while.” He turned and stalked out without another word.

Everyone stared as he left. Harry looked around the infirmary and saw that Sirius, Remus, Hermione, and all five Weasleys in the castle were still there. Everyone was too shocked to speak, at both the disrespect and at the flat-out denial. His word alone, Harry could accept, might not be enough, even as famous as he was, but he really thought Snape’s Dark Mark would get him.

“Chamberlain,” Hermione spat. “Textbook Chamberlain.” Only about half the room knew what she was talking about. _I_ _’d like to land just one good hex on that man_ , she thought.

“A not unreasonable comparison, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore agreed.

“Albus, what will we do?” McGonagall asked worriedly. “What _can_ we do?”

“The same that we would have done anyway, Minerva. Only now, we will not have the support we hoped for. We will need to find like-minded people at the Ministry to aid us, but we will need to do it discreetly. Fudge will suspect me of interfering. Without the Ministry to oppose him, Voldemort will be free to recruit Death Eaters and dark creatures both here and abroad—werewolves, giants, vampires, hags, dementors, and others. We must head him off as best we can.”

“Dementors as in the monsters who are guarding the other Death Eaters?” Hermione said, not even trying to mask her hatred of the things.

“Very astute, Miss Granger. I have said for decades that Azkaban is vulnerable with them guarding it. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do about that. But while you are here, I would like you to relay a personal invitation to Madame Maxime to meet me in my office tonight as soon as she is able.”

Hermione was surprised, but she agreed.

“Minerva, summon Hagrid to my office as well. William, I trust I can rely on your father?” Bill nodded. “Sirius, please contact the old crowd. Remus, I must ask you to begin putting out feelers. You know of whom I speak. Severus, if you can do so without being noticed, I want you to check the wards at Privett Drive. I do not know how they will be affected by Voldemort’s resurrection. And as for the rest…if you are prepared…”

“I am.”

“Then good luck.”

And quick as a wink, all of the adults in the room except for Madam Pomfrey were gone, although Sirius gave Harry a quick, “I’ll see you soon, Pup. And take the rest of that potion.”

Hermione leaned against the windowsill, weary to the point of falling asleep on her feet. She needed to track down Madame Maxime, and even that seemed like a massive imposition at the moment. It was her indignation at Fudge that really got to her. It felt like one to many things to deal with tonight.

She was shocked back to awareness, though, when she saw a large, rather fat beetle crawling on the windowsill—one with oddly curled antennae and, if she watched closely, jewelled marking on its head. Hermione went very still and slowly reached her hand into the pocket of her robes.

“I don’t want the money,” Harry said. “It ought to go to Cedric. He’ll need it more than I will.”

“I wasn’t your fault, Harry,” Ginny said by his side.

Hermione worked one handed, showing no reaction, still casually gazing out at the room.

“I know. I did try to beat him,” Harry admitted. “But it was still me Voldemort was after. And I shouldn’t have been in the Tournament in the first place. I never would’ve got anywhere without Hermione.”

“Hey, Hermione, maybe you should take it,” Ginny said with a grin.

“Ginny, I couldn’t.” She said. She almost had it. “I may have invented the spells, but Harry’s the one who used them so well.”

Harry smiled, just a little. “I hexed Voldemort in the face for you,” he said.

“Really?” she said brightly. “What spell?”

“ _Lumos Ardens_. It was the only thing quick enough to get past him.”

“Glad I could keep up my perfect record…I think.”

She had it. She turned as if to gaze out at the grounds, slowly brought her hand up, and…

_SLAM!_

She had her! Hermione slid the jam jar she always carried off the windowsill and clapped on the special lid she’d prepared—punched with air holes, trapping the beetle inside. The rest of the room jumped.

“Sorry,” she said. “Slipped for a moment. I’d better go find Madame Maxime.” Hiding the jar in her pocket again, she made a quick exit from the room. Once she was out of sight, she looked at it once more. “Hello, Rita,” she said with a wicked grin.

The beetle went nuts. It scrambled around for a few seconds and then, so quick you would miss it if you blinked, it seemed to expand, but its shell instantly bounced off the walls of the jar on all sides, and it shrank back to normal size. It rubbed its head with a foreleg comically. Hermione had of course researched what happens if an animagus is confined in a small space.

“Ah ah ah,” she said, wagging a finger at the beetle. “I charmed the jar unbreakable. You’ll get out when I say so. But don’t worry. I had Mum and Dad send me a field guide to insects of Great Britain, so I can _probably_ figure out what you eat.”

* * *

Dumbledore returned to the Hospital Wing the following morning, just when Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stopped by to visit. Sirius was back, too. Dumbledore and Sirius both looked very unhappy.

“Professor? What’s going on?” Harry said.

“Is Cedric alright?” Hermione asked worriedly. “Did something happen to him?”

“Peace, Harry, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said. “I assure you that Mr. Diggory is still alive and is out of danger. He will recover, for the most part.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of that. “For the most part, Professor?” she asked.

“I’m afraid that in addition to his leg, Mr. Diggory’s wand arm was beyond repair, even with magic. The Healers had to remove it.”

Hermione gasped. She hadn’t realised it was that bad. Well, she had certainly feared for his life, but it somehow felt more real that way. For all the danger and destruction she had seen over the last four years, some part of her was still used to the storybook endings where everyone either fully recovered or (very rarely) died. But real life wasn’t so kind, and it often left scars that went a lot deeper than a lightning bolt.

“However, Harry, I’m afraid I have some unfortunate news for you as well,” Dumbledore continued.

Harry felt a weight in his stomach. Somehow, he already knew where this was going. “What is it, sir?”

“I was relieved to find that the wards at your relatives’ house on Privett Drive are still functional, despite Voldemort taking your blood. This is because they are intent-based—keeping out those who mean you or your relatives harm, rather than Voldemort personally. As such, the safest place for you to stay with Voldemort on the loose again—”

“Is back with them?” Harry said.

“I am afraid so.”

“Are you serious?” Hermione snapped. “You know how they treat him. They’ll resent him a lot more if he’s stuck with them for the whole summer again.”

“We’re hoping it won’t _be_ the entire summer,” Sirius said. “Harry, we’re going to work on setting up another safe house. I can’t tell you where yet, but we’re going to try to have it ready before your birthday, so we can come get you when it is.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Well…I guess that’s not _so_ bad…”

“I’m glad you understand, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “I do regret that we could not make more pleasant arrangements. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find Miss Chang and break the news to her before breakfast. Harry, I believe under the circumstances, you will be ready to attend.”


	84. Chapter 84

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: At the end, as at the beginning, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> Well, here it is, the last chapter of The Arithmancer. Never fear, though, because this is not the end of the story. Far from it. Hermione will have more adventures to come with Harry, Ron, Ginny, and, yes, even George as she continues into fifth year.

Breakfast was a solemn affair. Everyone had seen the disaster last night, even if they didn’t know the full story. Dumbledore told them, though. He told them how Cedric and Harry had fought for their lives and paid a heavy price anyway. He also said what the Ministry didn’t want him to say: it was Voldemort. He was back. Dumbledore spoke of strength in unity and international cooperation and all that, but truly, Hermione was worried that the Cassandra’s truth of the dark lord’s return was undercutting his whole argument.

It was with a heavy heart that Hermione packed her bags to go home on the Hogwarts Express as arranged, not because she would be safe and sound in France for the next year or three, but because all her friends wouldn’t be, and because she wasn’t likely to be visiting Hogwarts again. However, before she left, Fred and George approached Harry after breakfast and asked to borrow the Marauder’s Map, reminding her that there was one last bit of unfinished business to take care of there…

Except that it seemed Ludo Bagman was no longer on the grounds. The trio had meant to approach him after the Third Task and confront him about the money he owed them, but they couldn’t find him on the Map.

“This would be a lot easier if it could point out one name,” said Fred as he flipped through the pages.

“I’m working on it,” Hermione said, to their surprise. “I’m not surprised he did a runner, to be honest. Wait, look there!”

“You found him?”

She pointed to the front cover of the Map, where the names of Bill Weasley and Filius Flitwick appeared, along with some goblin-looking names like Gornuk. “No, but look, the construction team is still at the Quidditch pitch. And Bill. Maybe they’ve seen him.”

George shrugged: “It’s worth a shot.”

Down on the Quidditch pitch, a team of wizards and goblins were tearing down the maze and moving the parts on a sledge down to the river. Bill was there, among others, and to Hermione, it looked like he was disassembling the spells that made it fold into four dimensions in a controlled fashion. She also noticed Fleur was there, observing the work…with a particular eye towards Bill. Interesting.

“Oi, Bill! What’s up?” the Twins called.

Bill turned around and waved. “Fred, George, Hermione? What are you doing here? Don’t you need to make the train?”

“We have time, Bill,” Hermione assured him.

“We were wondering—”

“—if you knew what happened to Bagman,” the Twins said.

“Seems to have skipped town.”

“We had something to settle with him last night.”

“Bagman?” Bill said. “No, no one’s seen him since they hauled Cedric to St. Mungo’s. The goblins have been pretty mad about it, too.”

“Oh, why?” Hermione asked innocently. She felt Fred and George nudge her, as if trying to warn her off, but before they could leave, a trio of goblins approached them, seeming to pop out of nowhere. They were only four feet tall, but they looked fierce and clever, and they carried long knives, and Hermione didn’t fancy a confrontation with them. She saw Bill watching carefully for any trouble.

“What business do you have with Ludovic Bagman, wizards?” the lead goblin asked in an accusatory tone.

Fred and George looked even more averse to a confrontation than Hermione felt, but she answered, “Er, he owes us money, Mr…”

“You may call me Gornuk. These are my associates, Bogrod and Nagnok. How did Bagman come to be in your debt?”

George finally bucked up the courage to answer: “We placed bets with him at the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Thanks to our Hermione’s arithmancy skills, we won big,” Fred added.

“But he never paid us,” George said.

“Well, he paid us, but it was in leprechaun gold.”

“And he wouldn’t talk to us since.”

The goblins growled faintly. “A very familiar story,” Gornuk said. “Very familiar.” Hermione, George, and Fred didn’t quite have the nerve to ask why it was familiar, but Gornuk answered anyway: “It might interest you to know that Ludovic Bagman borrowed five hundred galleons from us to run that book of his at the Quidditch World Cup, with the promise to pay us back after he would, and I quote, ‘rake in the galleons.’”

Hermione groaned, and Gornuk raised an eyebrow at her. “Bagman’s an idiot,” she said. “I could tell just by looking that book was no good. He calculated the odds all wrong. How much did he lose?”

One of the other goblins, Bogrod, produced a small ledger: “We didn’t bother asking, but when we confronted him that night, he only had one hundred eighty-six galleons, seven sickles, and eighteen knuts on him, which we confiscated at once. Due to his long-time gambling habits, he didn’t have much gold in his vault, but we confiscated that, too, which amounted to thirty-one galleons, fifteen sickles.”

Hermione was surprised they could just take his money like that. But then, the bets were cash and probably under the table, so maybe it made sense. “Which still left him owing you two-hundred eighty-one galleons, eleven sickles, and eleven knuts,” she calculated. “Then there’s the combined four hundred sixty galleons, three sickles, and twenty-seven knuts he owes us, if we hold him to it, plus however much else he lost, so he could be in the hole close to a thousand galleons.”

The goblins stared in surprise.

“Hermione’s arithmancy skills,” George said with a grin.

“Hmm. Quite,” Gornuk replied. “Then, in order to pay his debts, Bagman proceeded to bet _us_ one hundred galleons, at ten-to-one, that Harry Potter would win the Triwizard Tournament.”

“But Harry _did_ win the Tournament,” Hermione said, ignoring the obvious ethical problem of him being a judge.

Gornuk growled again: “Harry Potter drew with Cedric Diggory, witch. That’s not a fair win in our book. Bagman has dug himself in deeper, and he hasn’t two galleons to rub together, so you won’t be getting your money anytime soon.”

“Okay, we understand,” George said diplomatically.

He started to pull Hermione away, but he wasn’t quite fast enough. “Don’t you have bankruptcy laws in the wiz—er, _magical_ world?” she said.

The Twins were nudging her again, and Bill was frowning, but she waited to hear Gornuk’s answer: “You mean to seize a debtor’s assets and sell them to pay a portion of his debts? Of course. However, the bankruptcy must be ordered by a court, and the only court in magical Britain is the Wizengamot, which would never allow a goblin to file against a wizard.” Then, the goblin got a greedy look in his eyes. “A wizard _could_ , though…”

At that point, Bill stepped in. He cleared his throat and said, “That would require a solicitor, which costs money.”

The trio immediately became less interested in that idea. However, the goblin who hadn’t spoken yet made a suggestion: “Perhaps we can come to some kind of arrangement to cover the fee, since we are on the same side in this, after all?”

“And be on the hook for it if they lose the case?” Bill said. “Nice try, Nagnok. Sorry, guys, I don’t think there’s anything you can do at the moment.”

“Oh, well, thanks, Bill,” Fred replied.

“Yes, thank you,” Hermione said. Then, to the goblins, “I’m sorry we couldn’t come to an agreement, sirs. Is there any way we can contact you if our situation changes?” She doubted her parents would put up money for a solicitor, but it was good to keep her options open.

Gornuk’s eyes narrowed suspiciously: “You know where to find us, witch.”

 _Gringotts. Right._ “Of course,” she said. “Oh, and it might interest you to know that Ludo Bagman’s time on the run will be less pleasant for him than you think.”

“Really? Why should that be?”

“Well, when I saw this…” She had to be careful how she worded this to the builders. “…most impressive maze, I was reminded of some old muggle literature with similar themes. There was a certain author who took a much darker view of it. Very dark stuff. Very scary stuff. And with that in mind, before the Third Task, I had my elf, Dobby, slip a certain book into Bagman’s travel bag.”

* * *

_Somewhere in England_

Ludo Bagman sighed and he sat down in his magical tent. A year or two living out in the woods like this, raiding muggle stores for food, maybe find a muggle job, save up some muggle money, and he might be able to show his face in the magical world again. He opened up his travel bag to retrieve his essentials, and a book fell out.

That was odd, he thought. He didn’t remember buying this book. It was a large, thick volume printed on muggle paper—professionally printed. The title read _The Complete Works of H. P. Lovecraft_. But underneath it, a subtitle had been carefully penned in, looking for all the world as if it had been printed that way: _True Eyewitness Accounts of the Paranormal._

“Huh, I didn’t know muggles did paranormal,” Bagman said to himself. “Oh well, at least I’ve got something to read out here.” He laid back on the mattress and opened the book.

* * *

Fred, George, and Bill all laughed, and even the goblins gave a guttural chuckle once she got the point across. “Very clever, Hermione Granger,” Gornuk said. “For a witch. Good day.”

Fred and George were still chuckling as they walked back to the carriage statement.

“I’m sorry you couldn’t get your money back,” Hermione said. “That was your seed capital for your shop.”

“Well, it’s not so bad,” George said. “We’ve made about half of what we lost back in sales over the past year, and we should be able to ramp up production next year. We’ll make it work.”

“Besides, that was a brilliant prank, Hermione,” Fred said.

“Yes, we usually go for over-the-top, but we can appreciate one that’s subtle, understated, and still powerful,” George added.

“Wouldn’t it be great if a book was all it took to send Bagman running back in terror?”

“Bit of a long shot, probably, but still…”

“Well, a little bit of leverage goes a long way,” Hermione agreed. “ _Dos moi pas sto, kai_ _…_ well, you know the rest.”

* * *

The weather was almost annoyingly sunny and cheerful on the ride back to London. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny found a compartment on their own. Ginny leaned her head on Harry’s shoulder, which Harry seemed contented with, but he was less complacent about the goings on at the castle.

“Did you see Snape wasn’t there this morning?” he said.

“Yes, I noticed,” Hermione said.

“You think he was up to something?” said Ron.

“The way Dumbledore was talking last night, it sounded like he was going back to Voldemort.”

“Don’t say his name!” Ron hissed. “Especially now he’s back!”

“Honestly, Ron, it’s just a name. Dumbledore was saying it all last night,” Hermione snapped. “You think he’s going to be a spy again, Harry.”

“That’s what it sounded like. In the Pensieve, Dumbledore said Snape turned spy ‘at great personal risk,’ but he didn’t say why.”

“You think he’s not really on our side?” Ginny asked.

“I dunno.”

“Well, Snape’s a big enough git to be evil,” Ron said.

“But Dumbledore trusts him, right?” Ginny retorted.

“He does, but I don’t get _why_. Snape hates me. He hates my family. He always favours the Slytherins, and he’s best mates with the Malfoys. He sure doesn’t act like he’s on Dumbledore’s side.”

“Maybe it’s a cover,” Hermione said. “He needs to act like a pureblood supremacist to get back in with the Death Eaters.”

“Maybe…”

After Dumbledore’s speech, and getting away from the school, Harry felt freer than he had before, and he was able to tell his friends all the details of what had happened last night. The fact that he knew Cedric would live also helped, despite his horrific injuries. His friends were shocked, of course, but Hermione was proud of how Cedric and Harry had got out alive with a few well-chosen spells—mostly her spells. However, she was very worried about Voldemort taking Harry’s blood. She didn’t know much about dark rituals, but she knew that was bad news.

“Now, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Harry said when he was done.

“You mean for Voldemort to come after you?” Hermione said worriedly.

“Well, that, but also for Rita Skeeter to write about the Third Task.”

Hermione grinned: “Oh, Rita Skeeter won’t be writing about the Third Task. In fact, she won’t be writing anything at all for a while.”

“How do you know?” said Ron.

She pulled her jam jar from her pocket. “Because it’ll be awfully hard for her to write from the inside of a jar.”

Harry, Ron, and Ginny gaped at her. “You’re kidding!” Ron burst out. “There’s no way…”

“Nope. I caught her on the windowsill in the Hospital Wing last night. I put an Unbreakable Charm on the jar so she can’t transform. If you look closely, you’ll notice that her antennae are curled like her hair, and she has jewelled markings that resemble her glasses.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I saw a beetle buzzing around Hagrid and Madame Maxime at the Yule Ball.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “Probably the same beetle George pulled out of my hair that night. And the same one that was crawling on me after the Second Task. And I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a front row seat to that vision you had in Arithmancy class. I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy even knew she was there.”

“Very clever, Granger.”

The compartment door had slid open, and Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle walked in, looking more arrogant than she had ever seen them.

“Speak of the devil,” Hermione said.

“So you caught one reporter,” Malfoy said. “Big deal. And Dumbledore’s on your side, Potter? Well, good luck with anyone else.”

“Get out,” Harry said.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle leered. “You know, it’s a shame what happened to Diggory,” Malfoy said. “Lost his wand _and_ his wand arm. It’s hard to sink lower than that. Imagine being a proper pureblood one day and a squib the next. But that’s what you get for being a Goody Two-Shoes.”

“I said get out,” Harry repeated. All four of them bristled and grasped for their wands.

“Just wanted to tell you you’ve picked the wrong side, Potter! I warned you. I told you on day one that you shouldn’t hang out with riffraff and vermin like this.”

“Malfoy, I’m giving you one warning,” Hermione interrupted, her voice cold. “I’ve learnt a lot over the past year. Leave now, or I _will_ make you regret it.”

“Shut up, mudblood! You’ll be the first to go. Well, second if you count Diggory—”

_“Terebradent!”_

Malfoy had started to draw his wand, but he dropped it and instantly clapped his hands to his mouth, moaning in pain. A moment later, there was a loud bang as Crabbe and Goyle drew their wands and were cut down by hexes from all directions. The two goons were unconscious, but Malfoy was still moaning as he scrambled to pick up his wand.

“Oi, trouble here?” Fred and George poked their heads into the compartment.

“ _Ooh_ , what the hell did you _do_?” Malfoy said through clenched teeth.

“Only what my _muggle_ parents do for a living. And oh, look, I didn’t even need my wand arm,” Hermione said cheerfully, holding her homemade wand in her left hand. Her tone turned much darker as she added, “Never mess with a child of dentists.”

“ _Ooh!_ You’ll pay for this, mudblood! _Ooh! Ooh_!” Now outnumbered and still in pain, Malfoy fled, leaving his goons behind. Fred and George immediately dragged them out of the compartment.

“Blimey, what _did_ you do to him?” Fred asked.

“I drilled his teeth full of holes,” she said. All the Weasleys grimaced and automatically covered their mouths with their hands. “It hurts a lot, but it’ll be very easy to fix once he gets home.”

“Wow, Hermione, I didn’t know you had that in you,” Ginny said.

“Child of dentists,” she reminded her. “Causing people pain in the mouth is in my blood. I just thought it was time I embraced it.”

“Scary as ever, eh George?” Fred said.

George just whacked him in the arm. “Mind if we had a private chat, Hermione?” he said. He was making it ambiguous whether he meant just him or both of them, but Hermione rose and followed.

As it turned out, George meant just the two of them. He led her to a compartment that was mysteriously empty. Of course, they had plenty of ways of achieving that.

“Fred’s run off?” she asked.

“Probably talking to Angelina. Those two are shameless lately,” he said.

_Oh._

“I just wanted to say, I thought all the stuff you did this past year was incredible. I mean, just that explosion at the First Task would’ve been enough. It’s not fair that Harry got all the attention.”

“I’m sure Harry would agree with you. I thought I got my share of attention, though.”

“Well, you’re pretty hard to miss, o Great Arithmancer,” George said with a grin. “Give you a place to stand, and you will move the earth!”

Hermione giggled. “Just call me Lady Archimedes,” she said. “…Or whatever the feminine form is. I’ll have to look it up.”

He laughed in return. “Brains and beauty…” he continued.

Hermione rolled her eyes: “George, you can skip the smooth talk.”

“Um…” He looked a little lost having his train of thought derailed like that. “Okay…I guess I wanted to say that I still like you—I mean, you can enjoy a good prank _and_ even play one once in a while, and how many girls can even claim that much?”

“There are some. Alicia can.”

“Alicia’s not my type. She can prank, sure, but it doesn’t come naturally to her.”

“It doesn’t come naturally to me, either.”

George laughed so hard his eyes started to water. “Yeah, pull the other one,” he gasped.

Hermione was taken aback. She _wasn_ _’t_ a natural prankster. In primary school, she had been a regular goody two-shoes, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit it. She was never good at April Fool’s Day, and she never pulled a decent prank until…until two months into her first year at Hogwarts, when she sent the Twins into the nightmare world above the Great Tower. And she’d never looked back.

“Okay, maybe it _does_ come naturally to me,” she admitted.

“What, you didn’t know? Come on, you actually put up with Fred and me—enough to hang out with us and team up on some trouble-making. Enough to go to a dance with me. Honestly, how many other girls would really put up with me?”

It might’ve been a rhetorical question, but Hermione thought about it anyway. Once you removed the Slytherins, girls who wouldn’t be able to take it, like Hannah Abbott, and the larger group of girls like Lavender, who just wouldn’t put up with it—at least wouldn’t put up with it completely unfiltered—the list started to get pretty short. “Not many, I suppose,” she said. “Maybe Susan Bones in my year. I don’t know as much about the other years.”

George shrugged: “Maybe. I don’t mean to step on anyone’s toes if there’s someone else at Beauxbatons you didn’t mention—”

“No, there’s not. I’m pretty well unattached. I get what you’re going through. I do. The number of boys who, one, can hold an intelligent conversation with me, and two, don’t get scared off when I cause a thermite explosion and burn my eyebrows off—”

“You burned your eyebrows off?” George gasped with glee.

“Yep. Didn’t even get in trouble. Much. I’ll tell you when Fred comes back. Anyway, there are surprisingly few of them. You and Fred are by far the best at keeping up with me of any boys I know. Well, except for maybe Harry and Ron, but can you imagine me with either of them?”

He laughed again. “No way. With Harry, you’d wind up in a death match with Ginny, and with Ron, you’d just wind up punching him.”

“More or less.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I still like you, too, George.”

“Oh?”

“Eep!” She squeaked as he snaked an arm around her waist, and she braced herself with a half on his shoulder. “Is this really necessary?” she said breathlessly.

“Hermione, you may be brilliant, but you still have a lot to learn.”

“Like what?”

“Like when was the last time you really did something impulsive.”

That was an obvious invitation, and phrased as a challenge like that, she took it before she could second-guess herself. She pushed herself up on her toes and kissed him. “Like that?” she said.

“Something like.” George leaned towards her, but she held him back with his hand.

“George, wait.”

“What?” he said, sounding put out.

“We can…Look, maybe that was too forward of me. It’s one thing to kiss…here…on the train. It’s almost like under the mistletoe. I still don’t want to get involved any more than that, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because we still have the same problem as before,” she snapped. “And I don’t want things to get more awkward between us. If we were at the same school—if we could even stay in the same _country_ , it would be different, but we can’t.”

If he were Fred, he might have been crazy enough to suggest dropping his seventh year and following her to France, but George was smart enough not to be that impulsive and, more importantly, to know that suggesting it to Hermione would probably end with his teeth being hexed full of holes like Malfoy’s.

“I’m not trying to push you away, George,” Hermione said. “But I don’t want to lead you on, either. I like you too much to—No, that’s not what I mean.” She stopped and thought for a minute. What _did_ she mean? What did she want? “Look, I’m not good at this romance thing, okay? I’m only fifteen, and I’m not ready to commit to something where we’ll barely see each other for the next three years—and now, with Voldemort back, things are even more uncertain. But I _do_ know that I don’t want to start now and force this to be a summer fling. I like you enough and respect you enough that _if_ we get together in some way, it should be…well, it shouldn’t be defined by some arbitrary date on the calendar.”

“Oh…I’m sorry, Hermione. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable—”

“No, it’s fine, George. The temptation’s there for me, too, and that’s precisely the trouble. I just think that if we’re both still unattached when I graduate, we can try it, but until then, we should keep on as friends and not hold off if someone else good or even better comes along.”

George took a deep breath, unsure whether to apologise again or just agree and move on. He decided on the latter. “Alright, maybe I _did_ get carried away a bit,” he admitted. “Friends for the duration, then,” he said, offering his hand.

Hermione shook his hand. “For the duration,” she agreed, trying to ignore the ominous tone the words held.

“Good. Now come on. You need to tell me and Fred about your dangerous experiments.”

* * *

Hermione walked slowly down the platform at King’s Cross, not as excited as she was in previous years. She was weary from the events of the past thirty-six hours, and sobered by the dark prospects for the days ahead.

Her parents noticed her mood at once when they spotted her. “Hermione, is there something wrong?” Emma asked. “There’s no teacher here to explain things this year, so that should be a good sign, right?”

“Well, I managed to not almost die again this year, so that’s a plus,” she said. “The news isn’t all good, though. I have a lot to tell you, but there’s one thing I need to do first.”

“Hermione, what is it?” he mum pressed. “Are you in danger?”

“Not right now. And not at Beauxbatons. But it’s still pretty bad…You remember that evil wizard who killed Harry’s parents?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s back.”

“Oh no!” her dad said.

Hermione’s eyes started watering. “He kidnapped Harry and Cedric in the Third Task yesterday. They both got out alive, but it cost Cedric an arm and a leg, and no, that’s not a figure of speech.”

“My God!” Emma said.

“I know. And the Ministry…augh! I’ll tell you about it later. There’s something else I need to take care of first.”

They drove down to the Leaky Cauldron, where Hermione approached Tom and requested a private room. Once inside, she removed her jam jar from her handbag and held it up to the light.

“What’s that?” asked Dan.

Hermione grinned at them. “ _This_ —” She rattled the jar a little. “—is magical Britain’s most infamous gossip columnist.”

Emma gasped. “Hermione Jean Granger, you didn’t!”

“Turn her into a beetle? No. I only caught her. She did that to herself—illegally, I might add.”

“What?”

“She’s the one who wrote that nasty article about me in January. She screwed over some of my friends, too. I thought it was time I got her back.” With that, she unscrewed the lid and shook out the jar, also drawing a homemade wand with her other hand. “Come out, Rita. It’s time we had a little talk.”

Immediately, the beetle grew and morphed into a dishevelled-looking witch in green robes, elaborate curled, and jewelled glasses, who glared murderously at Hermione.

Hermione was un-fazed: “Mum and Dad, Rita Skeeter. Rita, these are my parents, Daniel and Emma Granger—the _dentists_.”

That didn’t intimidate Rita Skeeter, even though it probably should have. “You can’t use magic outside of school,” she pointed out.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

Rita’s wand flew into Hermione’s hand. “They can’t tell who did it at the Leaky Cauldron,” Hermione told her, leaving off the fact that this particular wand was also supposed to register as accidental magic and thus go unnoticed.

“Hermione, you can’t just kidnap a reporter!” Dan said. He tried to grab for her wand but she held him back long enough to explain.

“I didn’t kidnap her. I made a citizen’s arrest.”

“Citizen’s arrest? Ha!” Rita said.

“Rita, here, is an animagus—she can turn into an animal. And she’s not registered with the Ministry. That’s illegal in itself. She also used her ability to spy on people. That will get her jail time. Remember what I said Azkaban, the wizard prison, was like?”

“Azkaban? With those horrible dementor things?” Emma asked.

“The very same. Nasty place. And you _know_ how I feel about dementors. Massively inhumane by muggle standards—at least post-Dickens. She’d probably wind up there for at least a year if word got out that she was an animagus.”

“Ha! You think you can tangle with me, girlie?” Rita said. “I’ll slash up your reputation quicker than you can say ‘touched in the head.’”

“Hey, don’t talk to our daughter like that!” Dan said, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him.

“It’s fine, Dad,” she said. “I anticipated you might say something like that, Rita, so _I_ _’m_ not going to break the story…” She drew a piece of parchment and the large, acid green quill she had found in the Room of Requirement last year from her handbag and set it on the table. “ _You_ are.”

Rita laughed again. “You think you’re so smart? Even with a Quick-Quotes Quill, you could never master my inimitable style.”

Hermione frowned. “It writes sensational dreck. How complicated could it be?”

“You don’t know a thing, do you, Miss Granger? There are a hundred different styles of “sensational dreck.” A Quick-Quotes Quill must be _calibrated_ to the user’s style by extensive use and practice. After a while it’ll automatically take notes in your personal style instead of verbatim like a Dictaquill.”

“Wait, _that_ _’s_ what a Quick-Quotes Quill is designed for…You mean all that sensationalism _didn_ _’t_ come from the quill? It came from _you_.”

“Well, of course, Miss Snippy. Why would you want a quill that _automatically_ took inaccurate and sensationalised notes? That would never sell.”

Hermione was suddenly feeling very boxed in, and Dan and Emma were getting worried. This woman was clearly a brilliant professional, and the last thing they needed was her going after their daughter.

“Look, I’ll show you. _My_ quill even writes in my handwriting.” Rita pulled a small notepad and another acid green quill from her robes and said, “My name is Rita Skeeter, and _I_ will crush _you_ like a bug. There. Read it and weep.”

She tossed the notepad over, and Hermione caught it. It said, _Brilliant special correspondent Rita Skeeter tears down the house of secrets and lies built around muggle-born witch Hermione Granger with her characteristic sharp wit and cutting investigation_ _…_

“Ms. Skeeter, I’d like to apologise for our daughter,” Emma spoke up. “She can be very headstrong, and sometimes she takes it too far—”

“Mum, wait,” Hermione interrupted.

“Hermione, I’m trying to—”

“Wait, Mum, please. I know this handwriting.”

“What?”

“Rita, did you ever _lose_ a Quick-Quotes Quill while you were at Hogwarts?” Rita’s face fell at once, and Hermione grinned: “I found it. Ahem, quill?” Her own Quick-Quotes Quill sprang to life on the parchment. “My name is Rita Skeeter, and I am a very bad person.” The quill wrote, and she took the parchment and showed it to Rita, still keeping her wand trained on her. “Read it and weep, Rita.”

_Dear readers, I have punctured many an inflated reputation with my sharp wit and savage quill, but the weight of my own indiscretions has grown heavy on my soul, and I must come clean._

It was the same handwriting.

“What do you want?” Rita said, shocking Dan and Emma.

“Don’t publish anything for a full year, starting now.”

“You’re joking.”

“Hermione, that’s blackmail,” Dan scolded.

“Dad, if I let her go, she’ll go on to commit more libel. If I send her to prison, it’ll be a human rights violation. I’m hoping maybe she can learn some new habits, and it’ll end up better for all involved. It’s not pleasant, but I _have_ thought about the risks. For one, it would cost her a lot more to expose me than it would cost me to expose her. For another, blackmail laws are pretty loose in the magical world—a lot like libel laws, as it happens. I checked. By the standards of the magical world, I’m not, strictly speaking, getting anything out of this deal, so I’m not even sure it counts.”

“Human rights violation?” Rita muttered, unfamiliar with the term.

“That doesn’t make it right,” Dan said.

“Dan,” Emma said softly. “Maybe we should go along with her.”

“What?”

“Well, we don’t want this woman going off on Hermione again,” she reasoned. “And we also know how horrible that prison is. I don’t know if I’d go along with it normally, but soul-sucking demons are a lot worse than anything that’s going on here. It’s not an ideal solution, but it might be the best one for everyone.”

“But that’s—” He trailed off at his wife’s stare. “Hermione, are you _certain_ you can’t get in trouble for this?” he tried.

She shook her head: “Worst case, a moderate fine, and that’s being generous with the wording of the law. And if Rita takes my deal, we’ll never have that problem.”

“Well, then,” Emma said, “I think, given the state the magical justice system, this is the best way to go.”

“I suppose so,” Dan said.

“Thank you,” Hermione said. “So, what’ll it be, Rita?”

Rita Skeeter was surprised and a little confused. These people—muggles, no less—were taking it as a given that sending her to Azkaban was worse than kidnapping and blackmailing her—which it was, in her opinion, but to not even question it…But if it kept her out of prison, she wasn’t complaining. “Alright, Miss Granger, I don’t like it, but you’ve got a deal. No publishing for one year.”

“Thank you, Rita. I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” Hermione said. “Here’s your wand back. And don’t try anything. You’ve seen what my spells can do, but I assure you you haven’t seen my worst. You may go.” She opened the window.

Rita nodded curtly, transformed, and flew out the window as fast as her wings could carry her.

“Good. Now _that_ _’s_ solved,” Hermione said.

“Right…” said Dan. “Now, I think you need to be telling us about what horrible things went on at Hogwarts _this_ year.”

“Alright, Dad. Better order some dinner, and you’ll probably want some drinks, too. It’s a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Terebradent: stylised from the Latin for “drill teeth.”


End file.
